Young Writers Society

I race silently past the short little houses squatting beside the dirt road. My gritty, soaked hair slaps against my forehead, sending droplets of pure water down my cheeks and onto my chin. I keep running.

The sun-dried ground carries me off into the distance, poking through the surface of my skin, making me bleed. Praying I am not leaving a trail of blood, I duck down an alley. Will they find me? Breathing hard, I back up against a wall and watch from the shadows the opening I have just raced through. Only seconds later, stealthy black-clothed guards slip silently into the opening of my alley. My breath catches in my throat as I stare fearfully at the leader’s gleaming sword sheath, strapped intimidatingly to his back.

He, or maybe it’s a she, peers into the darkness all around him. He nods toward the shadow-like group behind him, his fingers flitting through the air in silent communication, white gloves gleaming maliciously. The group immediately separates into five different groups, dispersing down the five passages on and off of the main road. A larger group darts into my alley, stalking the shadows that are abundant in this part of the city. I feel them sense the presence of my soul, their uncanny way of knowing things presented as they unsheathe their swords and slip through the night towards me. Everywhere I look there is a guard.

Panicking slightly, I slip into the darkest, deepest shadows and grope among the night looking for a handhold in the limestone walls. Cutting my hand in the process, I push my scrawny body off the ground and into the air. The wind whips my soaked bangs and I can just see the shiver crawl down my spine. Time slows down as I watch a single drop of water fling itself free from the claustrophobia of my bangs and pierce through the air, striking a perfect hit on the heart of one of the shadow guards. His head snaps sharply in my direction and he moves as if struck by lightning in my direction, all the while signaling others in the foreboding language of the hand. I climb for dear life, striking stone after stone with my blind attempts. The sting of the wind pushes through the darkness to my bloodied hands as my ascent becomes more and more desperate. The silent slice of a blade cutting through the air stings my thoughts with identical pain as the one shooting through my lower leg this very moment. I scream inside and bite my lip until blood seeps from it. Wrenching the blade from the depths of my calf, I struggle to the top of the squat building that has a significant part in determining my fate. The roof tops greet me like long lost friends as I pull myself over the edge of that dreaded alley.

Using the last of my strength, I push myself into a standing position and stagger as fast as humanly possible through the fateful night. The sharp edges of the ends of buildings block my path every few yards, and I find myself faltering too many times in the darkness. The outlines of guards nearby swarm to meet me in every direction, and I find myself cornered against the fateful edge of a building, the emptiness behind my back pulling and pushing me in the wind; willing me to come and accompany it in its ascent towards the heavens and back to the lowly earth. A block of stone crumples under my foot and I struggle to keep my footing. As the last precious seconds of freedom tick away, the craziness of the night convinces me to believe the impossible. Taking a enormous breath, I leap into the night sky, willing the souls of the victims of Shadows past to carry me on their wings of underserved eternalizm. For if I do not escape, my life will never end and therefore I shall be living an eternal Hell not deserved by anyone. I can feel the pulsing beat of fellow victim’s souls in the night sky, under me, next to me, over me, everywhere. They carry me to the farthest of all buildings in the city, then swoop into the darkness while wishing me luck of any and every kind. Weaving through my fingers, a silver lock of hair wriggles about my wrist in a symbol of eternal luck, tying itself off at the ends. I press my hand to my heart, kiss it and push it into the wind as a sign of thanks. In the time it takes for such a simple gesture to occur, an eerie whistle blows through the wind, reaching my ears as I twist around in fright of the impossible.

“No!” My mind screams as the streak of silver breaks through the magic of the moment, into the underside of my arm.

“No, no, no, no…..” I crumple to the ground and utter a silent sob. Peering up into the darkness, the beautiful darkness that gave me life and meaning, I stare into the shaft of a silver arrow, loaded on a golden bow in the hand of a murderous archer. He stares coldly down the shaft, into the depths of my heart through the window of the Eyes.

“NO!!” I scream as invisible blades pierce me from every direction. A single tear races down my cheek as the gleaming arrow plunges through my heart, into my soul.