Tale of the Gifted Beings

chapter 1

chapter 1

AS I RAN THROUGH the dark alleyways, the loud beating of my heart echoed in my ears. But at the same time, this ball game song by Ed Meeker was playing everywhere. And I do not know why. Probably because there's an event on Perthlochry's anniversary. It's almost defeaning, honestly, like a drumbeat loudly pounding across the air. However, I quickly ran away from the persistent chase that's been going on what it feels like thirty minutes. The adrenaline coursing through my veins told me to run faster, to keep evading, and to escape. But one thing's for sure: my knees started to tremble, and I could already feel them protesting.

It had been just another day for me, though—wallowing in my usual activity. Today, however, was very unlucky. The brim of the chase fueled my determination, and I zigzagged through the labyrinthine alleys with no clear path. Traversing through the pathway caused me to bump into random strangers along the way, sending them sprawling to the ground as I continued running. The thing is, I don't have time for any apologies, nor did I care for the damages left along the way. All that mattered to me was escaping.

I then found myself plunged into an ocean of people. The bustling crowd surged like a mixture of random voices and unfamiliar faces. Before I knew it, I was lost in the ocean, concealed among the masses like a chameleon. The police officers started screaming behind me, but their voices were seemingly faint, and their faithful canine that accompanied their chase lost sight of me. Slowly, the cacophony of voices drowned them out—either that or they just gave up.

Am I in the clear? Is it okay to lower my guard? Is it over?

Breathing heavily, I turned to a hidden alley, leaning my back against a brick wall, my hands gripping the stolen wallet tightly. With a mixture of delight and anxiety, I slowly unzipped the pinkish wallet, revealing countless pieces of cash tucked inside its slip-in pocket. Glistening cards and wads of cash greeted my sight, and for once, this sly grin etched across my face.

For what it's worth, the government here always turns a blind eye to its citizens, leaving us to cope unaided in its negligent embrace. And I was not going to settle for a worthless life. I once tried applying for jobs that almost everyone else had applied for, but the low wage and overwork made me realize that the money wasn't enough.

"Two hundred," I counted. Two-hundred. Not much, but enough for me to keep going.

I closed the wallet, pocketed the money, and slowly walked away.

As I slowly exited through the dimly lit alley, the pounding inside my chest slowly subsided, and I couldn't help but feel a profuse sense of victory. The earlier rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins was inebriating, fueling my every escape with intense energy. And I was used to this kind of situation: narrowly escaping through the officers' grasps like a ghost. Even when I was young, I was shoved into a world of survival, steering through the dangerous labyrinth of the town's streets with nothing but my precipice and skill to guide me. In the process, I became well-versed in the art of self-preservation, sharpening my street smarts and quick thinking to stay one step ahead of peril. Yet, despite the constant scuffle for survival, there's still an accompanying thought alongside it—a longing for something more.

"Two hundred," I repeated as I continued walking. Not long after, I slowly reached the familiar entrance of my home. The worn-out paint and flickering lightbulbs greeted me with a weird feeling, and I sighed at the sight outside of the porch.

Life stinks, regardless of how much people try to romanticize it. Then my trance was broken when a slow creak snapped against our worn-out floor.

"Primrose," a gruff voice crept out from behind, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "You're back."

The scent of dampness and deterioration hung in the air as I looked back, mixing in with the distant sound of cars and sirens wailing in the night. It was within these walls that I confronted the true essence of myself—the forgotten fragments of my past. With a shaking hand, I twisted the knob of the creaky door and stepped into the dimly lit room. The musty smell of old fixtures and stale cigarette smoke hit my senses, causing me to crease my nose in disgust. The walls of the living room were decorated with faded photographs, capturing memories preserved in time—moments that felt far away and distant to me.