Tale: Leaving an old way.

...and he ran,

and ran,

and ran until he met the fence on the far side of the land.

His breath was tight.

His legs burned.

And only after he was able to open his eyes did he realize that his hands were bleeding.

He released his grip form around the barbed wire.

As he stood there on the cool, dark soil he stared deeply into the crimson streams running down the sides of his hands.

Drop after drop fell.

Falling.

Meeting.

He knew he could not go back.

And for him, this thought was comforting.