Writers debate: Fiction

Story Title: OutcastChapter 1: On the runHis bare feet hit the pavement hard causing a slapping sound as runs. He doesn’t know where he going, just that he needs to go somewhere, anywhere. He needs to get out of sight. They would find him at any second if he didn’t get out of here. He hangs a left, and runs across a dark park. The dew that hung fresh off the grass tips, felt good on his feet, as opposed to the rough, sharp gravel he was previously running on. He was going to have some blisters and cuts, he could tell. But right now his feet were too numb for him to tell. He had probably been running for a good 15 minutes. He was breathing hard, and tired, but he didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t stop. He was scared of what he might feel once the adrenaline wore off. He sees the dark Gazebo in the distance. He knows he must stop and regain his energy while he still has the chance. He quickly looks around, sees that no one is around, and hides in the dark Gazebo. This isn’t exactly the best cover. And while he knows he can’t stay here long, this is the best place for him right now. He throws his sore tired body into a heap, in one of the Apex’s of the small open room. His body instantly feels relief as constant physical energy is now longer being drained from his reserves. He hears sirens off in the distance and shudders. He knew they were looking for him. His apprehension remained high, until he heard the sirens fade away into the distance. He put his sweaty face into his palms. Then he feigned pulling hair in stress, though his shaved head denied him that privilege. He started to see it. His mother, on the floor, bleeding, crying, screaming “Stop! Please. Stop!” He shutters and shakes the image away, but it’s too late. The wave of emotion is coming back. His tears start flowing again, and he can’t stop them. “That fvcking bastard!”. He felt so angry as he remembered the image of his father standing over her laughing, calling her pitiful, weak. The same thing he had called me for 18 years of my life before I left that place. I had left my mom to be tortured by him. And now she was dead. I could have stopped it. I was petrified with horror, and couldn’t move as I watched him kill her. I felt like a little boy again, scared and alone as I watched her writhe in pain. But he had taken it too far this time. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her, when he pushed her. But still she fell, and broken her neck on the table, and I had watched the whole thing. He needed to pay. He didn’t deserve life. So I took it away from him. And now here I am a returned veteran, recently determined murderer. And they think I killed them both. He had no place to go. He was shaking. He had killed before, he had seen death. But not like this. Not his own mother and father. It was too much to take. He wanted to scream, but knew that was foolish while he was at large. He had to shut his brain down. He stopped thinking, pretended everything that happened to him didn’t happen. He led himself into a pseudo idea of an ideal reality, until he was able to force himself sleep. *SIX HOURS LATER* Laughter and shouting woke him up. It was sunny outside, and kids were playing in the park just outside the Gazebo. There was a woman standing near him staring at him strangely. She started when he woke up. “Are you okay?” She asked. He was a wreck. His eyes had deep lines, his clothes torn from jumping fences, his shoes missing from abandoning them to run faster. There was blood on the ground near him. He realized the gravel had torn into the bottom of his feet. Luckily the blood had dried, and it has stopped. He looked at the woman and nodded. He needed to get out of here. “My daughter saw the blood… I was worried so I called the cops.” She said. Suddenly he grew alert. “When!?” he shouted at her. She looked scared, as if she thought he was going to attack her. “Um… About five minutes ago?” She said. He didn’t waste any time. He had to go. He ran off nearly tripping over her stroller on the way out.His bare feet hit the pavement hard causing a slapping sound as runs. He doesn’t know where he going, just that he needs to go somewhere, anywhere. He needs to get out of sight. They would find him at any second if he didn’t get out of here. He hangs a left, and runs across a dark park. The dew that hung fresh off the grass tips, felt good on his feet, as opposed to the rough, sharp gravel he was previously running on. He was going to have some blisters and cuts, he could tell. But right now his feet were too numb for him to tell. He had probably been running for a good 15 minutes. He was breathing hard, and tired, but he didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t stop. He was scared of what he might feel once the adrenaline wore off. He sees the dark Gazebo in the distance. He knows he must stop and regain his energy while he still has the chance. He quickly looks around, sees that no one is around, and hides in the dark Gazebo. This isn’t exactly the best cover. And while he knows he can’t stay here long, this is the best place for him right now. He throws his sore tired body into a heap, in one of the Apex’s of the small open room. His body instantly feels relief as constant physical energy is now longer being drained from his reserves. He hears sirens off in the distance and shudders. He knew they were looking for him. His apprehension remained high, until he heard the sirens fade away into the distance. He put his sweaty face into his palms. Then he feigned pulling hair in stress, though his shaved head denied him that privilege. He started to see it. His mother, on the floor, bleeding, crying, screaming “Stop! Please. Stop!” He shutters and shakes the image away, but it’s too late. The wave of emotion is coming back. His tears start flowing again, and he can’t stop them. “That fvcking bastard!”. He felt so angry as he remembered the image of his father standing over her laughing, calling her pitiful, weak. The same thing he had called me for 18 years of my life before I left that place. I had left my mom to be tortured by him. And now she was dead. I could have stopped it. I was petrified with horror, and couldn’t move as I watched him kill her. I felt like a little boy again, scared and alone as I watched her writhe in pain. But he had taken it too far this time. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her, when he pushed her. But still she fell, and broken her neck on the table, and I had watched the whole thing. He needed to pay. He didn’t deserve life. So I took it away from him. And now here I am a returned veteran, recently determined murderer. And they think I killed them both. He had no place to go. He was shaking. He had killed before, he had seen death. But not like this. Not his own mother and father. It was too much to take. He wanted to scream, but knew that was foolish while he was at large. He had to shut his brain down. He stopped thinking, pretended everything that happened to him didn’t happen. He led himself into a pseudo idea of an ideal reality, until he was able to force himself sleep. *SIX HOURS LATER* Laughter and shouting woke him up. It was sunny outside, and kids were playing in the park just outside the Gazebo. There was a woman standing near him staring at him strangely. She started when he woke up. “Are you okay?” She asked. He was a wreck. His eyes had deep lines, his clothes torn from jumping fences, his shoes missing from abandoning them to run faster. There was blood on the ground near him. He realized the gravel had torn into the bottom of his feet. Luckily the blood had dried, and it has stopped. He looked at the woman and nodded. He needed to get out of here. “My daughter saw the blood… I was worried so I called the cops.” She said. Suddenly he grew alert. “When!?” he shouted at her. She looked scared, as if she thought he was going to attack her. “Um… About five minutes ago?” She said. He didn’t waste any time. He had to go. He ran off nearly tripping over her stroller on the way out.