I take one bite and then another.  A couple of minutes in, the bland food that I consume cannot satisfy my anxiety driven, early morning binge.  I’m going in for something deeper – more threatening – yet possibly more fulfilling.  The time is running out.  I’ve got more of a burden than I can stand holding.  So I’m falling down.  Once I fall down, I won’t get back up.  So I crawl and then I run.  I’m running.  I can’t tell the difference between the rumble in the air and that resulting from panic.  It is catching up with me and I’m losing control…  A human can only go so far without losing control.  I’m just a boy.  A boy can fall flat on his face and get back up.  A boy keeps running.  He waits until later to release his cry.  A girl?  A girl can fall flat on her face and release the cry immediately.  It may be the immediacy of the cry that gets her out alive.  A boy?  A boy waits. Until it’s too late.  But soon I realize that no one can run fast enough from the approaching storm.  It’s too late; I stop running.  I have given up.  I accept that the bitter storm is coming.