I wrote this short story several years ago, probably avoiding homework, but never ended up finishing it. Hopefully someday I will discover an ending for this piece of work.
A wise man once told me that every crime is driven by passion, of course as a twelve year old boy; I didn’t understand its meaning. How could a crime have any sort of Love in it let alone passion? Now, as I push the accelerator to its limits and race my lustrous coal black 2011 Honda Civic Sedan away from the local bank, I finally understood.
Rain heavily poured down on the small town and wind whipped the trees so hard you would have thought we were dodging a hurricane. Recklessly swerving between the parked cars and frantic pedestrians, I glanced at the bulging black duffle bag that sat in the passenger seat. All that I saw when I looked at that hefty bag was life. A girls life to be more specific, one who had everything to look forward to, who had all of the opportunities in the world laid out in front of her.
My thoughts were shattered by the faint sound of sirens in the distance. I cursed under my breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter, feeling the hum of the engine beneath my palms. I couldn’t get caught now or else this would have all been in vein. Sweat began to accumulate on the back of my neck as the sirens grew closer, not close enough to come onto view, but definitely too close for comfort. I veered sharply to the right onto a small dirt road surrounded by tall trees on both sides. The storm showed no mercy, continuing to throw branches and clusters of leaves at my car, making it impossible to see out of my windshield. Lucky for me, this made it difficult for my followers as well.
A smug grin peeled itself across my face as three of the five police cars continued going straight, pursuing nothing but dirt and the long road ahead of them. Turning back to the blurred road again I swiped away the sweat covered hair that clung to my forehead and went back to grasping the wheel in a death grip. Trying to focus on my miraculous escape was difficult when thoughts of what if buzzed around my mind. I studied my surroundings, noticing the salient road I had chosen led to a more deserted area of town, only occasionally seeing a residence or two every mile. A plan started to congregate itself as I raced down the muddied road with the police hot on my heels. Their lights flashed across my rear view mirror just seconds before my black Sedan lurched forward, presumably from colliding with the first police car. I cursed once again, quickly glancing at the road ahead before concluding it was straight for some time.
Leaning over armrest and feeling around next to the duffle I located the 9mm Glock I used inside the bank and cradled it in my hand. Its cold body felt like frozen death against my palm, using this killing machine sickened me to the deepest part of my soul. I clutched the barrel so intensely that the skin over my knuckles turned white with force, and ground my teeth together, swiftly inclined my body out of the window. The rain pelted against my back, as I turned to face the police car just a few feet from my bumper. Aiming the barrel straight at the drivers’ side windshield, I squeezed the trigger, feeling it kick back and fire one unforgiving shot into the abyss. Faster than I could blink, the distinctive pop of a cars tire rang through the air, tangling with the screeching of wheels.
Relief filled every crevice in my body as I registered the blessed sound. I laughed humorlessly as I realized my shot had hit the tires, ashamed at the fact I was not aiming a harmless shot. Metal clashed together as the second car collided with the suddenly stopped first. I smiled wickedly, watching the furious policeman scramble from their iron bars and whip out their walky-talkies, irately screaming at one another until they disappeared out of site.
I sped forward, ready to set the second half of my plan in motion. Icy droplets of rain slipped from my dark hair onto my mud brown fleece jacket. Trees outsides started to thin out into plains of tall crops and farming plantations. I increased my speed to 160 miles per hour, barely catching the pines as they blurred passed my window at an alarming speed. Up ahead on the left, the corner of a white field appeared before me, rushing passed like a white pillow floating in a still sea. A cotton field.
My plan shifted quickly, now including the gargantuan cotton field to my advantage. Quickly grabbing the duffle and tucking it and the 9mm Glock under my arm securely, I flipped the cruise control on. I steered the barreling Sedan towards the large mass of cotton, and regretfully aiming for the trees behind it. I jerked forward as my front tires crashed into the first row of cotton, and quickly gripped the wheel with my free hand. I shot my hand out, letting the steering wheel go, and grasped the door handle, yanking it out once. It didn’t budge.
My pulse doubled, panicking, and my thoughts tangled into a confusing mass of shouts. Why didn’t it open? I jerked it a second time, no movement, a third, still stuck. I whipped my head up, watching in horror at the oncoming trees growing larger with each millisecond. They were so close I could almost count the trunks through the rain-soaked (?) windshield. Gripping the handle with both hands, feeling it slip from sweat, I pulled as hard as I could, feeling my shoulder blade tear from the pressure. I barely heard my own ear splitting scream before I was flung through the air and was falling towards the patches of cotton.
To my utter surprise I was not falling in soft cotton, but being torn by its sharp branches as my limp body was thrown through the field. The huge bag coming to a stop several seconds before I crashed into the unyielding ground. I lifted my face just in time to see my glossy black Sedan twisting around the large base of pine tree, spindling it into an unrecognizable mass. My once precious truck, now looking much like a black cage, locked itself around the mercilessly mangled tree.
Black smoke boiled out of the engine and escaped into the gray sky. I only took a second to catch my breath and assess the damage done to my sore body. Dread washed over me as I heard faint sirens off in the distance. I took my bag in one hand and 9mm in the other, bolting off into the woods, heading back the way I came. Completely hidden from their view, I ran parallel to the long road; they would never expect me to be running straight towards them. The fallen leaves crunched under my weight as I strode through the trees on light feet. I tightened my grip on the bulging duffle as I ran, my 9mm rattling around in my back pocket, a cold reminder of its presence with each stride.
Sirens ran through the sky, police approaching closer to my location, but still out of my view, and I out of theirs. Snips of the barren road flashed through the tree branches and heavy rain occasionally, enough to start me worrying. Ducking below a fallen trunk; I wedged myself between the rough bark and the moist mud. Small bugs skittered away, trying to find shelter from the pouring rain, so they may make it through another day. Burying my bag into the wet leaves a smile made its way to my lips. They would never have though I backtracked. The blaring sound grew louder with each passing moment, until it filled every fissure of the woods with its high-pitched scream.
My heart spiked once I saw a flash of blue lights blazed off of the trees, their tires beating against the damp asphalt. Each car passed with a striking swiftness that blew a gust of wind in my direction, releasing leaves into the air. Every muscle in my body tensed like a tiger ready to pounce at its prey. The vehicle slowed as it neared my hiding place, likely to stop and search for the escape convict in the mess of fallen foliage. Panic overwhelmed me at that simple thought. Getting caught was not an option; I would fight with as much force as I could muster. Raising my muddied face to the sky, I tried to devise another escape plan. Above the tree line, ashen smoke began to ooze out of its hiding place, filling the sky like a swarm of angry bees. My breath faltered as the over observant policeman noticed the accumulating blackness and picked up his speed once more in the direction of my demolished truck.
As soon as the car turned the sharp corner, I pushed off the moist ground and into standing position. Adrenaline pulsed through my over active veins, giving me just the right amount of energy to grab my things and sprint from my hideaway. My sore muscles screamed in protest as I bolted through trees like a bat out of hell, just evading the clutches of my pursuers. I felt my feet beat against the earth with every agonizing step, occasionally resting to crouch behind a large rock or log. My rapid breathing became ragged and strained as I was reaching the end of my adrenaline rush.
The rough strap from my overstuffed duffle was rubbing my skin raw, painfully ripping my shoulder to shreds. Crimson blood seeped through my shirt as my skin was ripped away from my body. Gritting my teeth I know I could not dare to move the bag to my already torn shoulder blade. Each tear felt like rubbing salt into a razor slit, pain being kindled by more agonizing pain.
I fought against the moist tears accumulating in my eyes, now was not the time to quit, not when someone needed me, not when her life depended on me. The ground beneath me feet evened out and became more grassy and slick as I neared a clearing ahead.
It looked to be a small farmhouse on the edge of a plantation. The residence had two stories and an attic, completely surrounded by grass and a field of corn to the left side. The white paint appeared to be peeling off of the wood of the house and dark blue shutters hung from the windows. Three rickety steps led up to the small wooden porch that was accommodated by two pale rocking chairs. The screen on the green door swayed freely in the wind, screeching with each breeze. A rusty pick-up was resting in the front yard, just in view of the large window.
Hope grew in the pit of my stomach at the thought of not having to run any further. Dodging the windows view I dart to the side of the truck, heart pounding inside my chest matching my beating footsteps. Reaching the truck, I threw my duffle in the bed, cringing at the loud thud it made. Taking my gun and glancing through the cars mirror, I watched for any movement inside the house, nothing. I breathed a small sigh and turned back to the task at hand. I remembered how to hotwire a car from my rebellious days in high school, fortunately it was something that kept with me. I dug my heals into the leathery grass and pushed off to the driver’s side. Opening the unlocked door, I laughed at the trust in people who live in small towns.
Sitting in the seat and closing the door as quietly as I could, I turned my attention back to the wheel. Whacking the console with the barrel of my gun, I broke it loose from the car, placing it in the passenger seat and turned to the clutter of wires in front of me. Trying to recall the proper steps was a difficult task, causing me to hesitate. Grabbing the wires with corresponding colors I bit the protective covering off, revealing bare wire. I wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans and continued my work, pressing the wires together and intertwining them. The rewarding hum of an engine was reassuring to my aching feet. Taking one last peek at the small house, I pulled out onto the road, picking up my speed as much as the useless hunk of metal would allow. The engine clanked and groaned in protest as it sped down the highway at its maximum speed of 85 mph. My humorless chuckle didn’t escape my notice, what else could go wrong? The cocky grin slid off of my face as my mind wandered to unwanted territory.
A face entered my thoughts, not the girl from before, but a woman. She had the most beautiful face you had ever seen, short shiny hair that just touched the lobes of her ears. Her eyes were the crystal blue of a Hawaiian sea and her thin lips, pink as a rose, pulled into the most perfect smile. This angelic woman, who poisoned my mind with thoughts of longing and undeserved happiness, is my wife Eleanor, and I Love her very much.
Thoughts of her made me want to turn this poor excuse for a car around and surrender, for she would rather die that admit we need help. But she wasn’t of my concern at the moment, and I do not and will not regret my decision, no matter the consequence. As much as it pains me to go against her will, the outcome would be much more than hatred from my wife. For the reward would be greater than the consequences.
Another face made itself present, one that held more meaning, more inspiration, and more influencing determination. This face that I had become so excruciatingly familiar with that I would rather live the rest of my life in hell than live forever without its blinding shine. Anna. Her dainty four year old frame, always covered by a beautiful new dress her parents personally picked out, seeing as she didn’t deserve anything less. Huge orbs of chocolate, staring back at you as her long brown hair cascaded down to the small of her back in a silky curtain. Everything about her was perfect, from the tiny button nose, to her wide smile that was missing the two front teeth, causing her tongue to stick out through the gap when she flashed her beautiful smile. I felt my throat tighten at the thought of Anna, my beautiful daughter, who has my hair and eyes but every bit of her mother’s personality. She cherished every moment of life as if it would be her last, which it very well may be.
This magnificent little girl was diagnosed with stage three acute leukemia, given only six months of life, unless we could pay for ‘special treatment’. We tried, oh God we tried. We saved and worked triple shifts, only gaining four hours of sleep if we were lucky. We pawned our possessions to dealers for extra cash, barely scraping enough money to pay for treatments, leaving food and bills neglected. Days began to blur together, then weeks, then finally months, stealing our minds of the date, only to recall it later for an appointment or two.
Anna grew weaker, she no longer had a bounce when she walked, her days inside dragged on for weeks. Her skin began to pale and coughing seemed to be the only sound she made, but worst of all her smiles became forced and rare, only showing itself when she thought we needed it.
Our hopeful façade slowly deteriorated with time, reminding me of acid slowly eating away at metal, painful, merciless, and unstoppable. Desperation crept upon us during the recent weeks; we began receiving letters from her Oncologist, saying he was to stop treatment until he received his payment. I remember re-reading it a million times, hoping, praying the next time I read it, the words would rearrange themselves and say something different. I couldn’t possible wrap my mind around what the small letters scrolled across the white page were telling me. How could someone just stop treatment on a four year old cancer patient? Just because of money? It was unfathomable to me that there was someone that heartless, that degenerate on this unforgiving earth.
I couldn’t help but compare my Anna to this elusive letter firmly grasped between my fingers. Starting out as an innocent blank page waiting to be sent out into the real world, only to realize you were permanently marked by an insidious message. Somehow you know your message will be short-lived, understanding no one wants to keep a bad message hanging over their heads like a black cloud.
Ceasing my painful thoughts, I mentally cursed myself for thinking such horrid things. There was no possible way my Anna could be thought of as a plague. The disease that was slowly taking her life was the plague, a curse placed upon a resilient young girl. Maybe I wasn’t really running from the police, maybe I was running from the helplessness of my being. Maybe I was running from myself. Running as fast as I could, but only being slightly faster than my predicament. With each step I tire, and it becomes faster, stronger, more agile. It is only a matter of time before it catches up with me, and destroys everything.
My consciousness was muddied by the morbid thoughts I had conjured up. I could feel my muscles retiring, too exhausted to even twitch. I vaguely processed the narrow road ahead of me, as the sight appeared to blur around the edges. Tears cascaded down my face, tangling with the rain that was dripping from my hair. Everything seemed to still around me as realization dawned on me. What was I doing? How could I do this to my family? Surly I would be caught, leaving Eleanor without a husband, Anna without a father? Even if I managed to get away from the police, we would always be hiding, always running. Forever.
My pensive thoughts cracked, snapping me out of my regretful thoughts. No. I would run for the rest of eternity if it meant Anna could live long enough to see the world, long enough to fall in love and get married to a wonderful man, long enough to see her children. Long enough to live.
With that last thought, I pitched forward on the gas, forcing the rusty truck past its limits. One thought was running through my mind, screaming with every beat of my pulse. Ann-a. Ann-a. Ann-a. Ann-a. I allowed her laugh to surge through my body, filling me with the strength I needed. Speeding through the rain, I recognized the street through the sheet of rain that was spilling to the earth. Morose rd. I heaved a sigh, thinking how appropriate the name was. The irony of the street name never escaped my notice. The sign sat on the corner by our house, seeming to taunt us every time we looked out of a window or went for a walk. I had contemplated moving several times, only to be contradicted by Eleanor, saying it was a silly reason to move.
Turning right, I pulled onto the street that has been my home for years. There were long rows of houses on either side of the street. The small households styled red bricks, wooden doors, and brown roofs that dripped rain from the gutters. Gardens that had greeted the sun this morning were now flooded in the rain, drooping into the soil like they were hiding their faces. Mailboxes stood on the edge of the lawns, slashing too close to the car. I hated this neighborhood from the first time I set eyes on it, there was no individuality. Each yard, each mailbox, each garden, each house were exactly the same. The community strongly opposed anything that was different, apparently it showed rebellion. I watched my house pass by my window as I sped away from it, trying to get the truck as far away from my mark as I possibly could.
Flying down three more blocks, I parked beside an unknown resident’s house, hopefully sending the police off of my trail. Faster than I could process, I had leapt out of the car and grabbed my now soaked duffle. I was suddenly grateful for the plastic casing around the packages of money, keeping each bill dry from the rain. I vigilantly sprinted between the houses, forcing myself to continue. Each window had bright lights cascading into the streets and lawns, causing patches of the earth to become aglow. I suddenly felt like I was (Someone) in (whatever movie), trying to escape from a jail while the spotlights searched the yard for any sign of movement. My feet screamed in protest with each step I took, praying the next step would be the last.
Trying to ignore the searing pain in my torn shoulder, I ducked behind the large green trash bin that was neatly placed on the curb three houses away. I tried to remember who lived in this house, not being able to come up with a name. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember any of my neighbors. All these years living on this street, nothing came to mind. All I could remember were faceless human figures blurring around me, everyone spinning madly around my stilled form. It seemed the whole world was moving on without me. I stopped, suddenly realizing that I had been dead for a while now. That once Anna was diagnosed, I stopped living. Revolving my every motion around her, I tried with everything in me to save her. I no longer lived for myself, but for Anna.
I could hear the growing sound of car tires against wet asphalt come nearer. The yellow light of headlight peaked at me from the other side of the green trashcan, causing light to dance across the pavement. I waited for the passerby to turn the corner before stepping back into the street and heading for the familiar door I had passed through hundreds of times before. I couldn't help but ignore the urgency of my situation as I hesitated at my doorstep.
Without a glance towards the driveway, I knew Eleanor was on the other side of this door. I could practically see her pacing the living room floor, wondering where I was, if I was even safe. My heart ached, what would I tell her? The truth, I resolved as I pushed the door open and sauntered inside. Eleanor confirmed my earlier assumption as she stopped dead in her tracks, not bothering to finish the full loop around the living room rug. (Describe Eleanor. Blue tattered robe. short black hair that grazed her earlobes, unkempt from running her hands through it. white slippers on her tired feet. and wrinkles around her dull blue eyes, swimming with unshed tears.) I watched cautiously as she took in my frightening appearance. Emotions flashed across her eyes in mere seconds. Relief, Shock, Confusion, Suspicion, Anger, Worry, and finally regarding the bulging duffle. Fear.
Her eyes snapped back to mine once realization hit. "What's that?" she asked in a breath just above a whisper. "Eleanor" I started in a rasped voice, taking note that this was the first time I had spoken in quite some time. Raising my arms, palms up in a show of surrender I attempted to reason with her. I took slow, tedious steps toward her. A sharp pang of guilt hit me as she backed away, matching my movements. "Eleanor listen to me" I pleaded, halting my steps and pointing to the lonely duffle near the door. "This. This will save us" I was grasping for straws. "I did this for us, all of us. Now we can have our lives back. She can have the life she deserves. We--" The lump in my throat began to grow, successfully cutting off my words. I swallowed it down as best as I was able, and continued. "This will save her" tears gathered at the rims of my eyes, and burned their way down my cheeks "I saved her."
Realization struck her features and she stumbled backwards, grasping the back of our couch for support. "William" her blue eyes darted towards the flickering television "you're the one they are all talking about on the news" her grip on the couch tightened, knuckles whitening from the force of it. No, I haven't gotten a chance to explain, I though, feeling my hope for understanding begin to fade. "Ellie" I whispered, arms still outstretched towards her small frame. I tried taking another step in her direction, only to be met with her small step back, like a dance neither of us wanted to participate in. "No!" she yelled, loosing her footing and stumbling over the edge of the rug. "You're the one, aren't you? The one who robbed that bank! The one who took all that money! You held up a bank!" Her words increased in hysterical volume as she spoke the words she'd been dreading to think for hours. Her beautiful face paled and contorted in disgust. "You pointed a gun at another human being." There was a tremor in her voice as the reality of that fact set in. I watched it pass her eyes and settle deep in her heart. I tried to control the trembling of my hands, it was then that I realized I was more afraid now than I had been all day. I had feared my Ellie's reaction more than the robbery itself, more than getting caught. I had to convice her, I needed it like my life depended on her acceptance.
++++++++++ THE HUGE GAP I AM MISSING +++++++ GIANT GAP+++++++ I AM SO SORRY+++++++
I gripped her picture like it was my lifeline. The tattered edges worn from the constant rubbing against the inside of my jumper pocket. Dirt smudges covered the corners and the surface soft from worrying it with rough and tentative fingers. "Put that damn thing away" the inmate beside me muttered, tired of seeing the face of my daughter so gently cradled in my palms. The face I would have surly forgotten, that is, without the help of the tiny image. Anna, before the diagnosis, graced my eyes with much needed joy. She had her mothers bright blue eyes, my light brown hair, and freckled cheeks that were completely her own. A gap-toothed grin was spread across her bright, hopeful young expression, wrinkling the skin at the edge of her eyes. My heart clenched at the sight of her, wondering of her whereabouts.
Terrance, as I have come to know him, shifted in his place, trying his best to become comfortable on the metal bench. He turned towards me, whether to give the metal surface a new muscle to press on, or to get a better look at me, I couldn't tell. Terrance was an old man whose crime I did not know, and the only face I had seem more than my own. After asking several times what he did or when he got here with no prevail, I finally gave up my pursuit and let the mystery stand. Still I wondered. Was he arrested at a ripened age, or had he simply been in this shimmering hell for longer than I cared to consider. Bags had pooled beneath his eyes where years of good sleep evaded him. His once brown eyes taking on a slight milky-blue color, impending blindness like death creeping in the shadows. He drew in a deep breath, readying himself to speak, which caught in his throat and turned the hope for words into a fit of moist coughing. Sadly, I wondered how long my inmate had left, when I will be placed with a new bunkmate to share this misery.
