Originally Posted by seajay

Nature’s colors seem to have a vibrant brilliance about them, even the dirtiest of pigments. I might have been able to inhale these wonderful sights better if it weren’t for my troubles with inhaling in the first place. I looked down at the contraption on my wrist, trying to focus on the digits through the bouncing rhythm between strides. The high pitched beeps rang out the triumphant cry of accomplishment, and my feet finally showed their pace.

“Five miles,” I forced between breaths. “Enough to make breakfast even tastier.”

I hopped on my bicycle and headed back home for some eggs and bacon.

“Scott, don’t use so much syrup. Do you want to get fat like your Uncle Stu?”

“Oh, can it, Hilary,” my aunt and uncle argued. They seemed to have a heartfelt passion for conflict and jumped at the chance to quarrel with one another.

“No, Aunt Hil,” I said softly, trying desperately to stop the inevitable argument.

“Well, good. Your Uncle Stu can’t hunt out in his blind, anymore. Which reminds me, Scotty; could you go out tonight and shoot us a nice buck for supper? We’d even let you have first choice at the table.” She looked at me with that stone solid look that parents give their kids when they know there’s only one answer that could spare their childrens’ lives. (You might want to reword this sentence.)

“Sure, Aunt Hil.”

“Thanks, Scott. Where were you this morning? Don’t tell me you were out running again. I don’t even want to think about believing that you waste all your time getting places without wheels,” she glared. (I think I know what she's saying but I would suggest reading this out loud and see what you think.)

“Oh no, Aunt Hilary,” I forced with a shaky tone. “I was out collecting… rocks. Or, no, I was looking for some good duck hunting spots for later.”

I waited with a hopeful mind for her response.

“Damn straight, you were. If I catch you wasting your time skipping through the woods again, I don’t even…” She trailed off, marching back into the kitchen to leave me in the living room with Uncle Stuart and his television. He peeled his eyes away from the set to tell me where the hunting equipment was, then dumped his hand into his greasy bag of onion rings once again.

After gathering as much as I could from the closet Uncle Stu had so kindly directed me to, I walked slowly down the back porch stairs and off into the woods. Once I’d completely lost sight of the house, I began to quicken my pace. My strides grew longer and stronger until I’d reached my jogging speed. I felt a huge smile creep across my face.

Once I reached the old oak tree, where the corn pile falsely boasted its pathetically small stature, I stopped to climb up the planks of wood nailed to the trunk and pulled myself into the deer blind. I looked out the small window with a sigh of satisfaction, and unpacked my things to settle in. I kick started the small heater near the door and knelt down near the window facing the pile of corn. I could feel I was in for a long haul.

Hours passed and still no movement had awoken my senses, other than the cool autumn breeze and the waves of hot air streaming from the heater. I was getting ready to call it a night when I heard some leaves crunch under me, much like that heavenly sound made running through the back woods trails.

I struck my head out the window to see an impressive buck munching on some corn. He looked up, obviously spotting me, and I knew I had no better chance to claim my trophy than that moment. My quivering hand pulled the rusted trigger, and the force of the gun shot my body backwards. I stumbled over the flashlight, and onto the heater.

The searing pain shot up my back faster than an old western draw. I rolled over and began kicking wildly in displeasure. When I opened my eyes, they caught that unpleasant feeling of hot air and smoke. It was that moment that I realized I had set the blind aflame.

My heart pounded so rapidly that the sound nearly drowned out the crackling of fire and the spits of rotting wood turning to ash. The dry walls and floor began to waste away, and it seemed I would not make my way out, save for the window above the only floor planks stable enough to support any weight heavier than a bullet shell. I looked out the window, and set my feet upon the sill. The distance between the soles of my boots and the earth below seemed to matter as much as the foot speed of a bumble bee, but I knew it was farther than I had hoped. I pushed my weight forward and fell from the black smoke engulfing that old oak tree.

I awakened to a sky darker than the soul of the devil, and a tree as lively and healthy as a stegosaurus. I looked down towards my feet to see two mangled appendages that, collectively, were once referred to as my legs, and I knew they were useless. I let out a pain-ridden, disheartening sigh and began to crawl my way back to the porch.

“Dear, do you need any more bandages?” My Aunt Hilary was pretending to aid in my healing while watching a game show on the T.V.

“I’m fine, Aunt Hil.” I knew speaking to her was a waste of breath. I was shaking in pain, partly from the pathetic excuses for legs I now owned, but mostly from the heartbreaking idea of never being able to run again. My one hobby, my one vice, my one love had left me withmore haste and shame than a blues musician’s wife. I was left to exist in this world with my aunt and uncle, without a glimmer of hope to be able to free my mind in those back woods as pure and tranquil as St. Peter’s gates.

“Damn it, boy,” Uncle Stu shouted with a mouthful of onion rings.

“Can’t you do anything right?”