Thoughts of A Fugitive

I carefully pried the rest of my hair loose from the branches and decided I’d have to something about my hair if I wanted to keep going. I couldn’t keep stopping every time my hair got caught on something, and besides, that really hurt.

So I sat down and began braiding my hair. I worked fast, not caring what I looked like. When my hair was completely braided, I wound the braid tightly around my waist like a belt and tied it. Now I’d be able to run again without fear of my hair tripping me or getting caught on branches.

As I stood up again I felt dizzy and realized I hadn’t eaten in a long time, two days at least. I regretted ever having gone on that stupid hunger strike. Those days seemed far away now, as if a year had passed since I was last in my tower, frustrated that my parents had locked me up, unable even to speak with Alfred.

I walked on, paying attention to the nearby bushes with the hope of finding berries or something else I could eat. I thought about Alfred. I hoped he was thinking of me, too.

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