Star

The phone rings constantly, taunting, tormenting. Mocking me in it's shrill voice, laughing at my flaws, picking out my weaknesses. I never asked for this. Soon they will find me, and I will walk this earth no more. They will realise that I'm here, hunt me down, question me, kill me. They know who I really am. I have to leave. My palms are sweaty, my breathing rapid, chest rising and falling in time with my heart beat. I walk upstairs, grabbing a bag on the way. It used to be my favourite. I would carry it everywhere, in school, on holiday, in town. Before it happened. Before they found out.
The door to my bedroom is old, weathered and chipped, a pale shade of blue. Neglected. Like me. I push it open and it creaks softly, as if it too tired to creak any louder. Tears stream down my face, this was my bedroom. Not any more. Clothes lay scattered on the floor, papers litter the desk and a lamp flickers innocently in the corner. I stoop down, stuffing t-shirts and trousers in the bag. Jumpers, socks, shoes. Anything that might help me. Bag almost full, I open the door once more and run down the stairs. Our food cupboards are nearly empty, only a few tins remain. I grab them and shove them in my bag, then fling it on my shoulder. Buttoning up my coat, I reach over to my hand knitted hat. It still fits me, the bobble swaying as I walk. Footsteps echo from outside. My heart rate quickens until I am sure it will burst out. Shaking terribly, I scramble towards the exit, desperate to escape.
The back door won't open. I pull at it, but it won't budge. I panic. There has to be a way out. Somewhere.
The window. It is grimy and almost brown but it's my only hope. I pick up a old TV remote and throw it at the window. Glass shatters, flinging deadly shards everywhere. I grimace. Noise. Something I do not need. They are getting closer, banging on the front of the house, yet to find the back. I hoist myself up onto the window ledge, avoiding the ragged edges. Taking a deep breath, I jump.