Untitled

January 11, 2008
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Davis ran. Panting, he made his way through the dark city streets. At midnight, the streets lay motionless, dead. But he could hear their footsteps trailing behind him. The sound came closer. He couldn't let them catch him, so he ran faster. Sweat trickled down his back. He made a turn into a foreign street. Wrong turn. A fence stared back at him, mocking him, predicting his fate. Too late, he could not turn back. Time ticking, their steps edged closer. He should have kept quiet. A criminal now, he ran from the law. Davis had only one thought in mind: to escape. So he did. He climbed the tall fence, digging his hands into the steel wire. Almost to the other side, he could taste it, freedom. His feet hit the ground. He ran. Davis could hear them getting closer, creeping up on him. He could hear them climbing the fence. His steps hit the pavement hard as he made his way through the bridge. As if by luck, they found him. They too, ran through the bridge. "Construction ahead," a sign read. He stopped abruptly. The bridge ended dramatically at the edge of the river. They had him now, no need to run, they slowly walked towards him. The water below stared back, dark and freezing. The men on the other side, laughing silently at his mistake kept striding towards him. Capture or freedom? Davis had made up his mind. He jumped.
The combination rattled around in Davis' brain. Fifteen, twenty, seven. Or was it seven, twenty, fifteen? His mind raced frantically for the numbers, the order, the sequence. The house laid still in the moonlight. It made dark shadows and every corner that Davis turned, the shadows surprised him. He was sweating now, in a couple of hours the sun would peak over the horizon and light the city streets. He turned the dial. Seven, twenty, fifteen. The dial selected the numbers. He pulled the handle. Nothing. The safe was cold, unwilling to give its contents away. Every muscle in Davis' body tensed. Every bone told him to go home a defeated man. But the choice had been made. With courage he never knew he had, he tried again. Fifteen, twenty, lucky number seven. The dial stopped on seven. Davis held his breath. He heard a click. His heart stopped, his lungs drowned themselves in anticipation. He had waited for this moment; he pulled on the door. Without hesitation, it gave open. He reached out his hand and felt the hard, cold metal in his hand. They shone in the moonlight, every stone hard in his palms. He grabbed them and pocketed them. He heard a noise. Bed springs moving, somebody turning in bed. He quickly gathered his things and slowly, quietly walked towards the front door. Rushing, he tripped over a couch. His body made a loud thud as it hit the ground. Davis' felt his insides coming up. He heard them getting up from bed, rustling in the dark, heading towards the living room. Blood dripped from his nose as he got back on his feet. He hurried. What if he got caught? What would he do? He was almost to the door, his hand touched the doorknob. "Stop!" A hoarse voice said behind him. His fingers trembled, gripping the knob tightly. Should he turn around? Should he face his victim? Shame and fear filled him. How did he get himself in this situation? How could he be so naive to think he would not get caught? He threw the door open and made a run for it.
The water swallowed him whole and spit him back out again. He couldn't feel his legs. The freezing cold made them numb. He swam away from them. They stared, mouths wide open, staring in astonishment. They didn't think he would do it. He proved them wrong. Davis' insides curled up inside of him, trying to keep warm. He saw the shore miles away. Could he make it? He swam for it. His legs and feet felt useless, as he tried to move forward. But he couldn't give up. He had ran from the law and succeed it. He swam for what felt like hours. Davis dug his hands in his pockets. Yes! They still laid there, cold and hard, he felt the metal press against his fingers. It had all been worth it. The chase, the fear, the excitement. Davis' feet felt soil, he had reached the shore. Tired and bleak, he walked to the shore. The sand felt wet and runny between his toes. He laid on his back, feeling the sand pressed against his back. Almost morning, he could see the sun rising over the horizon. He watched it rise and turn the world to red. It was time. He got up, dusted himself, and walked home a free man.





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