Running With His Kid

Taken

It was almost twelve at night. 

I was walking by the docks to pass the time. 

I knew I couldn't go home. In fact, I had nowhere to go. 

The bright lights created large shadows between the rows of enormous cargo boats and ships. 

My hand ran on the side of a huge steel crate of God knows what. 

The cold feeling of metal ran through my fingertips. 

My body shivered from the coldness of the metal. 

I carried a thick bright orange duffel bag on my right shoulder, which held all my precious items from my former room. 

I mean, I have to admit, it's a bit childish to live with your parents for twenty-three years. 

But now that fact was unimportant.

All that mattered was finding a stable job and a place to sleep. 

Earlier, my father was furious with me, but it was nothing new. 

He'd always go into a rampage after he got high. I thought nothing of it. 

He had only hit me a dozen times, which is decent for the amount of Heroin and Coke he had taken. 

Anyway, I got home after my last day at the diner. (I had gotten fired.) 

One thing led to another-- He punched me, told me to get my stuff, and I was on my merry way. 

Back to the story. 

So now, I was homeless, jobless, family-less, and cold. 

I found myself at the docks about two hours after my eviction. 

Before my father was a druggie, he moved boxes onto the ships and boats here. 

Sometimes he'd take me to work with him. 

Those were the best days..." 

We would walk up and down the pier on his breaks. 

Dad would tell me what cargo would go on what ship or boat. 

If we were lucky, a sailor would allow us on their ship or boat. 

On those opportunities, my Dad and I would act like pirates on a stormy journey across the Atlantic. 

Oh, well, there is no point in remising. 

It's over now. 

My once beloved father could give not a fuck about me. 

Lost in thought, I feel my body crash into one of the shipping containers. 

It makes a bit of a rippling sound. 

The noise resonating loudly around the area. 

My head swirled. 

I fell back into the cold pavement under my feet. 

As I sat there, trying to understand what just happened, I hear the sound of low voices jogging to my side of the crate. 

I tried to scramble up but my clumsy ass fell right back down on the ground. 

Speaking of ass, mine is really sore right now. 

Like, that first fall was hard, but damn. This second one will leave a bruise. 

The men rounded the corner of the shipping container. 

The light reflected off metal figures in their hands. 

One of the men, that seems to be shorter than the other, points the object directly at me. 

The taller one pulled out a flip phone. 

He held it to his ear. 

What is this? 2005?" 

"Located the noise-- Girl. Looks to be early to mid-twenties. Orange duffel bag." The man spoke into it, pausing for responses. 

"Sir? What are you pointing at me?" I questioned the shorter one. 

The man's look grew sinister. 

He didn't respond. 

The man look to the other dude with the prehistoric phone. 

"Got it." The taller one spoke into the ancient relic. 

He closed it and pushed it into his pocket. 

"Grab her." He threw the order to the shorter man. 

The man strode over to me. 

I tried to stand and back away. 

He caught me swiftly. 

It all turned black.