đŻď¸ End Credits
A small bag was already packed under the bed. Fear struck her once again, leaving her paralyzed. It stripped her sense of being; hindering her reflexes and her desire to survive.
âI deserve this.â
âI shouldnât have said that.â
âItâs my fault.â
âMy fault.â
One day, that changed. The fear was surpassed by the will to live, the belief that she mattered, that it wasnât her fault, and she deserved better.
âCyntia, my shirt is still dirty. Did you even wash it?! Itâs always the same sh*t with you, you useless piece ofââ
This time, she expects the blow.
This time, she dodges.
This time, she runs.
Runs away straight to her sisterâs place, a safe haven.
She doesnât hesitate as she walks into the police department.
She doesnât look back this time.
âď¸ Authorâs Note
I wrote this after thinking about the moment when survival finally becomes louder than fear. That detailâthe bag already packed under the bedâit wonât leave me alone. Because it means sheâd been planning. Hoping. Even while telling herself it was her fault, some part of her knew the truth.
Iâve never lived this specific story, but Iâve felt that paralysis. That voice that says you deserve this, you caused this, this is all you get. And Iâve felt the rupture when that voice finally breaks, when you realize: No. Not anymore.
Writing âThis time, she runsâ felt like lighting a candle in a dark room. A small act of defiance. A promise that escape is possible, even when it doesnât feel that way yet.
If youâre reading this and you see yourself in Cyntiaâplease know you matter. You deserve safety. You deserve better. And that bag under the bed? Itâs not giving up. Itâs hope refusing to die.
đ Behind the Story
This piece was inspired by the song âConstellationsâ by Ellie Holcombâa song about feeling lost in darkness and finding your way back to light. The song asks about the distance a soul must travel before love can break through into the mess of life.
Cyntiaâs story is about that collision. The moment when love for yourself finally crashes through the walls fear has built. The moment when you stop measuring distance and just run.
Creative Process:
The repetition of âThis timeâ was the breakthrough. Each one reverses what came beforeâexpect instead of fear, dodge instead of freeze, run instead of stay. Itâs a rhythmic breaking point that builds to freedom.
I used short, sharp sentences for the escapeâquick bursts that mirror adrenaline and split-second decisions. I didnât know âstaccatoâ was the technical term for this rhythm. It simply felt right. Present tense collapses time. Youâre not watching Cyntia escape; youâre in it with her. I wanted you to feel the pounding heart, the door slamming, the feet hitting pavement.
What I cut:
Earlier drafts included a much longer internal monologue and additional context about her situation. But as I worked the scene, I realized it didnât matter how she got there. What mattered was what she did next.
In that moment, thereâs no room for doubt. Only motion. The thinking comes later. The running comes now.
That bag under the bed tells you everything about the history without explanation. Itâs been there, waiting, like hope refusing to die.
Content note: This story references domestic violence. If you or someone you know needs support, the National Domestic Violence Hotline is available 24/7 at 1-800-799-7233. You can also text START to 88788 or visit thehotline.org.
đ A Question for You
What does courage look like to you? Have you ever witnessed someoneâs âthis timeâ momentâwhen they finally chose themselves?
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