Although not a requirement, I tried to embrace the principles of flash fiction by using the wordlist in as brief a narrative as possible, while hopefully still telling a coherent story. I'm not sure how successful I was, but it was fun.
Since Regina she had been fixated on the diminishing smudge of light on the horizon, the last echo of daylight. Beyond it lay her destiny.
Cheek pressed against the cool glass, she fought to ignore the persistent jab of conscience. She should have left a note. But as she had stood there in the kitchen, the roll of twenties in her fist, she knew that she could never explain why she was leaving, not really, not so that he would understand.
She never was a fighter. Cut your losses and run was more her style.
As the man in the seat next to her shifted and grumbled in his sleep, she rubbed her knuckle against her temple, trying to loosen the band of anxiety that was once again tightening around her head. It was important that she remain focused, that she maintain her spirit if she was to pull this off.
She concentrated again on the final vestige of light on the horizon and slowed her breathing. Eventually the relentless rhythm of the Greyhound bus churning through the prairie night lulled her to sleep.