The Runaway: A Stray Souls Story, Entry #12

The wind’s whistling through the cracks in this old cabin, kind of eerie but strangely comforting. I’ve been hanging out here in the Rocky Mountains, pretty cut off from people. Instead of human interaction, I’ve got the soothing sounds of nature. It’s weird, right? I’m way out in the boonies, but still hooked up to the digital world through my gadgets.

Every now and then, the memories of Aspen Falls creep into my thoughts. They’re like ghostly echoes, fading in and out. Sometimes, their whispers break the silence, and it gives me the creeps. On some nights, I’ll gaze up at the starry sky, haunted by the memory of that poor kid, and the dark truth about the Inner Circle’s sinister doings.

In those moments, I can’t help but revisit that fateful night when I made a run for it, leaving behind the only life I’d ever known. It was a desperate move, driven by the horror of watching my own body do terrible things under some external control.

So, I’ll keep jotting down my memories of Aspen Falls. It’s my way of honoring those who didn’t make it, the innocent folks who were caught up in the Inner Circle’s messed-up beliefs. Their stories weigh heavy on me, but I’ll bear that burden for the sake of truth.