𝚁𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞
At seventeen Sebastian "Bash" Jonsson, has experienced more than most thirty year olds, and he'd experienced less than others his age. He's now twenty-two and this mind has...
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Sebastian knew how to survive. He'd learnt before he turned ten years old how to care for himself, because no one else would. Well, someone once cared for him. His uncle taught him a lot, how to shoot, how to make a fire out of anything. When to fight and when to run.
But when people care for Bash, they leave him. In one way or another. His uncle left him, on his fourteenth birthday after he had given Sebastian his gun, a .44 Magnum Model 629 Hunting revolver, a shit load of bullets and a pat on the head. It was the only birthday present he'd ever received.
Uncle Tony was buried next to his mother a week later.
His father was abusive and an addict, and even though it was his father's body that was being pumped with chemicals. Bash's was the one receiving the consequences. He has the scars to prove it. But he'd never let you see them if he can help it. If it became hiding his scars or getting stabbed. It'd be a hard choice for him to make.
Sebastian's always had to make hard choices, but one of the easy ones was the day he finally snapped and ran from his home, at sixteen. He traveled south from the shitty house he lived in. He ran from Kentucky to Atlanta, hoping that the five days it took for him to get there was worth it and his father would never find him again.
He didn't, and whether that's because he looked and came back empty handed, or because he didn't look. Bash didn't care and had more important things to care about. Like if he wanted to risk getting caught with his fake id to get into a shelter for the night or find an ally to hide in.
Sometimes the ally would be safer for the boy then the shelters. Surprisingly there was a higher chance for someone stealing from him in there than if he was on the street. Even though he didn't have much to steal.
The worn-out backpack he had (that could fall apart at any point and was basically held together with duct tape, safety pins and tears) had some water, a leather jacket he'd stolen, a spare pair of socks, a multi-purpose flannel shirt, some canned corn with half a fork. And two knives, one he'd stolen from his father the day he left, the other was a butterfly knife he'd stolen on his way to the city.
Then he had his gun; the one Uncle Tony gave him. He's had that gun longer than any other possession in his life. He owed that gun his life, and he'd be damned if he let anyone take it from him.
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Sebastian was hiding behind a dumpster on the outskirts of the city, getting ready to make a run for it. A run for him. He'd cross paths with a Korean man a few times, they never said anything to each other. They had a silent half agreement with each other 'if you see the other one about to die, give 'em a hand if you can, a nod or smile in acknowledgement and then run.'
