I turned sharply around the building, bolting towards a wire fence that chopped up anddistorted the two people struggling beyond it. In a last minute decision, I yanked up the hood on
my jacket to hide my face and jumped the obstacle with a dexterity I didn‟t think I was capable
of. It was then that the reality of what I was doing set in.
I‟m a freaking moron.
Now the high-pitched scream had a face. A round, but still slender face with high cheek bones and bright blue eyes. The moment I landed her head snapped to me, followed instantlywith a long stream of nonsensical babble about not moving.I kept my head low, allowing the beak of my hood to obscure a good chunk of my vision,
but it wasn‟t enough to hide the six foot five brick of a man cloaked in black. In his steady hand
he held a curved hunk of metal. My brain registered the weapon in the exact moment it wasturned toward my chest.For the first time in my short seventeen years, I had a gun pointed at me, fully loaded andready to fire.
I repeat, I‟m a freaking moron.
“Let me see your hands, Hero.” The man with a sp
oke with a heavy Bostonian accent.
“Put them up! I will kill you.”
Keeping my head low, I slowly moved my hands from my side and up to wear he could
see them. It was all I could do. That hyperactive thought process and super hearing I‟d
experienced moments before had left me for dead.
“Good, now let me see your face, Sweetheart. Take that stupid jacket off.” He dropped
the gun to a lower angle that, if shot at, would hit the concrete ground, not me.