I ran as fast as I could. In a matter of minutes, I had reached my destination. It was an open field of yellow tulips. I sat down in the middle of the flowers, and I picked one out of the ground. Gingerly, I lifted it up to my nose. For the first time in years, I was home.

After a few minutes, I laid down in the grass. I hadn't slept for three days, and the ground was so comfortable. Gently, I placed the tulip behind my ear. The sun was giving my body essential warmth. Without realizing it, I started to cry.

In the distance, I heard a rustling in the leaves. Immediately, I sat up; I knew someone was coming. My mind told me to move, but my body told me to stay. I knew I needed to leave, but my legs wouldn't let me stand up and walk. Before I could even try to move, I felt a cold breeze on my neck. My father had found me.

"Go ahead, Dad," I whispered. "I'm done running."

My father was insane, and (for some reason) he wanted me dead. My mom had always protected me, but two weeks ago, she had died of exhaustion. I had tried to escape him, but my dad was as smart as he was insane. Running had proved to be useless, and combat would end painfully. My only option was giving up.

For a split second, my dad stood still in disbelief. Then, it hit me: the bullet. The impact caused enormous pain, but after a brief moment, I felt nothing. I lifted my hand up to my neck, the point of contact. Once I took my hand away, I didn't dare to look at it; I knew the sight wouldn't be pretty. Slowly, I laid down. I took the tulip that was tucked behind my ear and placed it over the wound. After a few seconds, I took the flower away, revealing a red tulip, the last image I would ever see.