I WAS the guy running not touching the ground...
And I never came back to my hometown ever since...
Set the date... 2000... I was a son of a farmer whom was famous among the rural parts. He was mourning the death of mom on a tuesday while I tended to the crops. On that same day, bad men came late at night. They dressed in dark attire, and set our town on fire, "to show an example to the government about their ideals..." What pish-posh, we had thought earlier. But it happened. Caught ablaze, my father's dying breath was to run. Run from this place, and never touch the ground the bad men walked. And with his pulse fading away, I ran. Ran across highways, ran on railings, fences, telephone poles, anything that'd keep me off that forsaken ground. If I were to, I'd be dismissing my father's last words... I have run country to country, searching for those bad men. It's been twelve long years since that day. I've grown. But I probably will never find those bad men. But alas, my father's death wish shall never become stained with his own son disobeying such a wish.
