Adam had run away again. His mum and dad were fighting yet again. The boy stared at his reflection on the lake's water; his eyes were puffy from crying, there was a fresh bruise on his temple—his dad had hit him there when he tried to stop him from hurting his mum.

The stillness and solitude of the night wrapped around him like a blanket. The cool night air carried the scent of damp earth and pine from the surrounding trees. Nothing would happen here. No raised voices, no flying objects, no pain. Just darkness and the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the trees and bushes surrounding the small clearing.

Adam sighed and brought his knees up against his chest, wrapping his thin arms around his legs. The worn fabric of his t-shirt felt scratchy against his skin. He buried his face in his knees, trying to empty his mind of the shouting voices still echoing in his ears. His fingers nervously scraped at his wrists, a nervous habit that left faint red marks.

The water lapped gently at the shore, creating a soothing rhythm that almost drowned out the sound of his quiet sobs. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. He wished the night would never end.