I am so close now.
I envision myself wrapping my spindly fingers over the glistening metal of the black gun, curling tentatively over the cool and slick surface. My knees are raw. When the siren had woken us from our slumber and they'd told us we'd had a minute, my head had spun dizzily and a pair of denim shorts was the result of a quick change and brush of the hair: which inevitably left my knobbly knees exposed.
Breaking and entering. That's what they'd called it. Though I hadn't seen any breaking I'd just seen entering, but that was the whole purpose, get in the court unseen, 10 seconds of pitch blackness until the search lights came on. Each of us had a loose black top on our backs with a number stitched on the top. Mine said 37, with a small 3 at the bottom, the number of my Legion. I'd just heard the loud buzz of a speaker saying that number 15 of the second Legion had been caught and should make his way over to the admittance area to be stamped with the right to leave and go back to his dorm. Though I knew the penalty would soon be met. The court we were on, gray tarmac, and about the size of a large football stadium, was lined with a high wired fence and watch-towers with the big search lights attached to them.
The court was cluttered with junk. Not junk junk, but chairs tables and different assortments of furniture junk. When all of us had entered - searching for the gun - in those ten seconds of darkness I'd seen all the braver boys jumping over and on top of a ladder laid inbetween two cabinets. I'd seen them from behind a moth-eaten armchair leaping over it, though they'd had a backdrop of the full moon behind them - they'd seemed like part of an adventure movie - like Indiana Jones, but it'd been ages since I'd last seen one of those movies - and movies hardly mattered anymore when it seemed you were part of one. And now, my breath coming out raggedly and my chest hitching with adrenaline, I could feel it, I was close to reaching my goal and getting my hands on that gun.
I was crawling between an isle of chairs set up precariously all over the place, my entire body tense, it had been ten to twenty seconds since the last search light had blared in my vision and they always came on without warning. My arms ached and I slumped to the ground. I knew I was close, I guess it was a gut instinct.
I was certain I'd find it here somewhere.
I heaved myself up and gasped. The lights were on. I ducked my head and lay as flat on my back as I possibly could. The lights swung around searching. Searching. Searching. A crackle reverberated through my eardrums. "39 of the third Legion." I shied away and kept down low, thankful I'd chosen to stay in the blind spot of the watch-towers. Then, as if they'd been satisfied, the lights turned off. I got up slowly and continued my slow crawl. I was coming out of the isle and into a much more cluttered section. All around me I heard whispers and movements, I saw eyes watching in the dark and figures walking a long stride. A few pillows had been chucked haphazardly in my path and I moved over them stiffly. I put my hand on top of the first pillow and was suprised to feel a solid pressure against my palm. I grabbed the pillow, ripping open the cover and stuffing a hand in there. I felt the barrel of the gun, grabbing it out, I looked at it with shining eyes, I'd done it. I really had. I stuffed the gun into the waistband of my shorts and looked around.
Now for the fun part: getting out.
