“I want to run”. I said one day in the brisk afternoon on a winter's day. My father had just got home from work and has buried himself into a mound of documents. His hand went across the page and every so often he would highlight a sentence or two.He did this with a perpetual scornful force. I suppose all lawyers was like my father. The smirk he wore went along with his navy blue suit; the tie he had was covered in mustard stains. His shadowy chin looked tired along with his black bags that hung below his brown eyes. I remember once he told told me I could be anything I wanted to be. He told me I could be a space girl or a doctor. A bank teller or a lawyer; then he would wink. Was the wink implying that I should be a doctor or a lawyer? I guess it was a lawyer, but looking at him that day I pitied him. I felt sorry that he lives and never thrives. Well, his hand thrives in the never ending motion of highlighting the papers. “I want to run”. I said it again, but now I have taken away his papers leave a yellow streak down the page. His head lifted quickly revealing the turbulence of anger that thrusted through his hand that smacked my face. “Can you see that I am working”! His breath smelled of raw whiskey and a hint of a grape cigar. He was like the labyrinth of all the lawyers with the privileged privy passages that held bits of information that was forbidden to normal people, and this scared me. I gave back the document and he settled down and his eyes went back to being glued to the paper. I got up the sinister courage once again and I whispered in his ear “I want to run” and I was gone. The door was no obstacle neither was the sleet that had started to throw itself on my numb face. I ran and ran till my lungs ran out of air. Catching my breath I looked out the vast lake; it was a perpetual feeling that was developing, and each time I steped closer to the middle of the lake the  proximity of that feeling was starting to grow to my heart; to my soul. I walked closer and closer so I could hear the lake gurgle and open up its arms to me. I stood still letting the water grab my feet with an intricate  mixture of exemption and tentativeness. I let the cold sink into my bones, my bones that had fallen, my bones that were living, my bones that had finally ran.I let it all sink in till I could touch the rotten botten. It seeped into my shoes and I panicked. The thought of becoming rotten. The thought of being anything else freighted me. “This is extremely impetuous and childish”. That is what my father would say if he saw that I was letting myself drown, but I didn't. With a formidable attitude I pushed down on the rotten bottom and thrusted myself up  till I reached the top. The air forced its way in my lungs and the feeling was gone. It was a very elusive feeling and then it was gone. My breathing became normal after a few moments and I started to walk home, but I couldn't help but think of that feeling. I wanted it back. I insisted that it would come back. It come back even if I had to force it to come back! I did, I let that lake indulge in my air, my lungs, my bones, and everything else about me, In return I got what I was looking for and I often think was it worth it?