~Frank/Fun Ghoul's POV~
I cough once again. They're really starting to get old. All these fuckin' jerks tryin' to keep me from runnin' away. Their leader just landed a rather spot-on blow to my ribs. I couldn't breathe. Now, though, I could.
"The fuck," I cough. "Is your motherfuckin'," A pained gasp as I fill my lungs with more air. "Problem!" I shout. I can hear an engine. Maybe they'll get the hint. I know that someone's gonna save me. It's that gut feeling. The one where you're filled with utter euphoria. Like opening a present on Christmas morning and seeing what you really wanted. That feeling.
"Shit, Tyrone, someone's comin' and it ain't Betta Livin'!" His accent makes me want to shoot someone. They all cast nervous glances around their group.
"You better be glad we're leavin' before we get the chance to give Better Living a new corpse to test on." Even though the threat is empty-he's leaving, I couldn't be more glad-, I feel a slight chill in my bones.
"Yeah, go on back to your fuckin' mommy, Tyrone. Oh, and while you're there, tell her fat ass that I'm one of the few kids that pities her walk-out husband for lettin' her name you fuckin' Tyrone!"
White-hot pain flashes through my face as a sickening crunch is heard. So my nose is broken, it's not the first time. They let me go and high-tail it out of there. If it were Better Living, they still woulda run. No one's supposed to be out after curfew. I'm only here because I got out of my music lessons rather late. Then I got the shit beat outta me and the rest is history.
But I also didn't want to get caught here. I look at the bag that had been tossed carelessly across the room. I was always prepared. I bite my lip. I snatch it up and run for the back door. It's unlocked. Of course it is, I've been opening it, wanting to go through it for almost a year now. Well, it's now or never.
Let me just say, kids, always act spontaneously. Good things will come of it.
