This just kinda came up. I don't know if i should add to it or not, but i'm considering entering it until a local writing contest. This is my first shot at writing in 2nd person. Enjoy!
You will walk into the room, pressing yourself against the wall. It will be ice cold, but you won’t care. You won’t have the time to care. You will turn back to the steel door you entered through, stare at it longingly. You will wish you could just disappear back through it like a ghost in the night. But you cannot. You have gotten yourself too far into this to leave now. And you are no ghost.
Instead you will go to the third door on the left. It will be locked, but you know how to open it. I taught you myself. You will hurry in, sticking to the wall like a leech. The camera will sweep the room, but you will not be seen. You will reach up and break it, leaving it hanging by only the wires. From there you have exactly six minutes to finish the task and run.
You will run into the middle of the room. A concrete block will be there, with a double-paned box of glass on top of it. You will wrap your fist in the cloth I gave you and punch through the glass. You will have only one chance to shatter it.
Then you will shed the cloth like a snake sheds its skin and pull the vial out of its holder. You will stare at it in wonder, watching the light glint off of its smooth glass. I know how it will entrance you, how you will want to just freeze that moment right there and live in it forever. But from there you will have only five minutes, and you cannot waste precious time staring at pretty things.
You will shake your head, remembering the words I tell you know, and close your fist around the vial. It will amaze you that something so small and fragile can hold the fate of so much.
And then you will run out of that room, crashing through the Emergency Exit door and flying down the fire escape, taking the steps three at a time. You will have only four minutes left. Four minutes in either to live or die.
The rust on the fire escape will stain your clothes, making it much too easy for them to find you. But you will not care. You cannot afford to care, even when the old metal cuts into your skin and you leave splatters of blood behind you.
You will have two minutes and thirty seconds left by the time you get to the bottom. You will run, dodging the bullets flying over your shoulder. Yes, they will have discovered you by then, and all you be able to do is run from them, though you know you will never be able to get far enough away. You will clutch the vial to your chest, shielding it as best you can.
You will burst into the city, shoving people out of your way. You will hear the shouts of ‘Catch him!’ and ‘Kill the boy!’ and it will send your heart pounding against your rib cage at a frightening speed. You have never felt fear such as this in your entire young life and no amount of preparing for it will be enough.
When you have one minute to go, a bullet will pass so close to you that you can feel it’s heat. You will flinch away, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second. That fraction of a second will seal your fate.
At that moment there will be a large metal box in your path, just below your eyes level. You will not see it.
You will hit the ground hard, falling on your chest. Your ankle will be broken, but you will not notice. The vial will shatter in the fall. You will stare at the broken fragments of glass uncomprehendingly. You will feel strangely numb, despite the pain in your ankle. You will know you should pull out the jagged glass pieces embedded in your hand and arm, but you will not be able to move. You will be in shock, because you know you failed me. You have failed all of us.
They will surround you quickly, and you will know you have only minutes left on this earth. They will take no pity on you, the young boy laying in the street, covered in blood. You are nothing to them; merely an inconvenience.
At the exact second your six minutes is up, one of them will point there gun at the spot on your chest where you held the vial. You will be trembling when you meet his eyes. The cruelty and coldness in them will make your blood feel cold. Staring into those eyes, you will realize that thirteen is not too young to die. One is never too young to die.
And then he will pull the trigger.
Gender:
Points: 1903
Reviews: 61