“On the run”
By: Fondo
I was panting hard as I hit the ground running. I could hear and feel the gun shots go by. I could feel my hair move with the wind of a passing bullet and my feet vibrate as the subway passed underneath the streets. I could hear the roar of gunshots and automobile engines. A smell of old oil and death flooded my nose and I could feel the burn of sweat in my eyes. My feet thumped quickly against the ground as I turned the corner. I was breathing so hard now that it almost drowned out all other sounds. I could feel my heart beat in every part of my body and my legs felt as if they were ready to explode.
I had lost count but I was sure that my pistol, which I had been carrying with me, had no bullets left. I would need a place to hide, a place to get a weapon in order to defend my self. Who was I kidding, even if I had a ‘tank’ I would not be able to make a stand against them.
I was beginning feel as if I had lost them but that was to much hope to soon. As I turned the corner into yet another side alley there was one of them already waiting for me. The man in the suit, if you can call him a man, raised this right hand and reached into his blazer. I didn’t stick around to see what devices filled with death he could protrude from the dark hollows of his coats inner pocket. I turned hard and made my way the opposite direction. I could swear I felt his breath on the back of my neck but that couldn’t have been possible, because I could here him running about twenty paces behind me.
I jumped with all the energy I could gather up on what seemed to be a balcony and from there continued to climb the fire ladder toward the roof of the building. From the roof I would have a much better point of view and my escape options would increase dramatically.
My hands where beginning to hurt because my arms flung them against the railing with out considering the force with which they would be hitting the cold steel.
I could hear my self scream please there be a way out up there. I could feel my stomach get all warm an fuzzy as I was thinking of the eventuality of escape. My dreams where shattered. As I reached the top of the ladder one of those Agents of the system was already standing there, I wonder how they do it, holding a pistol to my brow. I could feel the cold steel against my sweaty forehead. I could smell the lubricants and cleaning oils that had been used to treat the gun. The last thing I could here was the movement of a mechanism that strangely reminded me of the ticking of a clock.
Then I went to sleep.
