All the boy could do was run.
No one was chasing him. He knew this. He understood this. He had no reason to be running as fast as he was, or to even be running at all, but his legs had begun to move before his mind could come up with a better plan, so now he had no choice but to keep running. To get as far away as possible.
It took all of the remaining strength he had not to look back.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been running when it started to rain. It may have been minutes, it may have been hours, it may have been a lifetime. The only thing he was certain of was that it was raining, and he was cold, and his muscles were screaming in pain, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a cozy bed and fall asleep for an eternity. But then he would dream. Even blinking brought up memories of what he was leaving behind, flashes of contorted faces and horrified screams.
Was that why he was running? To get away from them? No, it was more than that. He was running because he had to. He was running because he didn't know what he'd do with himself if he didn't. There was nothing left for him there. He'd made sure of that. Tears began to burn in the corners of his eyes, but he quickly shut them and shook his head. Now wasn't the time to break down. He refused to break down, to give them that satisfaction. He didn't regret what he'd done...right?
Yes. No. He wasn't sure. Would he change his mind tomorrow? If he could, would he go back to the way things were?
He didn't have time to answer that question before he felt the world slip from his fingers. His foot slid out from under him out of nowhere — a puddle, of course. Rain. As he fell, he found himself reaching out for a hand, a hand he knew wouldn't be there and yet sought after regardless. His fingertips were met with nothing but air, and he let out a ragged yell as he fell face-first to the ground.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. His muscles roared with a pain unlike any he had ever felt before. A part of him wanted to stay there, to stay motionless on the muddy ground until he washed away with the rain. No one would miss him. Perhaps the world would be better off without him in it.
Something warm grazed against his cheek. He'd felt it for a while, fading and then returning every so often, and he instinctively lifted his hand to examine it. Just before he could touch it, though, he recoiled. It was a tear. He hadn't even realized it until then, but he was crying. How long had he been crying? Why was he crying? Were the tears for himself? Were they for what he was running away from? For the home it had once been, or for the nightmare it had become?
He had to keep running. No matter how tired he was, how desperately he wanted to stop, giving up was not an option. His power - gift or curse - must have been given to him for a reason. Perhaps that reason was to fix the world. To fix the humans, to erase their hungry gazes and greedy hands always reaching for more while never settling on what they had. Was that his mission? Was that what he was running towards?
His mother and father had yearned for riches so badly that they let it consume them. He'd given them what they wanted. What they deserved. Maybe it was the rest of humanity's turn to get what they deserved.
Through gritted teeth, he forced his way off of the ground and rose to his feet. The rain pounded on him, desperate to force him back to the dirt, but he refused. He'd found his calling. No longer would he run away. Now, he was running towards something. Towards his purpose. Greed would be humanity's downfall. By his hand he would liberate the world and pave the way for a new, golden era.
Until then, all the boy could do was run.
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