Through the Wringer

undecim

The sirens were blaring, and I had my foot pressed to the gas. My rear-view mirror showed a helicopter, and there were cops about three-fourths of a mile behind me. I was yelling- "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTT!"- as I swerved past other vehicles, trying to shake my company. A cop had pulled me over for my tail lights being off, and realized it was me. He'd tried to open my door, and I sped off, crashing into a light after a couple miles. If they caught me, running away would go on my record, and I'd go into the foster system. And I could be charged with evading the authorities.

That wouldn't look all too well on my adoption papers. I kept accelerating, until I was leaving the helicopter in the dust. The cops could still see me on the flat stretch of highway, but I was far enough away to do what I was planning. I kept going to the bridge, tears falling out of my eyes. The cops were too far away to stop me. I drove onto the bridge, and slammed on the brakes, getting out of the car. The cops got there faster than I thought. I pulled myself up onto the bridge railing, and climbed over. There was a lot of yelling, and then I heard a gun.

I froze up immediately. I will not die at your hand, I thought, letting go of the railing. I fell a little, then, somebody grabbed my arms. My feet slipped, and I started screaming. There was more yelling, but I couldn't see what was going on through my tears. The hands on my arms started to slip, but then more secured me, pulling me up more and more, then, finally, over the railing and onto the road. I was cuffed, and put into the back of a police car, until the ambulance could reach us. My leg throbbed, and I still couldn't stop crying. News vans showed up, but the police held them back. I was bleeding all over the place, and it felt like the person who had grabbed my arm had broken it too. I just kept sobbing. I wasn't free anymore. They were going to throw me in the system, where nobody actually cares about you at all. I'd be reduced to an empty shell, nothing left of who I was.

But I'd already accomplished that well on my own. If my family had been alive, I would never had run away, or stolen a car. I wouldn't have to be disguised as a girl, or evading the police like I'd tried to. I wouldn't have attempted suicide to keep myself out of the foster system, because there wouldn't be anyone trying to put me into it. My life would be okay. I'd still be happy, and right now, I'd be attending school.

But over all that, I would still be who I am supposed to be.