Dream so hard, I don't ever want to wake.

I'm under the pool deck, leaning against the rough concrete of the pool's belly. Clots of red clay stick to my shoes and seat of my shorts, leaving stains I'm sure I'll hear about later. Chlorine water drips from between the boards above my head, traces of kids doing gut-busters into the deep end. I hear them laughing, calling out "Marco" and "Polo." The duck pond stretches out before me, beyond the thick tangle of weeds that have claimed this forgotten territory, deck jutting out several feet past the shore and offering just enough shade to cut the summer sun's glare. No-one knows I am here. I see them, hear them, and they are oblivious.

_{I am invisible.}

"Gage!" It's Him. And he's hollering and I see his face in my mind, red and pinched, eyebrows arched, one up, one down. He bellows, "Gage!" and my name echoes through the willows, bounces off the planks and tiles that surround the pool.

I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek against them. He won't find me here. He won't. He can't. Don't let him.

The kids have stopped splashing. "Thought I saw her down by the pond, Mister Steele."

Rustling in the chigger weeds. He's closer, now, following the shoreline. I wait. Still. Don't breathe now. I watch Him without lifting my head, watch Him weave between the whipping arcs of the willow branches. His back is to me, shoulders set, belt swinging from His right fist. A little further, then head home. She isn't out here, stupid kid. But He turns too soon, and not toward the house. He's stomping right back up the shore and eying the mouth of my cave.

I roll onto my hands and knees, clawing up mud, and crab-walk around the pool. Round that bend, you're home free, kid. Round that bend, and out through the swampy grasses. Hundred-yard dash like they make you do in school, hit the woods. Right at The Big Oak, jump the log, surf the rotting leaves down the hill, and run. Under the trestle, left, pause. Listen.

"Gage!" But He's so small now. His voice like a gnat's buzz, tickling my ears.

I cross the field that lies on the other side of the trestle. Slowly, child. Catch your breath now should you need it again soon. Bees and flutterbugs take flight around me, stirred from their perches in amongst the wildflowers. The clear-cutting meets woods again abruptly. Five trees deep, I plop down on the damp floor, cradled in some mammoth tree's root system. I can see the overpass from here.

And what if I never went back? Kept going, through these woods, and out to whatever lay beyond them? I could live at the mall, and hide from the security guards at night. I could get a delivery job after school, and eat in the food court. I could live at school, and eat in cafeteria. I could...

I wake with a start. It's dusk. Lightning bugs flicker in the field, dancing on-air to the symphony sent up by the katydids, crickets and locusts. I stay and watch them, wishing so much to join them in their gaiety. Never leave this place.

But, the time has come to put away my faerie tales and silly daydreams. I'm a great big girl of 10, and I cannot dance with bugs. I cannot live at the mall. The fantasy of escape is a useless waste of time.

"You can't run from me..."

Goodnight, bugs.

"I'll find you..."

Goodnight, stars.

"No matter where you go..."

Goodnight, trees.

"And when I do..."

Goodnight, moon.

"I'll kill you."

Goodnight, gage.