Define Isolation.

I kicked off from the pavement, slowly rolling down the hill. That single drop of rain splashed on my eyelashes, catching them and blurring my vision with it’s glistening nature.

Even as the skies rumbled above me, I bypassed my house, taking that right and crossing the street.

Down one hill, up another, and then down again until I hit the corner, jumping off the bike and flinging it to the ground.

I stared hard into the woods, waiting for the slightest hint of movement and listening as a furious battle raged inside my mind.

Sanity forsaken.

I staggered back, watching my feet fight to maintain their balance. My eyes strayed to the pavement and I recalled a scene in class.

He had told me that drunks always lye on the roads, because they’re warm.

For two minutes, I could think of nothing that I would love more than curling up into a ball and lying on that pavement.

I succumbed.

I began to wish that ever gust of wind that howled around me was a car approaching. I wanted someone to come looking for me; rescue me, more than anything in the universe.

It was only the wind.

I lay perfectly still, thinking of how warm I was and how cold the air and asphalt were.

After awhile, I was barely breathing, sedate in my dream like wonderings, so deeply submersed in my own thoughts that I forgot about the rain pouring down over me and the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy. I even drown out the thunder that boomed ominously above.

It was a child’s voice that brought me back.

“Daddy! She’s fallen off her bike!”

I sat up quickly, not wanting to scare the girl, who couldn’t have been more than four or five. I was glad I did. She looked so relieved to see that I wasn’t dead or dying.

So many kids rode past me, waving and smiling at me while I waved back, smiling weakly.

Their father pulled his bike up beside me, “Did you get hurt?”

My answer was quick, a reflex, but it was good enough for him as he raced to catch up with his children.

Then it hit me; did I get hurt?

It was such an odd question that it stuck on me. He hadn’t asked if I’d fallen or if I was okay, but he’d asked if I’d gotten hurt.

Had I been hurt?

Why else would I be laying out in the rain with unknown tears streaming down my face?

“I must’ve been hurt,” I muttered, dusting the gravel and dirt off the seat of my pants.

I rode off, still lost in clouds of thought darker than the ones swarming with electricity above.

“But by who?”