Move away. Pack your life in flimsy cardboard and haul it across state lines. Call your friends, pay off your debts, sell your dog to Ms. Edna down the street. Do not hesitate. Do not be swayed by your father’s questioning brow, your sister’s clinging eyes, your mother’s photo albums.
Arrive in a new city. Find a roommate and a job; unpack half your things on the first day’s adrenaline rush; leave the rest rotting in their boxes for another month. Use public transportation, but keep your eyes lowered and stare only at the grey-grimed streets. Learn to hate tourists. Buy fresh fish every weekend. These are just mental preparations.
Live this way for three months. Console your roommate when his girlfriend leaves him, but refuse to meet his friends. Remove yourself from social situations. Drink only water. Do not laugh at office parties. These are proven methods that will make the final step a breeze.
Wake up on a beautiful morning, a tower of solitude. Leave your share of the next month’s rent taped to the microwave; bring no regrets. We try to make ourselves available throughout the country. Though our methods are experimental, we have a high success rate. Finish living your current life and find us. It will only take five minutes. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
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A short-short I wrote for my fiction class last semester. It's a tiny bit vague, but I didn't feel like changing that. Just figured I'd update with something over here.
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