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Where the Wind Blows

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My grandfather used to tell me stories of the land before all the vile, dung, and trash overpopulated the world. He said that the sky was baby blue filled with white, fluffy clouds. The cities were not filled with trash and vile, but with people and colors. Flowers and plants wouldn’t have to grow inside special facilities, but free in the world. All sorts of exotic animals would run through tree invested lands where humanity has never been. It all seemed like a dream world compared to now. I used to think it was a made-up story that grandfather made up to make my brother, Crow, happy. Crow was depressed after my father died. He needed something to take his mind off it. Once he got into it he would urge grandfather to go on and on about this world. He wanted to know every single detail about this world. The more he knew, the more he dreamed of seeing this world.
I wish it was real. If it was really real then maybe it could of saved his life. That world had real, clean air. It wasn’t how the world is now. You could go outside as long as you wanted. Now, it was suicide just to walk outside for a couple of seconds. The air was poison. Crows lungs were weak. He couldn’t of lasted long in this world.

The soles of my sneakers crunched against the trash underneath. Few people were on the streets today. It was probably because the government just opened up a walkway that would pump oxygen into a glass cover walkway. It was kind of being in a aquarium where, instead of fish, you would be looking at the towering trash piles. Cardboard fell off one of the towering buildings landing gracefully on top of a trash pile that was almost as tall as the building. It was quiet today. Usually you would hear sirens of the ambulance trying to get to one of the people that had lost all their oxygen. None today, thanks to that new walkway. I continued to walk. I could see the red sun in the distance almost setting, grayness hung all around it, not letting any color escape. It was almost dark. I pulled my coat closer to me. I hated it when there was a dramatic temperature change. In the morning it would change from thirty degrees to suddenly eighty degrees. It wasn’t good for the walkers like me.

Sirens suddenly filled my head. I could hear the roar of the police bikes as they moved around the trash piles. I stopped, when ever police cars were moving that fast it was good to get off the walkway. A flash of white passed my eyes knocking me over into a pile of shredded newspaper.
“Don’t block the way!” yelled the driver making an immediate left turn.
“Don’t be going so fast in public places,” I yelled after him. I pulled out a pair of blue gloves and matching shoes. In school on your first day, you would learn how to make sure you’re safe while stepping off the walkways. First, put on protective gloves so if you would fall you wouldn’t have your hands covered in vile. Second, protect your shoes. Some chemicals from the trash are able to slip through shoes and on to your skin. You do not want those chemicals in your shoes. (Especially the ones that will cause burning.) I pulled the gloves on until they were tight and slipped the shoes on over my sneakers. The sirens were still echoing through the piles. I stepped out of the pile of trash I fell into and began to climb. It felt weird to place my hands on unknown items. A couple were slimy and made me slip. Eventually I made it halfway up a pile and stopped. I could see the police man weave through some smaller pile of vile. They were chasing something. It was some one on a black bike with a red helmet. Whoever it was it carried a big white backpack that had a bird imprinted in black across it. I strange feeling climbed up my spine. I felt like I knew that sign from somewhere. I shrugged the feeling off and turned my head back facing the trash pile. My hands were clutching some metal bar. It would probably give if I put too much weight on it. I loosened my grip and tried to put more weight on my feet. I could hear the sirens of the police near me. The chase was coming near me. I should probably move. I reached my hand over to some sort of solid, mushed together toys. All my weight was on my feet now. I heard the crunch of trash as it tumbled down the pile. Thanks to the force of gravity, all my weight was pulled down. I fell.
The sirens filled my hearing. Were they really this close? I probably will fall into the path of one of them and they are going to run over me. This is probably the worst way to die. An even worse way then how Crow died. I hit some thing hard. I could hear every bone in my body creak. I fainted.

Next thing I knew, two piercing green eyes stared back at me. I could feel some sort of breeze. A breeze? That was something my grandfather used to tell me about. I eased my self up. I saw pile of trash pass by face in seconds. What was happening? I turned my head to look back at the piercing green eyes. The eyes are gone but all I see now was the flash of a red helmet. I was riding in the front of one of those bikes not only that but the criminals! I threw my hands out at the driver trying to get some sort of hold. The driver dodged my hands.
“Stop,” I heard a boyish voice yell. I stopped. The voice sounded so young.
“Please stop the vehicle,” I heard one of the police yell reaching back behind him. I felt my self being lifted up. A strong arm grabbed my waist and pulled me behind the red helmet guy.
“He has a hostage!” I heard one of the police man yell. A hostage, I have the worst luck.
“If you let me go, I will let her go!” I heard the red helmet guy yell out. “Shut off your engines.”
The police stared at me then at the red helmet guy.
“Do it now or I’ll push her off,” he yelled gripping my arm. I yelped. My pain seemed to convince the police. All of them shut off their engines. The red helmet guy continued to drive.
“Suckers!” he yelled. My face fell. He wasn’t going to let me go. I pulled out of the boy’s grip and got ready to jump.
His arm clutched me not allowing me to jump.
“You’re coming with me,” he said. I frowned.
“Where will you take me?” I asked trying to pull out of his grip.
“To where the wind blows,” he answered pressing hard on the gas. I lurched back. Everything began to pass by in blurs. I couldn’t tell what anything was anymore. My hair flew back behind my head into a tangled mess. I could feel my body slowly moving backwards. The boy’s grip tightened.
“Hold on,” he said stepping on the brake. I flew forward knocking the red helmet off the boy and pushing him off his bike. Luckily, I landed on something soft. It felt cool. Little blades of green stood up on it. Air, I’ve never felt before, moved into my lungs. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t have a metallic smell to it. It was real. I turned over and stared up. I expected a gray sky. It wasn’t. It was blue with white fluffy clouds! A breeze ran through my hair. Wind! I turned my head in all directions. It was just like my grandfathers stories. They were real?!
“Welcome to Willow,” said a familiar boy’s voice. I turned to see the driver that used to have a red helmet on. He had dark red hair and a smile that stretched across his face.
“This is the place where the wind blows.”



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