Sarah’s feet pounded against the wet pavement, each splash echoing through the empty streets of dawn. She wasn’t running from danger – not anymore. This time, she was running toward something better.
The weight of her backpack reminded her of everything she’d chosen to leave behind in her small apartment: the photos of fake smiles at family gatherings, the artwork she’d made trying to please others, and the business cards from a job that drained her soul one spreadsheet at a time.
The morning air felt different today. Cleaner. Sharper. The brick buildings of downtown seemed to glow orange in the rising sun, like they were celebrating with her. A stray cat watched her from a windowsill, its tail swishing as if waving goodbye to her old life.
Three months ago, Sarah had found an old sketchbook while cleaning. Hidden between its pages were drawings she’d made as a teenager – wild, colorful pieces full of life. That discovery lit a spark she couldn’t ignore.
Now, her true treasures were safely packed: her favorite brushes, her new sketchbooks, and an acceptance letter from the art school two states away. The letter had arrived yesterday, turning her dream into something real she could hold.
“You’re being ridiculous,” her mother had said last night. “Artists don’t make money. Look at your sister – she’s got a real career, a nice house…”
But Sarah kept seeing the same thing in her mind: her hands covered in paint, students gathering around her easel, her work hanging in a small gallery. The vision felt more real than any office she’d ever worked in.
The train station came into view, its clock tower standing tall against the purple-pink sky. Sarah slowed to catch her breath, her heart racing with both exercise and excitement. The morning commuters were starting to arrive, each person lost in their own world of routine.
She checked her phone one last time. Three missed calls from Mom, two from her sister. A text from her boss asking where she was. Sarah smiled and turned off the phone. They’d understand eventually. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and that was okay too.
The train wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes. Sarah sat on a bench and pulled out her sketchbook. She began to draw the scene before her: the historic station building, the early morning shadows, the sleepy passengers. But in her drawing, everyone had wings – small, colorful ones that they hadn’t noticed yet.
A businessman hurried past, his tie fluttering in the breeze. In her sketch, his wings were blue and gold, half-hidden under his suit jacket. A young mother with two kids became a guardian angel, her wings protective and pearl-white. Sarah added herself in the corner, her wings already spread wide, ready for flight.
The train’s whistle pierced the morning air. Sarah packed up her sketchbook and stood, taking one last look at the city she’d called home. The sun had fully risen now, painting everything in possibilities.
As she boarded the train, Sarah didn’t feel like she was running away anymore. With every mile the train would travel, she’d be running toward herself – toward the person she was always meant to be.
