Cold. Dusk. The autumn leaves floating to the ground. Walking for miles searching for someone, anyone. Has it been days since the beginning of my trek? Or mere hours? Minutes? I know I had to go, for fear of being found. It’s funny. Wandering down an isolated wood hoping to be found, when that is precisely the reason I fled in the first place. The wind is beginning to shift. If just someone would happen down this path. I could get a little farther. Even just a few miles would mean sanctuary. Another town. Another place. Never mind the difficulties that would come from a new beginning. Those would pass. Running is the hard part. Not knowing who’s behind you, where to turn, where to hide. I’ve already chosen my new name. It’s proper, simple. Charles York. I’ve never known anyone named Charles in all my years; didn’t even get the chance to see a picture of the old man who succumbed to old age some odd time ago. Nevertheless, that is to be my new name. Besides, now is far from the time to be picky. In a rush one must take what they are handed. How many more miles has it been? Probably not many. That is the most hopeless part of this journey. Not knowing where you are or how far you’ve gone. I could have traveled farther with that old man in the pickup truck. But I couldn’t risk it. Stay too long and people start to remember things. What your voice sounds like at the end of a sentence. The curve of your nose and shade of brown that has been lain on your hair. Colder. If someone doesn’t come along soon. No, no. Someone will come. A stranger going about their evening. Driving along to simply happen upon a young, seemingly harmless man. Seemingly. No one here would know just who they have picked up. No one here would know the name Edward Mullen. No one would have seen the photos or heard the stories. Stories. Ha. I suppose reports would be more appropriate, after all they aren’t fables meant for children. I did do all the things they’ve accused me of. And I don’t intend on stopping now. I’m simply going to move on. New name, new place, new... opportunities. I wonder who my first opportunity would be. I guess I’ll know when I meet them. A sound. I hear it. Ever so slight. Off in the distance, but it is there. A glimmer through the leaves. Coming my way. I signal. It’s not too dark, they can see me. A screech from old hardware and a rumbling from a tired engine. A blue truck. Just for me it seems. Come to take me away to my new life. I thank the burly man for stopping, after all I’ve traveled for so long. He offers lodging up in his cabin and an early morning start. How could I refuse. Such an opportunity.

Edna. A name. My name. A name that would someday be known. Praised with victorious flare. Or spat upon with the utmost distain. Only one of those will be the outcome. The latter preferred. Selma and I were to meet this evening. At the lamppost by the river. Before sunset so as not to cause suspicion. It’s getting dusky. Being allowed past dark is not permitted; for anyone of the female gender. She takes far too much care to come at such a time. But then where is she. I have waited as long as I can. For fear of being detained and all our secrets spilled, I must go.

The walk back is short. I should make it inside before dark so long as I do not wander. There. Up ahead. I can see it. The door to safety. Just a few more steps. Now home. My home. Mine alone. Nothing fancy, just enough for pure survival and the most basic comforts. My small living space, warm and cozy. A place for fire to burn, a small, green sofa to rest on. Down the small hall, my kitchen. Once filled with life and warmth, now just a simple space of sustenance. Then the small bathroom with just enough space. In the back of the house, a small staircase leading up to my bedroom and the room of my late father. My room. A small bed, a window. Dreamy sheer curtains covering the windows. It’s cozy enough. My father’s room. Although unoccupied it’s still his. All his things perfectly in place as if he were coming home. Memories neatly placed. Memories required. Without them, it would be impossible for me to keep up this charade. It becomes harder, but not impossible. I will not leave my home, my place of comfort. Not without a fight. But. As long as I can keep up appearances, I shall be allowed to stay. The group homes. Those are the alternative. Living alone, as a woman, is forbidden. Living relatives permit you a safe, clean place to stay. Marriage also permits this, but in a world like this, who could possibly want to endure that. Individual freedoms. That is all we ask. That is what my group has set out to fight for. My meeting tonight. Would have helped. Maybe. But now the future is even more unclear. Selma had something to tell me. Something important. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what that was now. If she’s been found out... I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again.

I lay in bed. Thinking. Fading into darkness. Hoping that the world will one day come into the light.

The rays. In my eyes. They tell me it’s time to be up. Time for work. I swing my feet to the floor. The hardwood nips at my toes. Winter is getting closer. I gather my work clothes and head to the shower. I twist the squeaky faucet and let the water run