You put your hands on your knees and lean on them for support. Your clothes stick to your body, from the sweat that has drenched them. Brown hair dangles in front of your face. Beads of sweat roll down your temples. Your vision blurs from weariness. You start to close your eyes, but you force them open. You see boys running in the distance, some pointing, some calling.
You straighten your back. You lean against the maze walls for support. A crowd of boys start to gather. Eventually, they surround you. Most of them talking over one another. You are simply awake now because of adrenaline. One of them starts to approach you. You swing your arm upwards and punch him in the chin. Pain flows through your hand as it makes contact with the boys face. He falls backwards, into the arms of his friends. He stands, trying to regain balance. Some of them laugh, some of them went silent. Do they think this is a game?
You hold up your hand that has the switchblade in it. Most of them move back slightly, in fear. You point your blade to the boys that stand to the left of you. And signal for them to get out of the way. The crowd slowly starts to split into two. You walk through the gap that they have created for you. Once, you're out of the crowd, you run. Sprinting for the pack of trees in the back. The world around you becomes a smear of colors. Your legs burn with every step you take, but you can't stop, not now, not ever. You can never stop running.