Myriad Istoria

Alleys and Guns

He was hiding in the alleyway when he heard wet footsteps run towards him. He looked around the narrow, grimy area that he had chosen as his safe spot, searching for a way to cover himself so the men would run past him. He only saw a few overflowing dumpsters lying carelessly against the slimy back wall of the alley, and his heart began to pound. The footsteps were getting closer.

He could only hope that the men wouldn't see him, that they would run past him like he saw they did in the movies. Eyes shut, he hoped that his shadow would not be too bulky to be mistaken for a sack of garbage. He could hear the men approaching, though he dared not peek at them.

He pressed himself tightly to the wall as the footsteps ran past him, and he forced his eyes open once they had receded fairly into the distance. He was alive — and safe! Well, maybe a few bruises and scars here and there, but anything was better than being shot.

He slowly and carefully leaned to his left, squinting his eyes to see if the men had gone far enough away for him to run in the opposite direction. He couldn't see very well in the rain, but the non-existent shadows on the walkway told him to make a run for it. He immediately turned around and ran the way he had come, trying his best not to slip on the wet, slimy flagstones.

He ran like the wind, coat flapping through the rain. The droplets hit his face hard, ramming into his eyes like tiny daggers and blurring his vision. He could see silhouettes of crouching people briskly walking home from work in the unexpected shower. They mostly seemed to be minding their own business, aside from the ones that he accidentally bumped into on his way to the HQ.

He was headed towards the Headquarters of the Eye — a group of detectives who worked in extreme secrecy. He was a young spy, and had been named Void for his ability to get past goons unseen. He was proud of his nickname, and had helped solve several confusing cases by providing the Heads with valuable information which no one else could acquire.

This time, though, he had messed up.

He had been hiding in one of the barrels in a dark, shady inn, listening in to and recording the drug deals that the men inside struck one after the other. The barrel was slightly wet, and the stench of mold rising from the dark corner it was sitting in made his nose twitch.

He had, just like in the movies, sneezed at the wrong time.

The partially drunk men were alerted by the violent sneeze. But their sluggish motions were no match for Void's quick actions and prompt thinking. He quickly removed a stone from his coat pocket before stumbling out of the barrel. Then while he ran towards the door, he threw the stone at one of the windows in an attempt to divert the men's attention.

This trick had worked, and he had rushed out of the inn without a bullet in the head. The diversion had given him enough time to run into the alleyway, where he stopped to catch his breath.

But now he was back out on the streets, running for his life. He could tell he was on the right track, for he saw all the familiar neon signs still lit along the way. Just a couple more alleys, he thought, and then we're home.

Void was starting to feel the cold, however. The relentless rain battered upon him, drenching his hair and skin to the bones. He was tired, too, and all that extra adrenaline was making his calves ache. He pushed himself along, knowing there was one last alley before he arrived at the HQ.

He also knew that he had definitely lost the men on his way, since he could hear no footsteps. He was so sure of this that he slowed down, intending to turn into the last alley to catch his breath and make sure that the recording was safe and dry in the inner coat pocket.

He silently turned to his left.

His foot slipped.

Void crashed soundlessly into the grimy, dirty stone floor of the smelly alleyway, opening up new wounds in the process. The rough stone was enough to split his skin, to let blood. As he got up, dazed, he could see the dark red liquid bleed into the surrounding murky water. The faint light of the faraway streetlight gave away a large oval obstruction that the pool of bloody water had to avoid.

The obstruction was a boot.

A large rubber boot, the kind worn only by goons that drank their dark earnings in dirty inns.

Goons that Void was trying to avoid.

He slowly looked up at the large figure. He could barely see the silhouette of a man, but before he could get up, a firm hand grasped his upper arm. The hand lifted the young dazed boy to his feet, purposely stretching his newly wounded skin. Void groaned in tired pain, and looked up at the dark face of the man. He could not tell the features, but he was sure that the man was frowning with pure hatred.

"Whut were yer thinkin', anyway?" the man said in a deep, raspy voice that made Void shudder. "Thut yuh could git away from us? No, son. Yer can't never git away from us, no, yer can't. I'ma tell yuh whut," the man got close into his face and sneered. Void could only see his yellowed teeth in the faint light, besides a large, squashed nose and small black beads for eyes.

"I'ma show yer whut happ'ns to spies like yuh," the man shook Void in his arms, making him slightly nauseous.

The man took out a long-muzzled silver gun.

Void's eyes widened. The very thing he had wanted to get away from. Not the goons, but their longshot guns. He knew he stood no chance against them. They were fast, silent, and had a long range. They could shoot you through the head from several hundred meters away, and it would all happen so quick that you wouldn't even have time to blink, let alone run. Void was terrified, and the man knew it. He gave a short bark of a laugh, and pushed him against one of the walls.

The rough motions made Void's head heavy. He had already lost a lot of blood due to his large arm wound, and he wasn't sure he would be very alive by the end of this encounter.

The man shoved him against the wall and leaned into his face. Void could feel his hot, stinking breath fill his nostrils, and he coughed.

"We set 'em free," the man whispered, and leaned out of Void's vision. He was surprised. He heard a sharp click, and then another. A final one sounded like a latch being pushed into place.

Set them free? If he was going to set him free, then why had his grip gotten tighter?

Why had he notched his gun?

The true meaning of his words dawned on Void, but it was too late.

The man raised the gun and pushed it against Void's churning stomach. Without so much as a warning, he fired.

The bullet felt like a sharp, painful jab in the guts. It knocked the wind out of Void, and had the man not been pushing him against the wall, Void would have crumbled to the floor.

Void's head began to throb and his stomach had numbed instantly. A ringing in his ears deafened him and made him squeeze his eyes shut in pain. He lifted one trembling hand with much effort to his maimed guts and felt the wound tentatively. A large wet hole just above his navel was oozing blood. His shaking fingers scanned the bullet wound, feeling its edges and the warm blood that it let free.

The pain of the shot slowly began to set in, but Void's opponent did not wait for it to take over him.

The man raised the gun even higher, and pressed its cold muzzle against Void's chest.

Void looked up at his killer with the last of his rapidly diminishing energy. His tired eyes were filled with remorse for his fatal act of stopping one last time.

Now he had stopped for the last time.

Once again, there was no warning.

Once again, there was a muffled gunshot.

One last time, there was a bullet.

One last breath, one last blink. One last tear from his eye.

One last grunt of final pain.

Then, only the void.

-- Anonymous