Short Stories From the Mind of Brite

Otherworlders

Author's Note- Soumyeah. I have procrastinated the entire weekend and have finally written my sci-fi story for language arts. I might continue this plot, possibly with different characters, simply because I like the idea.

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Across the sign, it reads, "WANTED" in bright red font. Now I know it's something posted by an Officer, and probably something directed at bounty hunters. Beneath the title, there's a picture of me: boy about fifteen years old, red hair, grey trench coat, and devilishly handsome green eyes. I grin at the image, scanning the neatly typed words beneath it. "Otherworlder. Calls himself 'Red Tailor'. Notify any Officer if you know of his whereabouts, and the reward for bringing him to the Building is $200".

So the government's put a price on my head now, hmm? And with the state of the economy, that much money is the equivalent of saying 'here's a free apartment. Go find the kid, and you get the living space'. That is to say, two hundred dollars is almost unheard of in cities like ones where I spend my time.

Officers- officials who enforce laws made by Dictator Adams- and bounty hunters searching for criminals and Otherworlders are the only ones who receive such high pay. That's how it's been since the end of the Golden Age of America, a time that has to be at least a hundred years passed. Then the crime rate rose due to illegal immigrants and the government was thrown into turmoil, causing any openings to the United States to be blocked- the president at that time didn't want any other countries to see the U.S. in a state like that. So, anyone who illegally comes through is an Otherworlder.

And to full-blooded Americans like Dictator Adams, the only thing us Otherworlders are good for is being shot and killed. 'Course, I just laugh at him and make my deeds into a show to spite him and the vast majority of Officers.

I'm jerked out of my thoughts by a voice behind me: "You're him, aren't you? The boy on the sign." I whip around, only to come face-to-face with a little girl, no older than seven.

"What?" I ask, looking down at her so as to shield my face from anyone walking by. Most average citizens wouldn't hesitate to sell someone out simply to get the rewards. The girl just points at the sign, her eyes wide. I sigh. She can't be any real threat to me, can she? Reluctantly, I nod. "Yeah, I am. I guess that makes me famous," I try to joke. She just blinks up at me, probably not grasping much except that I'm the one in the picture. I give her a small nod before ripping the 'WANTED' poster off the chipped brick building it's attached to, starting off down the fractured grey sidewalk.

With things like this hung around the city- possibly all of America- it isn't safe for me to be out. If these posters say that whoever's able to find or seize me is to bring me to the Building, then other posters like this one were probably mass-produced there. Considering the Building is the center of the government, things are beginning to look more and more grim for me.

On the plus side, I haven't found any Otherworlders in need of food. See, the main reason I'm on the Dictator's wanted list is probably due to the fact that I steal from businesses run by full-blooded Americans, giving the spoils of my work to the less fortunate who I know will keep quiet about it. He doesn't really stand for that sort of thing, surprisingly enough.

For the time being, meaning the time in here in this city- Manhattan, I think- I'm staying in the first abandoned space I could spot. It's a small, run-down place, probably a former store. Shards of glass still cling to the edges of what should be windows, and its boarded door that seems to have been broken into several times over, but it serves my purpose. I'm only going to be in town for a week more at the most, anyway. It's a risky life, but in the end, you'll look back and say, "It was worth every second," I think to myself as I slip through a good-sized hole in the wood that patches what should be a door.

The inside of the apartment is as patchy and raggedy as the outside, with holes in the floor leading to the cobweb-clustered foundation of the building. It's like dusk in here, regardless of the fact that it's slightly passed noon outside; almost no light enters the windows. Which is perfect for me, because that means that my shadow will go unnoticed. Regardless of how poorly yards and houses look in this city, I know for sure that no one would stay in a place like this. So obviously, only an Otherworlder or someone who knew they were being hunted would be in here, and the Officers wouldn't hesitate to check if they saw a shadow.

After a day of wandering the city looking for anyone who might've needed my services, I'm beat. Pulling off my trench coat, I place it in one of the far corners of the abandoned building, using it as a bed.

Within minutes, I'm falling into a dark, dreamless sleep.

My hazely-green eyes finally snap open at the near silent sound of noise. I'm a light sleeper- always have been- so it's normal for me to wake up like this. Scraping noises on a partial door of an abandoned building, however, are not normal. Quiet as a cat, I get up, careful not to trip myself on one of the holes in the floor.

I don't move any closer to the door than at a point where I'm a few feet away, because opening the door might be the same thing as personally handing the 'WANTED' poster to a bounty hunter. That is to say, signing my own death warrant. Voices outside cause me to strain to listen closer.

"Are you absolutely sure you saw him sneak in here?" It's a heavy baritone voice, no doubt an Officer. The response is little more than a noise, but my eyebrows furrow. I've heard the voice before... Why can't I place it?

The excuse of a door is kicked open, though I think the outside's darker than in here. It's either very late or very early, but through the distorted colors of the night I'm able to see an Officer with a gun that glints silver in the moonlight. Like the deadly sword of an archangel, the gun's gleam winks at me. "You've been a lot of trouble to find," the Officer sneers, and my eyes follow a path across his arm and over his navy blue uniform to see a hawk-like, cruelly edged face staring at me through freezing, gunmetal grey eyes. "Luckily, someone had seen you."

He gestures to someone beside him with a shrug of his shoulder, and I manage to keep my face impassive (though it takes effort) when I see the little girl from earlier today. She must've told the Officer I'd gone this way.

"So, what're going to do to me?" I query after a minute of staring at the girl. My voice is defiant- I don't have to give up. Not just yet.

The Officer releases a heavy sigh. "Well, you've definitely done wonders for any impending rebellion. The easiest thing to do would be to kill you here; however, Adams wants to see you before you die. You might be more useful to him alive- we noticed you travel. You've probably seen groups of Otherworlders. The sooner we dispose of them, the sooner people outside our borders will be able to understand that they aren't allowed in here," the Officer explains. I can tell from his tone- slow and hesitant compared to his voice earlier- that he's wary of telling me too much about my own future.

"So I don't die now?"

Any trace of a guarded expression dissipates from his face. "No. Not now," he seems to agree, but he lifts the gun and shoots something at my leg.

I'm about to tell him he missed... when I crumple to the ground. My thoughts seem to be pushing through a sea of molasses, gradually slowing like the gears of an old clock. The Officer approaches me, and I can do nothing but stare up at him as he hoists my tall yet light boned body over his shoulder. As he carries me, I hear him quip, "Who'd have thought a tiny girl would be the end of Red Taylor?"