. This is about half of what I have written so far, so tell me what you think!The S’earph Wars
Prologue
As I crouch in the darkness, I hear the shrieks. They know I’m near. And if I’m found, the gloom and rubble around me will offer little protection. I grip my staffsword in sweaty hands, and close my eyes. It’s useless. They’ll find me, and all will end. I shake my head furiously. No! I won’t let that happen. If I give up…Well, I don’t want to think about it. The important thing is the here and now. Whether I fight or give up. That is the difference.
Slowly I stand, pointing the gently glowing staffsword towards the oncoming noises. The excited chatter rises to a deafening pitch. They have my scent, and they are coming.
Time to fight.
Chapter 1: Streets
“Come on, Cutter!”
I look up from the roots that I’m harvesting. You’d never think it, but Central Park is a virtual vegetable garden.
“What, Kili?”
She nods towards the policeman walking towards us. I groan.
“I don’t have enough yet!”
“Well, it’ll have to do, won’t it?” Kili says, grabbing the root sack. I hastily start scraping dirt back into the holes we’ve made, and stand up. And look straight into the red face of the angry policeman.
“What d’you think you’re doing?” he snarls, spraying saliva all over my face, “Tearing up the grass like that? In Central Park? That’s a big offence!”
I gulp, and open my mouth to say something when, suddenly, Kili shrieks.
“Officer! Over there! Someone’s cutting down that tree!”
The policeman whirls around, a fresh reprimand already on his lips…only to see nothing.
********************
We run as fast as our long legs can carry us, Kili’s short blonde hair blowing in the wind, and my mass of red curls bouncing with each stride. We’re on the edge of Central Park before the officer even realizes what Kili did.
“Stop! Hey, you kids, I said STOP!”
So of course, we don’t stop. We dash across the street, pick up the packs we left behind a dumpster, and continue on. I risk looking back, and see the officer speaking hurriedly into a walkie-talkie. Great.
“Through there,” I pant to Kili, gesturing towards an alleyway. She nods, and we veer into it.
Generally, going down dark alleyways in New York City isn’t a good idea. But when you’re homeless teenagers, sometimes you’ve got to take risks. As we careen down the grimy alley, I pondered that. If Kili and I had actual parents, we wouldn’t have been digging for roots on public property. We wouldn’t be in trouble. Heck, we wouldn’t be homeless, either. But neither of us have parents, so we’re on the streets. And we don’t want to live in an orphanage. It’s better this way, free as we are.
***********************
I’ve been with Kili for a long time. We think of each other as siblings, and we look out for each other. When I ran away from my foster home, when I was eight, I met her. I was wandering around the dark streets, looking for somewhere to sleep, and I just found her. She was slumped against the wall of a building, shivering. Figuring I didn’t have anything better to do, I sat by her, pulling a blanket out of the backpack I’d taken from my foster parents. She didn’t say anything as I put the blanket around her shaking body. I smiled at her, and she returned the favor.
*********************
We keep running when we exit the alley, changing direction at random to throw the police off our scent. Eventually, we decide we’ve gone far enough. I lean against a building, gasping. Kili gets down on her knees and wipes the sweat from her eyes.
“That was a close one,” I finally manage to say.
Kili nods, but then frowns.
“Any idea where we are?”
I look around. The building I’m leaning against is an old warehouse, covered in graffiti and obviously abandoned. In the distance, I can see a subway station, with a sign next to it.
“I think we’re somewhere on Park Avenue,” I say.
“Great. We’re not that far from Central Park. We should get further away.” Kili says.
“Or we could see if there’s a way into this building,” I say thoughtfully, “And wait here till morning.”
Kili looks at the building doubtfully.
“Somehow, I just don’t think that we, two fifteen-year-olds, should go into the creepy abandoned building for the night.” She says.
I roll my eyes, “Umm, Kili, either way, we spend the night in some dark corner of this city, completely vulnerable to just about anything.”
“Fair enough. Still, I’ve got a weird feeling about this place…”
“I’ll take that into all due consideration,” I say, grinning, “How ‘bout we split up? Look around both sides of the building?”
“I’d rather go together,” Kili says.
“Fine. You’re the one who’s always asking me to hurry up, but if that’s what you want…”
“It is,” she says firmly.
“Okay then.”
We edge around the front of the warehouse, searching for broken windows, unlocked doors. We find nothing. As I reach the left corner, Kili stops.
“I really don’t think we should do this, Cutter,”
“Kili. We’ve got to find a place to stay that’s out of the way tonight. And it’s already getting dark.” I say, my exasperation obvious.
“I know, but-,”
That’s when I hear the sirens. Coming directly towards us. Kili abruptly stops speaking.
“They’ve found us,” I whisper.
We both tear around the corner of the warehouse, frantically looking for a place to hide. Finally, Kili spots what we’ve been looking for. A shattered first-floor window. Kili jumps through the opening, and I follow suit, landing in a spacious, gloomy room. We quietly move to the far side of the room, and crouch in the dark, hardly daring to breathe. The sirens seem to roar in my ears, drowning out even the pounding of my heart. After what seems to be hours, but is probably only seconds, the whoo-wa-whoo-wa of the sirens fades into the encroaching night.
I stand slowly, my eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom. Kili gets up as well, turning around. All around the perimeter of the room, there are broken crates, bits of junk spilling out, and stacks of cardboard, leaning precariously against each other. I look up, and can vaguely see the vast ceiling of the warehouse, small cracks of fading light shining through minute cracks in the corrugated metal. The floors are dusty, but Kili and I are evidently not the only ones who have passed through here. There are footprints on the ground, but it’s too dark to see them.
Kili walks over to the broken window, and looks at it closely. I join her, hearing the crunch of glass under my old sneakers.
“This window was broken recently,” Kili whispers to me, picking up a razor-sharp shard of glass, “If it had been old, the glass would have been worn, but this isn’t.”
We stare at each other, thinking the same thing: What ever it was that broke the window is probably still in the building with us.
“It could just be an animal,” I say reasonably, “There are plenty of raccoons and foxes living in Manhattan.”
“A fox couldn’t have broken this window, Cutter, unless it was thrown through it,” Kili says, worriedly.
“Well, I don’t think we should worry about it right now. If we just keep down in the shadows over in the corner, we’ll be fine. We can hightail it out of here in the morning.”
Kili still looks unconvinced, but nods in agreement.
“Let’s set a watch, though, alright?” she says.
“Fine by me,” I reply.
Chapter 2: Shadows
Kili and I set down our packs in the corner nearest the window, just in case we need to make a hasty escape. With some quiet shifting of the mildewed crates and boxes that line the walls, we make ourselves a small barricade. We have decided to speak in whispers, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. You can never be too careful.
I sit down on the dusty floor, and lean against the cold metal of the wall. It’s nice to at least be inside a building, even if it’s decrepit and full of rotting cardboard. I sigh, and open my pack, pulling out my old gas stove. It’s not much, just a tiny burner above the gas chamber, but it’s useful. Between taking in wishing fountains (always a good source of money) and just looking on the ground for loose change, Kili and I can usually scrounge up enough cash to buy gas for the stove every month.
“You wanna cook the spuds tonight, or eat the oatmeal?” I whisper to Kili, holding up our last packets of instant mush.
Kili frowns, “We might as well eat the oatmeal. The potatoes will last awhile,”
“I guess so,” I say, secretly wanting to eat the potatoes.
Kili hands me our bottle of water, which we filled at a drinking fountain, and I pour most of its contents into a small tin pot. Setting it on the burner, I fumble for the almost empty box of matches at the bottom of my pack. I open the gas valve, and light it, wondering to myself where we’ll get more matches. Sometimes charities have them. Most of the time, they don’t.
