I meander through the waste filled hall, clutching onto my bag like it's my ticket to life—and it very well might be.
Several men are hot on my trail, the rhythmic thump of their heavy boots almost therapeutic, a sound I know all too well.
I'm always being chased.
I dash through the hall, turning several corners I'm not entirely sure where they lead to, although that's not the goal.
The goal is to get the hell out of here.
The rhythmic thumping has reduced, replaced by softer scattered sounds, the men have probably spilt up to find me faster. They won't though, they never do.
Moonlight spills onto my face as I turn another corner, indicating there must be an opening somewhere—this is where I escape. I rush further into the hall, my electric blue eyes searching for the exit.
There's a gaping hole just within my reach at the very end, and I gallop faster as I catch sight of it.
I climb the wall as fast as I possibly can, gripping the surface till my knuckles turn white.
"There she is!" Someone yells from behind me, unfortunately, I don't have the time to take a glance. I push through the hole and fall flat onto the ground.
As I manage to get up, I feel a dull ache in my shoulder—which is most likely going to get worse. I do not have time to dwell on it, I'm not safe yet.
I trot into the woods, never taking a look back. Although I don't hear anyone behind me, I keep running.
You can never be too safe.
Once I'm deep into the woods, surrounded by rows and rows of trees, I finally allow myself rest, collapsing onto the ground.
I place a hand on my shoulder, and let out a quiet wince.
It's fractured, but it's nothing I'm not used to.
I take in deep breaths, checking if I'm hurt or cut anything else.
Lastly, I check my bag for the relic I just stole.
Oh, don't look at me like that.
Yes, I'm a thief. No, it's not for the greater good. I'm just a thief, that's it.
Thankfully, it's still wedged in between the pockets. I lift myself off the ground, I know I can't stay here for too long.
They're not going to stop till they find me.
It's the dead of night now, and I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get back to the hideout.
I'll find a way though, I always do.
I stroll through the woods, with no other source of illumination than the full moon above.It's just enough.
I can't wait to be back home, well—back to the closest thing I call a home. I suspect it will take a bit longer than my usual journeys, considering I'm deep into the woods and have no semblance of a map with me.
As I stroll down the haphazard path, I let my mind wander—thinking of a life where everything's different, where I'm not a petty theif surviving by what ever pay the black market gives me. Where I'm surrounded by family and loved ones, where I'm allowed to be myself without the watchful eyes of the authorities, where I'm allowed to maybe even love someone.
It feels nice at the beginning, a wave of ecstasy washing over me as envision a life I so wish to have, but that feeling is quickly replaced by immense disappointment.
I will never have that life. Not now, not ever.
Not after everything was taken from me.
The feelings of disappointment are now replaced with anger,anger which I have to bubble down as I continue down the path.
It's only after I'm fully calm that I hear the soft thump of footsteps. Before I can react, I feel a strong hand pressed against my mouth, and another clutching my neck.
I feel my vision begin to blur, as I will my eyes to stay open.
Why do I feel so weak?
I'm starting to get dizzy, and there's now a soft ringing in my ear. Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fatigue, I let my eyelids close for a second.
And then I'm surrounded by complete darkness.