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In a burning, rushed second, my body was being flung from the roof of one building, to another.
Don't look down, my thoughts chant softly to me.
Because if I looked down, then I'd hesitate. And hesitation, nowadays, could definitely get you killed.
I hated the way the world was now. Like almost every corner you turned, you had to be looking over your shoulder, with wide eyes. You couldn't be out at a certain time, or they'd arrest you. Or buzz your anklet, number two.
I spent the majority of my time in Central Park, scavenging for food, water, or society that doesn't want my head on a stick.
It was pretty difficult, seeing as I was the daughter of the same very two people who were the hated faces of the city. Everyone blamed them for what happened, and why The Council ordered for all lower-class residents of Manhattan to be outcasted from the wealthy piece of New York.
Esmé and Kenji Waters — local post-inhabitants, defrauding. I.e. my parents.
I have no idea what really went down, because I was only six years old, at the time. And then, they left a year later, and I'd just been bouncing around by myself, stealing from other people.
All that I'm currently aware of is the fact that they're despised almost everywhere they turn up. And me, too, hell, whether I'm with them, or — which is extremely unlikely — by myself.
Darting my tongue out to moisten my dry lips, I clench my eyes shut, as my dirty boots hit the concrete of the roof across from Howie's.
Grunting, I hear something crack, as I roll ungraciously across the pavement, my short and fiery red hair covering one side of my face and slowed to a stop, eventually.
Grimacing sharply, I lift my hand up to my line of view, catching how the silhouette of it shook rapidly and the noticeably crooked finger out of place.
"Shit." I mutter painfully to myself, as I snap it back into place, holding my hand, as I did so.
A clatter close in the distance cuts through the silence of the night, causing me to glance up and narrow my eyes in curiosity.
Gulping, I stand shakily from my spot on the gable and begin walking in the direction, mentally scolding myself for being this idiotic.
You know what? I wasn't really in the mood to be taken into custody, so, I think this is where I'll draw the line.
Halting abruptly, I coldly call out, "Who's there?"
No-one replied, so, because I know that I wasn't just hearing things, I call out again, "I said: who's. There."
Same response.
"Okay, how about this? If somebody doesn't answer, then I'll shoot fire." I say steadily.
"Wait," a rough voice calls, before a man in his late thirties steps out from the coated darkness, holding out his hand as a weak defense. "Wait."
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Universe
Ciencia FicciónHer world has been crumbling around her, since she could ever remember. Her parents have both gone rogue, trying to find salvation for the three of them. The only problem is that she hasn't seen them, since she was seven years old. And now, ten year...
