I took part in NaNoWriMo last year, and surprinsigly managed to pull 50k of words out of my head in one month. I thought it could be interesting to share one of my preliminary texts on the plot I wanted to work on?
Running away, as far as he could. Pulling as much distance as possible between himself and his heart. The warm rain running on his skin could not have been more fitting. Timing after all has always been running disagreeable joke in his life, leaving him once again the opportunity to appreciate the greatness of his situation. Always fairly reminding him how insignificant and useless he was. And probably always will be.
Running was just a reflex of survival. Even if he knew it was irrelevant and quite stupid to literally do so, he just could not help it. He needed it, needed to feel his feet putting distance step by step, to feel his lungs catching fresh air, breath after breath. Running it was then. And it will be until he finds peace. How purifying it was to run away knowing deep down that what could bring light in his life what was he was trying to run away from. Cliché and probably useless. He hated it, but he could not help it. He had to. To keep himself busy, focused, away.
Rest was an utopic concept. Not that he was even sure to want rest anymore. Life is so much easier when denying all those things you know you have to work on. And he did not want this life, it was too hard. He wanted rewards. Challenges? Yeah, maybe challenges too. But challenges he chose then, challenges he accepted and understood. Not the stick life was always giving him. it is the whole point of life they say, being tested for no reason. Well, what about no. Something for himself, that is what he wanted. Not to earn it, no. Just get it. For once.
So he ran away. Did not even think about what leaving everything behind would feel. If the pain would be worthy. He just ran away. Racing to catch his breath. Running to reach his rest.