Young Writers Society

1.

I should never have taken the bait.

“Stop! We’re going to get you!”

If I had just minded my own business, I wouldn’t be running for my life. I would still be in the market deciding what to buy for our weekly groceries. The very thought of it made me groan. Why must I be so easily provoked?

“Stop!”

The voice of the local police makes me come back to reality. The voice seems closer than it was before. I’m unable to look behind me, so I just quicken my pace and hope to God they don’t catch me. It’s hard though, since the streets are filled with people. I push passed them as quickly as I can; being polite about it is not even on my conscience right now.

The city is not usually this crowded, but since today is when the food market is set up, it draws the usual recluses out into the street. As I run—my lungs feeling as though they’re going to burst with every stride—I scan the crowd as best I can.

Where are they? I look for Thomas’s unmistakably unkempt brown hair, his tall, skinny body, and that unreadable stance he always has. He should be the only male in the city who is being followed by an equally tall blonde boy.

I do not see them.

Of course I don’t, I think. The one time I need them instantly, they are nowhere to be seen.

I see my turn up ahead. It leads to the street the bus station is located on. Hopefully Thomas and Kid are there. If they aren’t, there is no way I can wait for them.

I dash around the corner, nearly knocking a man carrying a basket of bread to his feet. He curses loudly at me, but I ignore his remark. All I’m concerned about are my legs—they feel like lead, and my lungs are no different. It becomes quite obvious to me in this instance that I need to work out more.

I make myself push on. If I stop, they’ll catch me and tow me to jail. Assault on a highly appointed official is not something treated lightly on the Ground Level. The circumstances of the assault make my chances of avoiding a ten year sentence very slim as well. The Ground Level tends to treat Cityscape supporters like they have lesser rights than the average citizen.

As I near the bus stop, my hopes of getting away growing, I think about what Thomas is going to say. In all reality, he probably won’t say anything at all. Most of what he says is not verbal. His eyes say most of what he is thinking. I know him well enough to know he’ll be slightly amused, yet paranoid.

The Ground Level is not a place to reckon with. If a person wants to find you, they can. If a person wants to kill you, they can, and most of the time they can get away with it as well. So if the man I assaulted wants to get revenge on me, he can. He’s rich so he has the resources to find me, easily.

Thomas would have the right to be paranoid.

I shake those thoughts from the mind. Time will come to be paranoid about that, but for right now, I just need to concentrate on getting away.

I see the bus stop. Thomas and Kid are not there, and neither is the bus.

Great, I think. My mind comes up with a last-minute plan. As I execute it, I realize just how foolish and unorganized it is. I’m already turning around and running towards the police though, and my adrenaline is now the fuel for my actions. If I wanted to stop, I could have, but it would not have mattered. The result would most likely have been the same.

My head comes in contact with the police baton and I fall to the ground. The last thing I hear is my head smack the pavement.

Link to prologue:http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=100681