As the path split in the old dirt road, the runner wept and did as she was told. She knew this day was coming. Still, she kept on running. Her hiding place was very close. 40 or 50 yards at most. She could see the birch tree, finally. Like a ball player sliding into home, she extended her arm with a groan. Her gun, now pointed at him. She whispered “You will never force me to run again.” He lay dead in the leaves. For the first time in years, she could breath.