"Out." Out was where I ran. Ran home. Home was where I could lock myself up. Up the long winding road, under the broken fence and straight through the open door. Doors are my favorite parts of a room. Room is a space decorated by people to impose their boring bits of their life on you. You can escape it all through a door in the wall. Walls are what people build to keep you from getting out. Out is where I like to be. Be it in a city or the countryside. Countryside intrigues me with it small snaky roads that take you a different place everyday. Everyday I took one of these roads and visited the old forgotten church, the creek, the old barn or some other place new. New adventures were what I sought. Sought me out, even better, was trouble. Trouble came from any and every direction. Directions that I never knew exist. Exist that way was the old lady in the house she haunted. Haunted it at night, and in the day she gone. Gone to sleep in her coffin. Coffins are supposed to have sealed doors. Doors that don't let you out.