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The Runaway By Richard Perrett

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The Runaway By Richard Perrett It was a warm spring morning and Charlie woke up dazed and sweaty as the dappled sun from the trees percolated through the shabby navy blue blind hanging from the wall in his 'new' bedroom. His room was void of all objects apart from the blind and the bedding on which he had slept that night. The carpet in its hay day had been blood red but was now a sick grey colour. The walls were blue with stars, which dominated and brought a certain homely feel to Charlie's bedroom His parents had moved here for a new start, a new beginning. Although they had only been at their new home for less than forty-eight hours, they were already fighting in the kitchen. Charlie wished he could curl up and hide forever, from the world in which he had been brought up in, a world of terror and pain, from his father's beatings and the constant quarrelling, twenty four seven. This structure of living had been in place for nearly six years now, ever since Charlie's mother had found out about his father's affair with Mrs Babbins, the lady next door. ...read more.


Charlie scrambled through the brambles and other assorted plants growing on the forest floor, but he was oblivious to the pain of the stings and scratches as he progressed through he woodland. Charlie's head was throbbing as he slowed realising the other's footsteps had faded. Pausing momentarily, Charlie crouched behind a lush green copse, desperately trying to stem his gasps for air, lest his father hear them. This brought back the memories of his father before they had moved, the beating and shouting, of how volatile his father really was, the alcohol, the bottles, the beating of his mother, the abominable, awful list of pain dragged on, but no more, not again. He charged carelessly on through the forest to be sure he was far from his father. Charlie knew what he wanted to do; he didn't want to go home.... EVER. He had never been so sure of a decision in his entire life Charlie woke to the song of birds in the trees, with dew in his greasy hair and on his face. He panicked, ' Where am I?' he thought, then the memories of the day before came flooding back, the running, the scratches which now stung as the muddy water seeped into his cracked, dry skin. ...read more.


When Charlie arrived at the train station, he was faced with the task of finding a cash machine in the hustle and bustle of a busy Monday morning. The situation was not helped by the fact that he was only four foot eleven inches, as he could not see over anyone to find the signs which may have given him some clue in which direction to go. Charlie wandered around for about a quarter of an hour and asked several people if they knew where the cash machines were, but they all sent him in different directions. After another five minutes he stumbled across this sixteen-year-old girl who knew where the machines were. Charlie withdrew all of his money, which came to a grand total of two hundred pounds. Surely this was enough money to get to London, as it was only a matter of fifty miles. Charlie paced it over to the run down ticket booth in the north corner of the station. He was next in line and had his hand hovering over his pocket, whilst contemplating whether he should leave his mother with his evil father. He walked up to the lady at the booth who asked, 'Can I help you love?'... ...read more.

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