Someone is running for thier life.
It was Saturday night and someone is running an obstacle course.
Deuce Watkins was running for his life. He ran in a zig zag pattern staying close to any structure or light pole on his undetermined pathway. He was panting heavily and had worked up a sweat. The strength in his legs was failing, his feet were becoming uncoordinated, he was doing more stumbling than running. Deuce saw a familiar alley coming up fast when he reached it he turned to go into it. Upon entering the alley he tripped over something and went headlong into a pile of disgusting rotten smelly refuse there at the mouth of the alley, his head hit something hard and he was knocked out cold.
The police that were chasing and firing at Deuce reached the alley that ran between abandoned buildings and assumed that he had ducked into one of them. They searched the building one at a time from top to bottom. When they did not find him, they gave up the search. Deuce was just a petty nuisance not a hardened threatening criminal. He had been caught climbing into a window in an apparent attempt to steal. Instead of surrendering to the police, he took off running mouthing challenges at the lawmen thus infuriating them. After enduring quite a few obscene slurs the officers began firing. They did not intend to kill Deuce just stop him, the policemen were tired and angry. These officers were not about to call in helicopters and dogs for a simple sneak thief. And then have to explain to the community and media how he out ran them and their bullets which they should not have been firing in the first place. These officers wrote it up as investigating a suspicious person and Gerri rigged the details especially since no one had apparently paid attention to the gunfire and called it in. No back up or sirens were anywhere to be found.
At the bottom of the refuse pile, Deuce was coming to, unaware of the now ended police search and barely remembering the event that put him into this pile of nasty mess. He slowly dug his way out and just laid down on the ground, head still a bit foggy… deuce opened his eyes and looked up at a figure peering down at him. With a thickish slur he asked, “Who are you and what happened to me?”
Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!