On The Run

By Alex Grossman

The minute puddle of grey water reflected back a dim light. It was a quiet winter evening; piles of bright white snow were littered throughout the deserted street. The light had faded surprisingly quickly that day; the only light here was the faint glow of the old street lamp. There was dead silence.

Then there was the distant sound of running and heavy breathing. It seemed like someone was coming. The young boy stuck his head out from the concealed vent he was hiding in. The sound grew louder; it was coming nearer. The boy thought he saw a shadow sprint right past his vent. He turned to his left; the wall reflected a black figure, twice his height; it was bending down as if in pain. The grey pool of water near the lamppost turned to violet red. More footsteps were heard in the distance.

The figure started to run again, it came to a sudden stop when it found the dead end; the figure was trapped. The sound of footsteps got nearer, then stopped. The boy turned to the entrance to the street; there was a line of grey armored soldiers armed with rifles. They took aim.
The dark outline of the figure moved faster than the boy expected, it jumped onto the wall and began sprinting along it like a spider. The soldiers opened fire. Although there were silencers on the guns, the clatter and number of bullets crashing into the aging brickwork of the buildings made the street echo with sound. The figure jumped and made a double flip in midair landing right behind the line of soldiers. He pushed one back and sent the soldier sprawling back several feet. It began to run again. The soldiers sprinted after it.

The young boy stared after them.