Whitefish River running through the parking lot, he chased me and he wouldn't stop

She had to get off the mountain.

She had to get off that damn mountain, she had to get off it right now.

The numbness had begun to lift—one tear had rolled down her cheek and it had broke a dam in her. A sobbing mess, likely, to any onlooker, and yet she couldn’t care for appearances right now. She ran as fast as she could—the stiffness of her joints and muscle, the flaring pain in her side as healing wounds begun to open.

Blood speckled her side—she knew it was not good.

But she wasn’t stopping until she was off that mountain.

And only when she stood in frigid waters, a hiss of pain slipping past clenched teeth as she submerged, bathing the wound—did the tears continue to flow—did her sobs wreck the silence of the night—and that she feared she would choke on them.