A/N: I have recently realized that I over-edit myself, and that leads to me holding back in my writing. Also, I haven't wrote an actual story in at least a year (possibly more). Now that I have some more time, I figured I'd get back into writing stories. This, at the moment, is pretty much a freewrite. It's like NaNoWriMo, only I don't have a limit on time and word count. I'm going to write until I feel the story has been completed, and then I'm going to go back and do some serious editing. When writing, it's almost as if the story unfolds itself and I'm just watching it do so, and it's really hard for me to distance myself enough from a story halfway through and do some editing and tweaking because it makes me overanalyze everything and makes the rest of the story sound forced. So here's a shot at something new.

Again, this is largely an embarassingly unedited first draft, so bear with me. I'd love some reviews though! Thanks for reading!

I can see the lights blurring together hazily as my eyes begin to lose focus. I just kept running. My footsteps as well as my breath are inaudible, but I can feel my soles hit the steaming asphalt and my chest heave. Cars come at me from every direction, and I try my best to dodge them; but the truth is, I couldn't care less if they hit me or not.

The thing I'll always remember about Poppy Moriarty is this image: her driving down that long Montana road in my pickup, with the seatbelt stuck in the door and a cigarette dangling from her long fingers. I remember thinking, maybe I should go with her. Maybe she'll get lost, or run out of gas. But I didn't say anything. I just let her go because she told me to stop being a baby, and that she'd be fine, and I believed her. Sort of.

I knew she could be reckless, and I knew she would end up doing something stupid, but I didn't expect it to be permanent. And I didn't expect to be caught in the middle of it all, either. I didn't expect to find what I found when I went looking for her the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. And most of all, I didn't expect to be here, alone, and about to die.

The grill of a forest-green pickup truck swerved just inches from my face.