Okay.

a beginning.

My feet beat against the wet pavement of an abandoned road, Beside a forest of oak trees. A heavy, dark leather bag bounced on my shoulders, metal buckles clinking in its wake. I was running from something. No, someone. I wasn't sure anymore but the person was startling enough to set me in a panic. Trees scraping against eachother and my bag clinking and pulling at my torso. A ringing began in my ears.
I remember talking to them, I  remember, They were large, dark blonde and smelled musty. As if they haven't showered in days. soon enough they lunged at me like prey. Was it something you said, something you did? My mind raced with unsupported conclusions, Not much time to think on that anymore. I was running out of breath, my breathing became wheezing, my running became a jog. I halted suddenly. My feet stilled, my ears and chest pounding. The rustle of trees stopped. Relief poured over me like the rain but the bitter chill of paranoia stings at my pale skin like the wind. I kept walking the direction you ran in. Clutching the leather straps of my bag tightly. Knuckles white, hands unbearably cold. I couldn't hear a thing but I could feel something at the back of your neck.
"They're watching you, now. But for how long?"
I thought, exasperated from the running, my stomach twisted and my mind swirled. Many a scenario rushed through my mind. Crashing into eachother, each collision of scenes creating a worse thought than the last.
Lacerations, the trickle of blood pouring from my nose, from my mouth and open throat.
Mutilation, the feeling of my skin being peeled from my muscle and bone. My nails being torn from the firmly tucked bedding of my already scarred cuticles and fingers.
Bondage, tied down and abused. My body becoming an entertainment piece. A toy.
I shivered at the thought. The hairs at the back of my neck standing on end ,My breath shakey.
Then i see a light- Headlights of a car. A little worn but not old. I second guess myself but continue anyway. Waving my arms, i yelled for them to stop. A plea escapes my cut lips. The car slows. Wheels squeaking and squelching between mud, water and broken road. It stops right by me. Windows roll down slowly. Awkwardly.
A man pokes his head out. Scent heavy with cigar and whiskey. Disheveled and scruff. His hair short, dark, making its way down his jaw before fading into heavy stubble.
"Hey, where ya' headin kid?"