I have no idea how cowardly running away makes me sound. Fighting just isn't in my blood. What can I say? All my life I've been running from something, but running through some dodgy ass woods with a stolen file, seemed a little more important than everything else. But who's to say that half skating across an icy forest floor at midnight wasn't at least half fun?
Because it certainly was. It also made it extremely difficult to travel fast. It required a certain level of skill to execute the gliding structure successfully.
And don't get me started on the god damn trees! The amount of times I've nearly skidded into one of them is truly incredible. They loom up through the shadows and jump out into my face like a kid playing peek-a-boo, giving me only half a second to change my direction.
The sliding motion was beginning to get tiring and an inner fear never left my chest. It welled up, and got stuck, like a rock lodged deep inside my ribs. The idea that they were following me made it all the more difficult to breathe, and I'm sure the trail I made would be fairly easy to follow.
It wasn't long before the trees thinned out and the whizzing of cars reached my ears as they zoomed along a busy road. I followed the sound, excited at the possibility of being saved before it was too late. I skated across the undergrowth, snagging on the trees as I pulled them aside. This was it. I'd return the file and pretend none of this ever happened. I reached the edge of the road and skidded to an abrupt halt.
Dazed at the mass of early morning traffic, I paused for a moment. My eyes skimmed over the light influx of transportation, and I prayed it was safe enough for someone like me not to get kidnapped. I nodded to reassure myself, determined to hitch a ride.
I stuck my thumb out at the traffic. It wasn't the wisest decision, as a large oil tanker whirred past me, knocking me off my feet.
I fell back with a heavy thud against the icy floor. The sky was beginning to brighten around the edges. Dawn. I would be easier to track now. I should really get up but lying here felt good. Really good. Although there were sticks prodding my skin and leaves in my matted hair, it didn't bother me an awful lot.
Something about me must have sparked someone's curiosity, as through my awe-inspired, prolonged glance up at the brightening sun on my back, I saw the face of a woman.
She peered at me with such concern that it made me strangely nervous. Her dyed hair fell in waves past her shoulders and clouded my view of the sunrise. Her face was partly hidden by the shadows cast, but her brown eyes were piercing through my soul. Her skin was dirty and she appeared to be in a rush.
In a panic, I flashed her my white pearls in an unblinking motionless freeze.
"Are you okay?"
I couldn't answer. God damn it! Not again! My face was frozen; fixed in an unimaginable smile that probably belonged to a psycho-axe murderer in a horror film. I can't imagine how freaked out this poor woman must be.
"I think I'm going to call an ambulance," she said.
She disappeared for second before she was leaning over me again, speaking hurriedly into the speaker on her mobile device.
"Hi, yes, I am in need of an ambulance. Highway 91. Yes, he is maybe 17. Lying on his back. Yes...yes. And his face is stuck. How? Well...well, he just won't stop smiling. I think it's stuck. Yes. Yes...hello? Hello?"
They'd hung up on her.
"Why does everyone think I'm crazy?" she asked herself.
I lay there; unsure of what to do. I couldn't tell her anything, my face was frigid in a nervous smiling episode.
YOU ARE READING
Being Butch GreenHumor
A file. A boy. A criminal. An illegal medical lab. All is not what it seems when young rebel, Butch, decides to make a run for it with his criminal file. There is just one problem... he grabbed the wrong file and now he is wanted by the police. On...