Elsewhere

One: Boston

[Author's Note: This is an old piece I wrote a few months prior, so it may be a bit rusty for your liking and whatnot. Enjoy this stuff, yo. Newer stuff coming soon.]

Nuisance. That's what she was to a lot of people. It couldn't be helped, given the environment, but even so, the impressions that she left behind would haunt her for awhile... until she reached her emotional refuge. She couldn't believe it! A light to her dark, endless tunnel. Being on the run for a few days to weeks had tired her out. The government instructed their little human guard dogs to find her, even though she wasn't wanted. People she hated issued for her return, and that was bull. Anger built well enough to keep her on her feet and surviving on the pathetic rations she had. There was no time for complaining, as the Boston alleyways were still pretty vulnerable territory to be hiding in.

     Dare Fowl was sprinting along the unbelievably clean sidewalks and darted by the fancy Victorian houses on suburban slopes. Sometimes the closed alleys didn't work out for her, as clubs blasted their music and drunk couples lingered around the corners. Stuff like that drew extra eyes and security on hand, and she wanted to avoid both those things at all costs.

     Luckily, the weather was warm. Summer was beginning and she couldn't be any happier to get out of that military school for troubled kids. It's been a few months in the correctional facility and a few attempts at running away, but it felt like an eternity since she was enrolled into a public school and stayed. Always getting into knockdown brawls was her specialty, and Dare's nickname Fists-of-Fury Fowl remained, even into the summer and when she made her daring dash to her supposed freedom. She wouldn't be assured of her safety until she was completely out of Boston, Massachusetts, and onto a better road. She knew she was... different. Something mystical was off about her, and no one seemed to comment on it.

     Finally she took a break partially under the Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge. It stood grand with suspension wires and shiny beams shooting down a triangular support. This pattern repeated to create the railings and such, and was one of the only things Dare would kind of miss about Boston. Trees next to her shaded her from the public eye as she hid under the coverage of the bridge supports and leaves. She sat down with her back against a small tree and dug around in her backpack for her rations. She flinched, finding the point of her unsheathed blade. Dare grabbed the hilt, flicked it shut, and threw it back in her bag. Afterwards, she finally retrived two granola bars and hurriedly tore one open. No one could see her face; her now widely known face.

     This is kind of the life here, Dare thought to herself. The thrills it gave her were amazing and the adrenaline fueled her when she vaulted fences and slid into thickets. Gulping down the rest of the granola bar and deciding to save the other one, she zipped up her bag and quickly slung it over her shoulders. "Okay," she whispered to herself. "Just need to cross..." Suddenly she looked at the Charles River Basin like it suddenly just posed a threat. The other side of part of Massachusetts lay far in the darkening horizon. In her field of vision, water and skyscrapers stretched in all directions until she caught something useful on a nearby dock.

     People always docked rented sailboats by a bank for recreational purposes. If she could get her hands on one, she could sail westward to Hopkinton using the river. Dare felt a smile creep onto her face and determination hit. Her legs propelled her forward as she rounded the paths and rapidly saw the sailboats in her view. When she was little and before all the intense, emotional trauma ensued, her dad took her sailing and taught her how to man the ropes, sail, and the tiller and propeller. Thanks for once, Dad.

     She started slowing her pace and leisurely skipped onto the dock. A parked boat rocked gradually in the calm river waters. It was clean, and she saw how much room there was. Vagabonds like her packed light, so there was enough room for her to possibly sleep in it too. No one was around to see this act of theft. She wasn't stealing. They'd eventually find the boat.