Stranger Danger

Warm liquid.

Blood

I was running not caring as I jumped from roof to roof. The scent of sweat, not far behind me. My heart beat thumping matching the beat of my feet. As I race faster,faster, willing my tired body to keep pushing. I trip, cursing I fall to the ground. As I lay there all hope lost warm arms wrapped me lifting me up and yelling got you. Laughing, my father lifts me up as I get up from the carpeted floor. This was a game of imagination and wit, one played by a father and daughter. His face lit with amusement as he says, “you cheeky thief you stole the honey buns again”. Grinning, I lift some severely squished honey buns. Not blood but honey. This was the life I used to live where blood was honey.