Erase and Rewind (Full Book)

Chapter One: Runaway

Noah dashed down the street, his beat-up sneakers striking the ground at record speed. Images of parked pickup trucks, open dumpsters, and stray dogs barking blurred as he ran. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the figure of a middle-aged man, balding head and a belly hanging over the waistband of his slacks, chasing after him.

"Hold it right there." The security guard huffed. "Breaking and entering. You. I'll get you."

Noah heard plenty of those threats before. He had to give the guard credit for trying to keep up. It wasn't the guard's lack of fitness that was holding him back; Noah was younger, lithe, and well versed in running away.

"Filthy! D-drug addict!"

The yells, despite being loud as they echoed across the pre-dawn skies, were starting to sound labored, to slur into the hustle and bustle of early morning traffic. Noah didn't slow down but used the adrenaline to go further, faster, his feet pounding against the asphalt, the thump of his bouncing backpack in sync with his breathing.

While he ran, nothing mattered. The semi-industrial area gave way to the nearby waking city. The one-story houses were cast aside in favor of modern, sauvé buildings of steel and reflective glass. Logos in different fonts and colors plastered over their fronts, distinguishing the corporate buildings from their residential counterparts. As if the rush of men and women in suits juggling briefcases and cardboard cups of coffee were not a dead giveaway.

Noah had often heard those same employees complain about the tediousness of their desk jobs. Noah thought it would be nice to have a purpose, a normal life.

I'll have one. I can be normal. Most people can't tell I'm off, can they?

He slowed down, then stopped in front of a sign three blocks away from the warehouse. He smiled a little—he didn't get caught.

Past the bus stops, the aroma of fresh-baked bread and glazed croissants mingled with the growing scent of exhaust, too strong to hide on a sunny day. During his first week in the city, the army of smells was overwhelming. His lavish room back home held the scent of oil paint. These days he never knew what his nose would pick up.

Sure enough, the alleyway was empty. Noah leaned against the graffitied brick walls, the contents of his backpack making squishing noises. Steadying the increased beating of his heart, he ran a hand through strands of damp blond hair. To his dismay but not surprising, he was drenched in sweat.

Great. Now I'll need to find a place to shower.

For the past week, he had been sleeping in the basement of the warehouse. Security there had been one bored guard who always showed up late to his shift and left earlier than he should. That made it easy for Noah to slip in and out without being seen. It had been careless to assume the variables would remain in his favor. For once, the guard had come to his shift on time.

He shook his head to clear the memories. Shrugging off the grey backpack, he rummaged through it and detangled a wrinkled shirt from a pair of running shorts. The shorts he'd need to compete in the Victoria City run later that week. Noah sniffed the shirt and decided it smelled alright. Making sure no one would chance this alleyway, he peeled off the drenched shirt and sprayed on the deodorant he had stolen along with a packet of tampons.

Noah wandered until noon and headed to the youth hostel.

It was located on the bottom floor of an old Greco-Roman apartment complex. There were no distinctive markings to make it stand out from the outside, and if someone didn't know it was there, they would miss the black sign with white letters displaying the name "Haven of Hope". Noah pushed open the creaking double doors. The familiar setup of the receptionist's desk adjacent to the hostel's common room welcomed him with its second-hand furniture and faded tiles.