And So He Ran This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   He was running through the alley. His legs were making long strides while his arms were pumping back and forth. He glanced back over his shoulder. They were still pretty far behind him, but they were slowly gaining on him, he noticed with dread.

What had he done? Was there a reason for this chase? These and other questions were racing through his mind as he pushed himself onward. He was growing very tired, but he kept running. He had no choice. Even through the rain, he had to continue running. Splash! He ran through a puddle. These shoes were definitely not made for running, he thought to himself as he felt the wetness seep through the leather of his new Bostonians. They were made for strolling through the halls of the Prudential building, where he worked. He forced himself to ignore the pain and blistering of his feet. "Just keep running," he told himself. "Don't let them catch you."

Yet he still didn't know what he had done. Actually, he knew he had done nothing. He was simply walking down the street, on his way home from work, when two guys came around the corner and yelled for him to stop. And he didn't know why, but something, somewhere in his head, told him to run. So he ran, and now he was still running. And they were still running behind him. And he still had no idea why they were all running.

Maybe they think I'm someone else, he reasoned with himself as he began gasping for breath. And as he glanced back again, to see them coming even closer, he was reassured that he didn't know who they were. "Well, just keep running," he ordered himself. So he kept running. He heard the mumbled shouts of the men behind him, which encouraged him to plod onward. So he ran.

And for a few minutes more he zigzagged through the back streets of Boston. But soon his pace began to slow. His sprinting was slowing to a jog. If only I had kept up my exercise program, he scolded himself. You just have to keep going, he cried out to himself. He could hear the pounding of their footsteps behind him. But he could barely keep his feet moving at all. Then the sound of a shot echoed through the night. And he stopped running. In a heap, he fell to the ground in a puddle made of water and blood And the two who had chased him ran away, leaving him there, never to know what he had done. n


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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