A long time ago, but perhaps not so far away... and perhaps not that long ago, either... there was a young woman who hated her home life. She felt she had no freedom--it seemed every time she turned around, her mother would ask for her to do one thing or another, she couldn't talk to her friends without someone barging in, and she couldn't write so much as a letter to a friend without someone prying into the contents. Privacy was something she valued, and still does--and it seemed to becoming a much more rare commodity as of late. Such tiny things, but the accumulated, until she could stand no more. Over a period of several days, she packed the things she believed would help her start a new life. On the seventeenth day of the third month of the year, she left home, not once looking back.
Her journey took her hundreds of miles away from home, through places familiar and unfamiliar to her. But resources ran out, and she realized she would not find peace this way. Fear gripped her heart at the thought of the hell she would face were she to return. But a greater fear--that for her own survival--won out. She realized that her family did indeed care, and so decided to retrace her steps towards home. Her family was only glad to see her alive, as she had passed through towns as bad as Mos Eisley, if not worse.
I know this tale all too well, because it is my own. Anger and hate directed my steps, and put me through a hell worse than any I have known before or since. What happened in between my departure and return does not bear repeating, except for the fact that those experiences taught me a hard lesson. If anger drives your actions, you will most certainly head for trouble. A cool head and patience wins the day. --Tionne