The Closest Call (GBS~Noms)
Sept 19, 2009 16:15:33 GMT -5
Post by Quint on Sept 19, 2009 16:15:33 GMT -5
Corpus
I jump off the shack and hit the ground running. My worn sneakers pounding against the ground so hard, my ankles are numb and I temporarily lose my sight because I’m running so fast. But that’s the point of escaping right. Running. I can hear the Peacekeepers shouting and hollering at us. Why? We’ve done nothing to them. But we’ve done everything to the Capitol. Escape. Such a sick word.
People refer to escape as ‘a killer escaping from prison’ or ‘vicious dogs escaping from their leash’, but to us, escape was our favorite word. And now, we were taking part in it. I didn’t know how the others were doing, but I knew that they were thinking the same thing. Freedom.
After years of hard work, the labor and cruelty had finally gotten to me. It had hurt me so much that I was willing to leave everything. My mom. My dad. My sisters. My brothers. Even that elderly man I helped get up in the morning. I made him breakfast and even took some of his labor. But not anymore. It was my turn to have a break.
It was my turn to have revenge.
I dislocate my shoulder as my arm swings back and forth from sprinting and before I know it, I’m on the ground, recovering from the heaviest faceplant of my life. I didn’t know what to do. I was struggling to get up. Would the others come back for me? Would they risk their lives, or worse, their freedom to save someone they’ve only known for a couple of years?
There was only way to find out.
People refer to escape as ‘a killer escaping from prison’ or ‘vicious dogs escaping from their leash’, but to us, escape was our favorite word. And now, we were taking part in it. I didn’t know how the others were doing, but I knew that they were thinking the same thing. Freedom.
After years of hard work, the labor and cruelty had finally gotten to me. It had hurt me so much that I was willing to leave everything. My mom. My dad. My sisters. My brothers. Even that elderly man I helped get up in the morning. I made him breakfast and even took some of his labor. But not anymore. It was my turn to have a break.
It was my turn to have revenge.
I dislocate my shoulder as my arm swings back and forth from sprinting and before I know it, I’m on the ground, recovering from the heaviest faceplant of my life. I didn’t know what to do. I was struggling to get up. Would the others come back for me? Would they risk their lives, or worse, their freedom to save someone they’ve only known for a couple of years?
There was only way to find out.
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