TW: some sexual assault mentions. Nothing is graphic, but still mentioned

Also Ilena is an unreliable narrator unintentionally as she was indoctrinated by the cult!

The paper stood in front of me. I wasn't sure what to write. Write about when you almost died? Scary moments? But then, it was like my brain possessed me...

I wasn't wearing anything "ladylike" today. I was sick of it after the long week, and it was Sunday, the day of the break, for crying out loud. The dresses my mother gave me to wear fit me right about 0% of the time, and compared to everyone else, I looked lumpy, like an old sock.

I was ready in a T-shirt that was three sizes too big and jeans that were.. also, three sizes too big. It helped that it covered every aspect of the fact that I had a body, or that I existed, but the jeans kept falling off without those stupid little pins.

I quickly pinned them, the strategy I always did. The Red Wood was rich, we weren't. Point blank. So I learned how to make any damn thing fit.

"Ilena Rey, hon! You ready? Father and I have some great news for you, once you come out!"

Mother. I sigh. I know I have to get ready quicker now, but I really didn't want to see what the "great news" was. It never was actually "great", just great in their eyes. Or great to everyone else. There was a reason I wasn't exactly the favorite child, after all.

I walk out, greeting my mom with the world's most uncomfortable hug. It was extremely awkward, being taller than my mom. But it was polite, so I did what I always did: sucked it up.

"Come here, Marcus," my mom yelled, smiling. She was clearly excited to tell me about the good news.

"Oh yes? Oh, Ilena Rey is here. It's time to tell her," he said, seemingly with equal excitement.

My father never got excited. This wasn't good. But still I sat on the floor and listened intently.

"Ilena, yesterday the prophet told us he had seen a vision straight from God. It was you getting married to him and living in a nice little family with ten kids! Isn't that exciting? Well, he really wants to enact the vision as soon as possible, so you are getting married. The wedding will be tomorrow."

Tomorrow?! Wedding?! I'm, like, twelve—my thirteenth birthday hasn't happened yet! Nobody else had to get married until they were seventeen, or sixteen and a half, or even eighteen! Wasn't the prophet like 70 years old?! I didn't want to get married—ever! Especially not to someone that old!

"This is the earliest wedding we've had in our history, so it'll be extra fun," said my father, trying to entice me.

I was getting married. Tomorrow. I hadn't even gotten taught how to fully cook! I still messed up when I used the mop—it was too heavy! And I knew what happened to the bad wives. They were beaten. Beaten beyond repair. Beaten until nobody knew who they were anymore. All their rebellion was beat out of them.

I didn't know how I was supposed to react, but it definitely wasn't throwing up all over the floor and panicking so hard it scared my father. That all happened, apparently. I don't remember it.

"Let's go to church," Father said, seemingly ignoring that I'd puked all over the floor. Then again, even if I were dying, there was no missing church. Or you were shot.

The walk to the church was filling with such dread for me as I walked, taking a step and stepping again, each step wobblier than the last. It was scary—terrifying. I felt like a caged bird.

It seemed to fill me with agony as I simply did the smallest task—open the door. I held it for my father, Elle and Thatcher, my younger siblings—who looked at me with dirty looks instead of thanking me, and my mother.

How would it feel to become invisible? I bet I'd be free. I knew marriage wasn't something where women were ever free. Did I even want to get married? The question seemed to fill my head.

"I have an announcement before the church service begins," said the prophet, looking excitedly at my face. No matter what, I won't look back at him. Then, he continued, "I will be marrying Ilena Rey tomorrow morning in the church service. Everyone is welcome."

Shit. I'd learned that word from the store and it felt weird to even think it, but I thought this was an accurate word to describe the hell I was in.

I spaced off during the entire church service. That was the only way I could prevent myself from having a full-blown panic attack. I'd read about those, trying to study to be the area's medical person instead of having to marry. They were dangerous, so I did everything in my power to stop myself from having one.

After the service I couldn't look at anyone. My heart was in my throat and I was ready to throw it up, and I must have been powerful like the Prophet too, because I got a vision.

Running. Me, alone. Tonight. Never having to get married. Being free. Wearing my own stuff. Belonging to nobody. Not my father, who sometimes got bored with making children with my mother and tried to go for me or Elle, who was only thirteen and it was even worse. Not the Prophet, the creepy old man that looked like he could be my grandpa, not my husband. I belonged to me.

I had to enact my own vision, too. Mine was more powerful, freeing, and actually better for everyone. Nobody would notice after a week that I was gone, or that I ever existed. And I was always a very fast runner.

I simply sat through the Sunday school lessons and the rest of the day with a smile on my face. I watched the time every now and then, watching as it grew closer and closer to time to enact my plan. 5:30pm. 7:00. 8:15.

At 9:00pm, my mother said she was going to bed and kissed me goodnight on the forehead. My father followed her in, but he never said anything to me. They were going to bed. Now was what counted.

I threw everything I found valuable into the one bag I had— my necklace, the clothes I actually liked, the food and water I'd kept hidden in case I was supposed to fast for longer than a day, and throughout all of that, the clock never stopped ticking. It was telling me it was time to run.

I jump out of the window; flying in the air for a short while before falling on my butt. Ow. I was going to regret that. But I didn't care, right now.

I run. I run as fast as I can, sprinting and leaving everything I knew behind. After I was out of the Red Wood exit, I ran to the trees, where I followed whichever way the breeze took me. I should've felt tired, but I didn't. Not even with no sleep.

I run from my old life, my life of fear and anxiety and hatred, and into my new life, where who the hell knows is gonna happen to me? But whatever it is, it had got to be better than getting married at 15.

I didn't feel like a caged bird as I ran, but as a free bird. The Red Wood was my cage. I was in pain, but nothing felt painful anymore as I ran. Nobody could catch me. If they could, they couldn't now.

You can't catch me now, but you wish you could.

My hair flapped in the breeze as I felt myself get further and further away from The Red Wood, only ever stopping to eat food or drink water. Freedom, so far, felt good. And eventually, I had run so far that I'd come across a whole bunch of buildings. Cities, I knew, were what these three were. There were no welcome signs.

I shouldn't have gone in if I felt I didn't belong. But with a smile in my heart, I remembered I didn't belong anywhere. So I walked in, finally feeling free enough to walk. I was too far away now. My escape worked. I'd run too fast for them to have ever been able to catch me.

And somehow, even though I hadn't done anything except walk in, I felt more comfortable already.

Down to whatever the hell awaits me, here I come.