Racing through the parking lot, weaving between cars, I glance over my shoulder as my heart beats in my throat. She’s right there; her fingertips graze my sweater. She’s going to catch up, and it will all be over. Everything I’ve worked so hard for can’t end like this. I won’t let it. I won’t let all of my sacrifices be in vain.

Lengthening my strides, forcing my lungs to fill with air, holding it for a beat, and slowly releasing it, I focus on the facts. She doesn’t know where she is. I know this place like the back of my hand. I can lose her. I can do this.

I zig and zag, dodging the side-view mirrors of sedans and mini-SUVs, barreling towards the suburban forest. My feet are weightless below me, and the cold, night air nips at my ears. I am getting away–

I’ve gotten away! A smile grows on my face, a feeling that’s foreign. This is really happening. It’s all working out.

Darting my eyes across the dark wooded expanse, my blood runs cold. My eyes find eyes staring right back at me.

By the time I see her, it’s too late; there’s no time to scream. A hood is pulled over my head, and I’m thrown into the back of a pick-up truck. I try to fight the exhaustion, as it laps over me like a rising tide. I relent to the current. In pursuit of the dream I knew I couldn’t hold on to, I curse myself for failing. It’s a sick sort of masochistic reminiscence.

I wake in a room I don’t recognize. Of course, I can’t recognize the room; there’s still a freaking hood on my head.

I can’t believe this is really happening, that I was so close. It’s so hard to breathe; it’s so hard to think. Choking out a sob, I crumble in on myself. How could I let this happen?

The hood is snatched off my head. I blink furiously as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The room begins spinning as my eyes focus. It’s my own face staring back at me.

The glare of the monitor casts shadows across the room I’ve known since the day I was born. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I shake my head at the words on the screen. This story of a girl, whose problems are far greater than mine, didn’t choose this life of action, crime, and excitement. Her life is this big, meaningful thing. Envy aches in my sternum and churns in my stomach.

I open social media, pick at the scab again, and search for the life that I could’ve had. Waking up in a dorm room in the forest, running at a collegiate level, and completing creative writing assignments, I gave it all up. I didn’t think that I would be successful. I gave up before it even got hard. I let this happen.

I wonder if every person I pass on the street has a sapling of a dream inside of them. One thing they’ve convinced themselves is not worth planting in the soil. Did they also convince themselves that it’s doomed to get chopped down before it’s even grown roots? Why do we do this? Why do we play the part of the cynic?

I tell myself my words are meaningless, so I don’t get hurt. I convince myself that what I write is boring and forgettable. So, if someone else confirms my worst fears, it won’t sting because I’ve beaten them to it.

I’ve excused myself from even trying, “because it’s not worth it.” In doing so, I’ve proven myself right. If I relent to the lapping waves of doubt, I will have no one to blame but myself.

I am the one shooting down my dreams. I am what I need to outrun. I am the voices of doubt running through my head.

Everything I’ve worked so hard for won’t be in vain if I don’t let it be. My heart is beating in my throat as I force air into my lungs. I open my document and start typing.

I decide when it’s all over.