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I love my stubborness. Again, my character Kemine Joshua Salone in her own original story...Please read...
Chapter One
“Hey! You come back here with that!” Footsteps, light rapid ones, pounded the cement. Heavier and grungier footsteps followed it. Footsteps that owned shoes. Footsteps that belonged to the gruff voice.
My blue eyes searched the road, curious about whom the sounds belonged to. A little boy flew around the corner of the building that I was perched upon. He looked no more than five, but he had nearly passed the place where I was crouched when a heavyset man appeared, his hand holding a long butcher’s knife, his greasy body huffing as he hurried after the child. “Kid, you’re gonna pay for that apple!”
I shot up from my perch and started racing along the brick rooftops. I glanced down for a mere second, taking note that I was only in between the two on the road. I had to go farther and faster than the little boy still.
I turned back to the front just in time to see the rooftop end, leading into a six-foot wide gap. I grinned and leaped as my right foot caught the edge and pushed off, giving me an extra boost. I wasn’t heavy nor big, just small and light, but even for someone with long legs like mine, jumping a six-foot gap was a big job, especially with a two-story drop below me.
I landed lightly on the other roof, spending less than a moment crouched on the edge before shooting off again, my bare feet taking me along. I looked down. I was ahead! Finally. I reached in one my belt’s pouches and grabbed my boomerang and flipped the blade up. I jumped and started taking a few slight leaps down the wall. It propelled me ahead of the kid, and landed facing him.
“Kid, give me the apple,” I commanded. His surprised face seemed to vacillate between obeying and running. The sound of footsteps behind him, however, made up his mind for him.
“Here, take it, I didn’t want it anyway,” he snapped as he tossed the apple to me. I caught it deftly with my left hand, my boomerang still in my right, and grinned. He dashed off, his brown eyes noting the blade. I walked up to the man. He was twice as big as I was, both in height and width.
“Here,” I offered, “I believe this belongs to you.” I held out the now-bruised apple. He shook his head reluctantly.
“Keep it,” he replied. I raised my eyebrow. “We need people like you around here.” He started looking at me closer, taking in my bare feet and slightly grungy blue jeans and green shirt. “’Sides, you look like you need it.” I blushed as he walked away. True, I wasn’t rich and I didn’t have a home but I kept myself as tidy as one could on the streets. I stared at the apple as my stomach grumbled. I grimaced and thought of the boy. I could miss another meal, I’ve done it before.
I turned and headed toward the alley I’d seen the kid run down. I put the boomerang away, flipping the blade down and making it as safe as possible. I found the boy scrounging around in a garbage can. I tapped on his shoulder after plastering a smile on my face.
He spun, his grungy face staring straight at mine. I tossed him the apple. It passed him and landed in the mud and he didn’t even flinch. I frowned, annoyed. “Hey, I brought you that; you didn’t have to let it fall.” I crossed my arms. The kid sniffed and his face turned dark and stony. “Talk about ungrateful,” I muttered, furious that he wouldn’t take it. Talk about a waste of my time indeed, not to mention good food.
Ten minutes later found me in the local bar. Okay, it was a local family bar, everyone was welcome and everyone came, from the youngest child to the old geezer downtown. I usually stopped by to see what scrap of work I could pick up and do in exchange for a decent meal.
Today turned out differently though.
((oof, the shortfullness of the post...anyways, please read and critique...I know, it's kinda slow at first, but it gets better as it goes on...))
YAY!Taht was worth reading!Yay thank u for inviting me to ur wonderful topic fanfic thingy!Good writing,kg!Yay!Everyone read it!Yay and say stuff about it!Yay!...
Well, here ya go, the next chapter. Whee!! Thanks guys for the comments!! Anyways, Please read it...this one's longer..<_<
Chapter Two
“Hey, Kems, here to see about a meal?” the barkeeper asked. I smiled. The place was always friendly. Wood walls held it up, the soft lights illuminating the dining area. Filled tables spotted the place, kids running around with sandals gracing their feet and their parents conversing. I sat at one of the stools.
“Yup. What’ve ya got for me?” He shook his head and slid a glass and rag down to me. I shrugged; this was easy. Wash it, slide it back to him, and he’d give me another and my hands would prune after doing it enough. The longer the better the meal.
“Hey, you didn’t eat the apple?” I looked up at the marketer next to me and shook my head. “You really are too good for your own self. Your name is…?”
“Kemine.”
“No last name? How about initials?” My last name wasn’t needed. Initials…always kept them guessing.
“KJS, sir, that’s about all needed.” I finished the glass and slid it back down to the barkeeper, who slid another one on down. I was starting on it when someone thunked their glass down near me, the sound of empty glass echoing on hollow wood.
“Kemine…your last name wouldn’t be Salone, would it?” I froze. The guy sat down. “I knew it, I am correct, aren’t I?”
I thought about it. I could lie, but then again, it’d go against my family morals.
“Yes, sir. What’s it to you?” I started washing again.
“Nothing, I just used to know a Kemine Salone…” His voice trailed off. I stole a glance at him. He looked to be in his 40’s at least. He didn’t look familiar…but who’s to say? I’ve tried to forget my past. He perked, as though something had surprised him. “But…the Salones are all dead.”
The bar went quiet. I was a regular here, even though it’d only been a week or so since I’d…first come. They’d grown accustomed to my presence but no one knew my history. Some of them just now learned my last name from the traveler. And this bar was a gossip hotspot.
“So…are you…?”
“No sir, I am not a ghost,” I replied and continued washing. A sigh seemed to spread. “Now, I’d like to work for my meal in peace.” The barkeeper agreed.
“Yes. Sir, please leave. You’re disturbing the peace at the moment.” The traveler looked at him.
“Listen to me,” he commanded. “You’ve heard of the fire, correct?” The keeper didn’t show any recollection. “A huge fire in Thunder City a year ago. The Salone Mansion went up in flames in two minutes. By the time the trucks got there it was nearly ashes. The parents were identified…” My hand gripped the glass tighter. He did not have permission to say all this. “…and they couldn’t find the girl. They believe there was a bomb or two and the initial start began in the young lady’s room. They suspected that was the reason why it was hard to find the girl’s remains.”
“Oh yeah, I remember that!” I glanced at the marketer. Not him too. “The Salone mother was the head of a huge and famous jewelry conglomerate! The father was the creator of now the best line of toys. Even the girl had talent.” Uh-oh. “She could draw. Wow, could she draw. They say her best pieces were lost with the fire and now any originals still intact could be worth millions.” His eyes started searching the room. I started to stand. No meal was worth a recount. He pointed to something behind the barkeeper. Even the babies and children were still. “Like that.”
I turned and started to leave as the barkeeper took it down. “Yes, this is beautiful. I got it from her a month ago…it was very worn out even then. It paid her first meal.”
“A meal?!!” I could hear the traveler even though I was outside by now. “Man, a piece of Kemine Joshua Salone’s work, a KJS art as they call it, could buy a house, transportation, and servants! With left to spare!” I had most definitely had enough. I continued walking.
Who was this guy? I didn’t think I’d seen him in my life. He might have been one of my parents’ friends. I don’t know, they had so many.
I found myself walking down the richer part of town. I looked to my left and noticed some balloons. “Happy Birthday, Peter!” was written on them. They were in all colors, but none of them were void of these words. Laughter and music reached my ears. Curious, I walked across the lawn and peeked in the window, the big huge, bright window. Unlike my life.
Inside was a well-furnished room. Entertainment, relaxation, decoration, it was stuffed to the top. Little kids ran around playing musical chairs, party hats and shoes stacked in a corner. One boy wore a crown three sizes too big for him and smile stretching his face. They raced around and all of a sudden stopped and scrambled for the last chair. The crowned boy and a chubby one ended up bumping noses. Being boys they jumped on each other and it took both parents to stop it. The game was stopped and the kids were headed out of the room. I grinned and leaned my chin on the windowsill. So many memories.
I almost left when something caught my eye. The chubby one was pointing to something…me. The parents rushed in and look out the window. I groaned. Uh-oh.
The door opened. The parents stepped out, the dad holding a gun. They looked around, finally herding stray kids back in and locking the door. My arms trembled as the door slammed. I breathed a sigh of relief from my stand on the porch roof, a spot no longer than I was tall and at a point, not to mention very thing width-wise. My hands gripped the windowsill of one of the upper windows.
“Happy birthday, dear Kemine. Happy birthday to you!” Streamers and confetti and balloons floated around aimlessly. A young lady and man, both handsome and beautiful and young, beamed with joy. A little girl in a blue dress jumped up and down, brown pigtails swaying. She lept into the stocky man who grabbed her and swung her around. She giggled with pure joy and the innocence of a little child.
“Papa, I’m five!” He giggled as the girl planted a sloppy kiss on his scraggly cheek. The mother smiled and put her arms around the two.
“Yes you are, sweets,” the mom replied with love. “Five is a very special age.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And look at what we got!” The girl started bouncing in her dad’s arms, her eyes huge and bright.
“What? What? Shomee! Shomee!” The mom produced a box that the girl promptly opened. “Wow…look at all the colors, Papa!” She shoved the box into his face.
“Yes, they’re beautiful. And they’re yours,” he replied. She looked at him curiously.
“Papa…” The box was now hugged to her chest. They set her on the table.
“Sweets, listen. They’re yours now,” the mom told her complacently. “Five is a very special age.”
“Salone is a very special name,” the father took over. The girl nodded.
“Yeah, you’re infamous!”
“Infamous?”
“Yup! Famous sounds stupid. Infamous sounds cool. John said it.” The parents still smiled.
“Salones have names to uphold. We have a code of honor. A Salone never lies.”
“Never?”
“Never ever. Tell the truth or run. Never beg either. You’re a proud little girl.”
“Yes, Mama,” the girl replied. “Never beg.”
“Exactly. Salones work for their accomplishments, they do it on their own. And finally, always try. If you fall, get up and try again. If you fail, put it aside and try again. But don’t ever quit.”
((Second Chapter, obvoiusly. It seems longer..or maybe that's the font. Anyways, sorry about the first post, I'll be editing that one. Constructive Critisicism please.))
Thanks Xy!! Well, keeping it up...oh boy, the stubborness...Anyways, Chapter three for y'all....
Chapter Three
My feet slipped slightly. I must have been lost in la-la-land a while, my feet are asleep. I regained my balance and looked around. I didn’t look long.
“Hey you!” The man of the house I was perched on was on the ground holding a green hose. I decided to play stupid.
“Uh, hi!” I called out. “I don’t seem to know why I’m here, care to get me down?”
“Get off my house!” My plan didn’t work. He turned the hose on.
“Uh-oh.” I leaped up as the water hit the wall. I swung up, landing on the sill above the window and scrambled up to the roof. The water followed, spraying the glass windows and brick. It must have been a very powerful hose; it soared over me as I ducked on the roof. I felt a light mist come over me. I lept up and headed to the edge of the roof, balancing on the ledge. I flipped out my boomerang.
I came to the edge abruptly and looked down. The guy was still there spraying the water, the mother and kids dispersing into the yard. The kids were laughing and pointing. I rolled my eyes. Oh, great.
I headed on down the side, my back to them, and flipped up the blade on the boomerang. Thankfully the water hadn’t gotten this far and it was still dry. But if I didn’t hurry I wouldn’t make it off before the water came, resulting in my slipping and falling a good thirty feet to my certain death.
A clothes wire appeared ahead of me. I grinned and swung my weapon up and sliced the wire, flipped the blade down and slipped it in my pouch in one swipe. I grabbed the wire with my free left hand. I jumped just as the water hit the pole. I swung down, the wind rushing by. I clutched the rope with both hands, scared my skin would fly off, and I felt I was going at a hundred miles. I yelled slightly as the next house grew closer and swung my legs up. Thank goodness for the years and years I’d had of gymnastics and karate.
I landed roughly, the wire taut. It was at an angle off to right and I immediately started running along the wall, keeping the wire as straight as possible. I was running straight out form the wall, nearly parallel to the ground. Not a good position. I looked up and got a spray of water in the face. The man obviously wasn’t worried about hitting his neighbor’s house, so long as he hit the culprit. I spat the water out; it was amazingly refreshing, though the water was relatively cool and the water cold. Running can make you awfully warm.
I shook my head to get the water out. My hands started to slip and I repositioned them. They kept slipping but thankfully they didn’t fall. C’mon, don’t fail me now! This isn’t our stop! I looked ahead, brown strands of wet hair falling in my face. The wire was reaching its end. If I kept going I’d start going up. I wanted to get as low to the ground as possible.
I let my feet run off lightly ‘till I was swinging from the momentum. I let go and started flying, or, as some would say, falling with style. I landed, the wire slapping the house and the owners looking out the windows. I dashed off not wasting any time. The water followed as I turned the corner. “Don’t come back!” The guy yelled. “Don’t worry, I won’t!” I kept running and eventually reached the bar I’d just come from. Oh great. I leaned on the walls and caught my breath. I glanced around. The barkeeper was out sweeping the porch. He looked up and caught my eye. He opened his mouth.
All of a sudden I noticed two hooded men behind him, a while on down the street, but coming this way rapidly. I was pretty sure they couldn’t’ see me, the keeper was a big man and I was small, small enough to be hidden by his hulking figure. I knew I should have left.
Not like I could, I was scared stiff. For the third time this month pure fear coursed my veins.
The keeper was looking at me strangely and it was only when the hooded men tapped on his should that I slipped out of my trance. He turned around and the men still hadn’t shown any sign of seeing me. I decided to leave it at that.
I scurried up the side of the building, going faster than ever. I was going a speed only fright could push me to go. I reached the roof and lay there behind the ledge, gasping for air. I could hear the men.
“Kemine?”
“Yes a girl about yay tall, very small. Brown hair, blue eyes.” The voice was like a sharp metal tool being sharpened upon a wheel, only muffled slightly. Each word sent that fear through me again. I was near tears, which surprised me; I rarely got scared, much less close enough to cry.
“Oh, yes, I know her.” No you don’t sir, please, for the sake of all things good, you don’t know me! “She’s right—why, where’d she go?” I nearly breathed a sigh of relief—good, he forgot, he forgot he saw me, or at least didn’t know where I was—when I stopped because I could feel hot drops of molten gold dripping onto my shoulder blades. I froze and willed the feeling to away. I bit my lip to hold back tears. I relaxed as I thought it went away. These men were something else.
I could hear murmurs down below, but I didn’t listen closely. Nothing could’ve made me hear those words again, any words. The footsteps started again, hurrying away. The sweeping started up again. I raised myself to my elbows, weak to the knees and all my other limbs. I pushed my self over the ledge and lay there for a while before continuing, half falling off and half lying on the roof. Take a deep breath, Kemine. You’re an artist, a fighter, a Salone. They’ve gone, I told myself. I pushed myself over and slipped down the side clumsily. I landed, my legs wobbly and I fell, scaring the keeper slightly. Of course they’re gone.
“Kemine…miss, are you…?” the keeper asked uncertainly. I looked up at him, sure my blue eyes were haunted and face pale. I stood up and headed towards the door. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Sir, please,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “For the sake of this wretched town, don’t tell…don’t say…a word…If anything, if you must…please sir…I’d rather be dead.” Dead. What a word. I stumbled through the door and made my way to the place I was usually at, the bar. I collapsed in a seat and pulled out a pencil and a pad of paper. I felt like a drunken man, but unlike a drunken man, it’d take a little art instead of time to draw me from my stupor.
I picked up the pencil and hit the button to bring out the lead: a mechanical pencil. I never did like those that you had to sharpen. I flipped to a blank page and put the pencil to the paper. The place had hushed. I hunched over the paper as old and new ideas crowded into my mind.
I began to draw. The pencil scratched the paper. It flew over it, I hadn’t drawn for a month, and yet here I was drawing like a talented madman. Tears sprang to my eyes as the picture started to form. Why? Why me? I’m not created for this kind of stress. It’s not fair! It’s not Fair! I started crying and a drop hit the paper. I rubbed at it slightly and despairingly before realizing that it added something. I pushed it away and laid my head on the table. Mama, Papa! I gripped the pencil and started grinding it in the wood. Sobs shook my shoulders profoundly. It’s not fair. I failed, Mama. Papa, it’s not fair!
The door opened and a pair of heavy footsteps walked in, followed by light dangerous ones. I looked up as the barkeeper came in on the other side. I glanced out of the corners of my eyes, but the other footsteps weren’t in there. I looked back at the grim man.
“Kemine, an explanation is in order,” he said, his voice void of feeling. You haven’t been yourself today.” Myself. Really? What is myself? Am I ever myself? Was I ever myself? I nodded reluctantly.
“I used to be the richest person in the world,” I whispered, “well, after my parents, that is.
“The richest?” he interrupted dubiously. I glared.
“Please don’t interrupt. I never lie. Never ever.” The doubt left him. I continued. “My mother was the president of the Starlight Jewels. My father was the creator of the toys for the intellectual, ranging from a talking doll to the most complex puzzle. They were sold out within a week of being on the shelves. During Christmas each store had to order at least three huge stocks of each and every toy. They were that good and well-crafted.
“And me, I’ve been drawing since I was five years old, ever since I got my first box of colors. My art could sell for at least a million some times. From what I’ve heard they sell now for even more than a million. I was infamous; yes infamous, famous sounds pompous and overridden, one of those snobby stars. Infamous sounds down to earth, more relaxed. I was always doing that, making my own meanings and words.
“Anyways, about a year ago my parents and I got in a huge fight. One of those big ones over something small and ridiculous. I ended up going to bed that night stormy. Well, by the time I’d gone to sleep I’d decided to apologize. I never got that chance.” My voice grew hard and despiteful. It seemed as though the whole bar was leaning in to hear, though my voice was still very quiet.
“Two hooded men visited us that night. Not by the front door, mind you, my window. I was still in my blue and gold pajamas, silk ones, and my belt on my headboard. I was bound and gagged even in my sleep. I didn’t wake up until it was too late. They took me out by a ladder, and thankfully my belt came with me.” I scratched the table harder; a groove had begun to form. The barkeeper had taken no notice. The picture still lay on the wood, a quick sketch, completed except for my initials I usually put on, the wet blotch in the middle.
I bit my lip. Did I dare go on? No one had ever heard this before. No one. Nor did I wish anyone to hear it. It’s not fair! It’s not fair at all. I glanced up at the man. He was resting on the wood. He was at least only five feet away, but he could be on the other side of the world for all I could say. His eyes were hollow as though he were lost in thought. The room was silent, deathly silent. I wished someone would say something, but I knew they were waiting. I gripped my right wrist with my left hand to steady it. It relaxed and dropped the pencil. I fiddled with the metal cuff on my wrist.
A deep sigh left my chest. I gulped, scared to go on. I didn’t need a recount of that year; I wanted to forget it. Why not another year? My kindergarten year, years later in middle school, but this one? Why this one year? I continued.
“They took me to out to the edge of the woods our yard bordered. It wasn’t that far either, only about 50 yards. They spun me around just as the…,” my voice nearly broke, “…just as the…the bomb went off. It blew off about a quarter of the house, a whole quarter! Our house was huge, a mansion. After that it didn’t take long. You could see the inside for a second. The attic, a bathroom, Papa’s study, one wall of my room. I was wide awake by now. I could see all the boxes upstairs burning to a crisp, my posters and ribbons disappearing, Papa’s blueprints…it was awful.” Well, there you go, I’d avoided saying that for a year, it seemed like it was a dream, a nightmare, and now saying it makes it real. “There were other bombs that went off after the main explosion. It happened like dominoes. I forget exactly what happened after that, I was drugged.
“I woke up in a cell somewhere, bound and still gagged. Everything went downhill from there. Every single day I was taken somewhere by a hooded man and told to draw. The first week I refused. I outright refused and what did I get? Whips.” I undid the cuff and it clanged on the wood, a hollow sound. I rolled up my sleeve as I kept talking. “Whipped on my arms. That first week I went back to my cell with sore arms every night, I could barely pick up the little food they gave me.” Intakes of breath had followed my display. Of course, what do you expect? No one wants to see a bloody, scarred arm. It’s the reason I wore long sleeve shirts.
“I finally learned that if I rebelled, my arms would be destroyed along with the use of my hands. At least enough to make them tremble, and no artist can draw if their hands tremble when they touch something. I gave in and drew; nothing could make me stop drawing. This went on for about a year, or at least until last month. For some reason the captors decided to move and we were all somewhere else. Maybe the authorities there were a little too curious for them; I don’t know. They must have been out of it; they put me in a room with an air vent.
“It took me no longer than a minute to get the grate off. I ended up going out that way. I found my belt in one of the rooms. I continued until I found a way out. I’ve been on the run since. This is my sixth town; I rarely stayed in one place longer than a week.” I was done. There was no more to say. I rolled my sleeve back down and slipped the metal cuff on. I slipped the pencil away and started fingering the groove, my chin in the palm of my left hand.
“That’s, that’s…” the man stuttered. I felt a harsh hand on my shoulder and froze up.
“That’s touching.”
((Wow, a little longer. Yes, the story...how sad....this is the main part of the whole thing...guessy who says the last two words. Anyways, one more chapter after this, and then it will die. How sad. It is a short story after all.))
For the sake of you all, I'll post the last sentence of the last chapter. Anyways, thank you PiPee, thank you Xy, and everyone else. Y'all can continue reading this..but like I said...it's a short story...not much I can do about it. I'm saving the big stuff for actual books and publishers. >^.^<
Chapter Four
“That’s touching.”
The blade. That cold, harsh, metal, grinding blade cut the words, giving it a silver lining, but one that could kill. My finger stopped fingering the groove and it either froze or melted, I’m not sure which, all I knew was that I couldn’t move it. Just as the rest of my body couldn’t move.
And I didn’t like it.
Someone grabbed my arm. It was a cold and frosty hand that I could feel all the way through the sleeve. It gripped it tightly as though it wanted to hurt me on purpose. I could feel the scars pulsing pain into my fingers and brain and I locked my jaw, unwilling to give in and scream, no matter how much it hurt. The hands pulled my arms behind me, my chin in the same spot though it’s rest had left it.
Something twisted around my wrists. It chaffed them rudely; a rope. A crude, strong rope. They yanked me off the barstool and as they did so I met the barkeeper’s eyes. Blank, confused, and just plain dumb fear and horror streaked his brown eyes.
I slipped and the gaze broke. The men tied a gag around my mouth, cutting off all words I could have said had my throat not swelled. I could feel tears well up in my eyes again. I blinked and willed them to disappear.
“The girl is delirious,” my captors told the barkeeper. “This is her latest story. We’ve been tracking her for a while and we’re glad we found her.” I’m not sure what brought me out of my trance; the words or the voice itself.
I shook my head slightly and one of the hands clamped on my chin and squeezed it. I felt like my jaw would burst no matter how strong doctors say that bone is. I had given up all hope by now; maybe I was destined to be tortured and draw for the rest of my life or at least until 18…or death. I had had a home of sorts…I didn’t like it, but it fed me and kept me dry.
“Sir, you can’t just take her away,” the barkeeper muttered. He was silenced by a glare from the man. He seemed to fumble a bit but continued. “She’s done work around here for a long time. She even gave me this picture.” He pointed to the one on the wall. The one with two adults and a little girl. The girl was holding a box of colors and a raggedy old doll she slept with until about fourteen or fifteen. The mother held a jewelry box and the dad held a puzzle. The background behind the mother was a beautiful jeweled area and behind the father were gears that seemed to be frozen in time. My family.
They yanked me again and I hung my head. My jaw was free but they had a tight grasp on my shoulders. They must have been careless; if I felt like it, I could’ve gotten away.
But then I’d be running again. Forever probably, or at least until eighteen or death. I couldn’t stay here if I did, everyone knew me. They knew the Salone line still lived. That the will money my godparents got really didn’t belong to them but to me. If I stayed here I’d have to testify against these men, I’d have to go into law and go through all that mainly because media and famous snobs would make me. I didn’t want that.
I didn’t want my godparents to have to take me in, or have them scrounge around for the million or so the Salone will had left them. I couldn’t live with myself if they had to do that.
Maybe what I did do wasn’t the brightest thing one would or could do. Maybe it wasn’t the brightest thing I should do. But it’s done and the damage and/or healing is complete.
I swung my leg backwards hit the guy in the groin. He groaned and let go of my shoulders. I leaned to the left and the still-moving leg swung the next guy in the groin also right as he was turning to check his friend. He grunted and stumbled against the bar. I opened my mouth and squeeze my tongue through and pushed the gag down. My hands fumbled for the belt pocket on the left that held my boomerang.
I started backing up and as I did I tripped over a chair. I slammed onto my back. The pocket opened and the boomerang slipped out to land just behind my head. I got on my knees and shuffled forward. I leaned down and grabbed the boomerang. I flipped the blade up and sliced the ropes, slitting a little bit of my palm. The ropes fell and I gritted my teeth against the pain. I put it to my mouth and sucked the blood up. I didn’t want the blood on my only outfit.
I untied the gag and put it in my pocket and rubbed my wrist with my hand, the boomerang back in my pocket, also sure I looked like a dumbbell with my hand in my mouth and my other hand rubbing its wrist. I stood up and glanced around.
The men were standing up by now and shifting towards me. I glared at them and backed up. I grabbed a napkin from one of the tables and stuck my bleeding hand into it. Thankfully palms don’t bleed much.
I ran into one of the walls and got trapped into a corner, literally. The bar had all retreated to the other side and the keeper was ringing someone. I brought my attention back to the men. My fury had overcome my fear, and unfortunately, that rage of fury was big one.
I grabbed my boomerang again, the blade out.
“Come with us, Kemine,” the man taunted. “There’s no need to harm anyone.” I frowned and snorted.
“Like I’m going with you.” They reached me and I jumped vaulting over them. I started to run towards the door, dodging the tables. I reached the front desk and nearly ran into it. I ducked and slid past and hit the door on the way out.
I opened it and paused halfway through. Time seemed to slow down as I did. The barkeeper was still on the ringer, watching me warily. The rest of the people all watched me and the men. My captors were still sprawled amongst the tables and spilled drink I and them had accidentally toppled.
Could I do it? I did. Should I? It doesn’t matter. I did. I did and nothing could change that.
I stepped through and closed the door, hard. I stared at it for a minute and decided to leave it. I’d already hurt the bar enough, no need to destroy the handle. I let go and a streak of blood was left on the knob. I climbed to the roofs above me. I looked around and wrapped the once-upon-a-time-gag around my hand when I got up there. This really is it. I’ve overstayed my stay, and it’s time I left.
I started to jog down the roof and jumped to the next. I kept going, keeping a steady pace. After a few jumps I heard voices behind me. I didn’t look back, but I would go in a slightly different direction before going the original way just to lose them. I didn’t take any chances.
I reached the end of the taller roofs and was beginning to jump a little lower as I kept going. As I did I kept thinking of the two options I’d had.
Truth or tell. Admit the truth and face it, or tell the truth and avoid it. I’d chosen the latter this time. Maybe it was a bad choice. Maybe I’d never know what this “it” is or was. This “it” I would have to face. Maybe I would if my intrepid could overcome my fear. This time it was my fury, not my courage. Fury obviously wasn’t the answer to life’s problems. At least not to mine. Bravery was my “anti-drug,” as a few do-gooders say. The answer I have yet to completely harness.
I’d come to the end and jumped down. I looked around the house to make sure the road was clear. Good, I thought to myself, it is. I began to jog down the road, the setting sun to my right, the oncoming night to my left.
As I went, I could feel tears spring to my eyes. I let them come, and as I did, I repeated to myself the words, three words.
Truth or tell…truth or tell…truth or…truth…
((Well, thank you all for reading. Hopefully this won't be the last post. Continue on commenting, I'll reply directly to it. May you forever tell the truth, never ever beg, and might you always continue your dreams and don't give up, no matter what they say.))
Thanks! I'm still debating on doing any other stories on her, currently, though she's my most developed character I own. And I really ought to do something about that font. Meh. *goes to change it*
May you forever tell the truth, never ever beg, and might you always continue your dreams and don't give up, no matter what they say.))
