[Day four]
They had come at night that time, right after that moment; wolves in sheep's clothing, identifying themselves to my parents with letter combinations that I didn't recognize and symbols of authority, surely polished to shine. Not that I saw them. My mother had been the one to open the door, and I had time to stuff my savings into a backpack and climb out the window. I never saw or heard from them after that, not the parents nor the fake sheep... Not until I casually slipped into the kitchen five minutes late for work and heard the same strange letter combination, from the same serious and authoritative voices. I froze, not knowing what to do, not wanting to run away again, but knowing I needed to escape. The woman asked if anyone by my name worked there, but the blonde hurricane said no; seeing as she had never known me by that name, so the man asked her if she had ever seen the man on the picture... She had.
I finally did what I should've done when I first heard their voices – I ran. The boss just stared after me, with more emotion than I had seen in his face in quite some time, as I backed out through the door and carefully closed it behind me. As the rubber soles of my sneakers gripped the asphalt with the same desperation that I felt in my chest. I didn't want to leave this boring town. I had a home there, a job, a hurricane to sometimes join me at night. It wasn't the home, job or hurricane that I had imagined for myself, but I had felt safe. The same backpack that I had taken with me from my parents home was still in my closet, with the money I had saved up, some clothes and a toothbrush. Everything I needed to disappear without a trace.
“Knock-knock-knock,” said the door, but it sounded more like bullets clattering against the door. “Mr. Berger, we know you're in there. We need to talk to you about what happened at that library three years ago.”
In one moment I had been writing, and in the other moment I was running from my own words, escaping the library before they could do to me what they did to the people around me. On the news they had said it was a gas leak, but ever since that day I had been hunted by that unfamiliar combination of letters. They thought I was a terrorist, and if I told them what had happened they'd think I was insane, so I ran. The bullets on the door turned into grenades, and I forced the old window open and jumped out onto the swaying fire escape, not stopping even though it creaked under my weight. I needed to get down and then to the bus stop, preferably without twisting an ankle or breaking anything. The bus passed every ten minutes, and it would probably take them at least five minutes to blast the door open, search the apartment and then follow my trail. I had a chance, slimmer than any ballerina, but it existed. I got the rusty old ladder down, but when I was climbing it gave a metallic roar of pain, a final scream before being conquered by its old age. Part of the dead beast came down with me, down to a loud crunching sound and darkness.
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