I run, as fast as my feet can carry me. I don’t normally rush places, but this was an exception. My imminent demise seems to have a way of speeding me up.
Never in my life have I ever been so glad that I kept up my cardio. About a year ago, I would never be able to keep up this speed for this length of time. In fact, about a year ago, I never thought I would have been running for my life. But that was then and this is now.
My name’s Maxwell. Maxwell Turner. My friends call me Max, but I’m not sure who my friends are at this point in my life, so call me Maxwell. I would take this time to tell you a bit more about myself, but now’s not the time to go into detail, or the place.
I dart past an old wooden fence and through a yard. Up and over a mismatched chain-link fence in the same yard and quickly through the back into the alleyway; around the corner and into another yard. I can’t tell exactly where my pursuers are at this point and, frankly, I don’t really want to know. I’m happy not knowing where they are, as long as they’re in the same position, not knowing where I am.
I look both ways quickly as I come back up to the sidewalk and the road. I don’t see an ominous, black 1953 Ford Mainline anywhere, so I take the opportunity to sprint across. Into another yard, around the house, through the driveway, into the back, and up over the chain-link fence. Here, I’m back in another alleyway.
I run until I get to the end of the alley, at which point I need to catch my breath. I stop next to a wooden fence and look around the corner; nothing. Not a soul on the streets; just my luck. I look over my other shoulder to be sure, and there’s no one following me. I sit down and stop to clear my head.
Let’s think this through: there’s one of me and probably at least four of them. Last time we met, I was lucky enough to escape with my life. If my luck continues, maybe I can ditch them here and go into hiding for a bit.
I’m still breathing a little heavy, but I need to keep moving, at least until I’m reasonably sure I lost them. I know this area really well, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I check around the corner again, and the coast still looks clear, so I continue my sprinting. I double back and hop a few more fences, at which point I wind up behind the post office. I climb the rain gutter of the building next to it, up to the roof of the first-storey. I know the second floor of the apartment building beside me is currently empty, so I slide open the window and slip inside. I look out behind me, and I still don’t see anyone; I lost them. Here I should be safe. I can hide out here for a bit and things should cool down by daytime, at which point I can get on a bus and leave town.
I walk through the dark room with only moonlight to guide me. I head over to the corner and sit down, actually able to catch my breath this time. My eyes barely have enough time to adjust to the darkness when a sound startles me, a sound which I’ve grown quite familiar with: the cocking of a revolver.
I look up and see a familiar face behind the barrel of the weapon, which is pointed at my head. We sit in silence. I finally clear my throat, look him in the eye, and ask very slowly, “Would pulling that trigger give you satisfaction?”
He smiles, “Immense satisfaction.”
He pulls the trigger.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
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I liked the story.
Is it connected to the quote in any fashion. Because I find myself curious to see if you've done some mental acrobatics to somehow fit it in.
lol...yeah, it's connected to both the quote and the pic, just not in a literal sense like yours seems to be. Hopefully it'll become more clear later.
Very catchy beginning to the story! :)
I give this first post two seashells and a kick ass tonsil.
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