He’d had enough – enough of hatred, enough of lies, enough of stupidity, enough of violence, enough of uselessness, enough of evil, enough of prejudice, enough of everything – so he loaded all his things into the little boat and sailed away, bobbing up and down on the river. Out on the river, there was no news, no rules, no links to the outside world. Soon he’d be sailing out into the open seas, bound by nothing at all. Lying on the deck, he closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air, feeling free for the first time in months. He’d escaped everything.
But nothing had changed. While he felt free at first, it soon occurred to him that he’d not made any difference to anyone other than himself. He was an ostrich, burying his head in the sand.
Not everyone could escape. Not all chains could be so easily broken.
He sighed and turned his ship around. He had to go back. Running wouldn’t fix anything. Running never did.
Running was a surrender, an acceptance, turning a blind eye to suffering, and that was something he could never do.
He had to stay. He had to fight.
Word Count: 197
This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to Alistair Forbes for running the challenge and C.E. Ayr for the prompt photo!