Survival Book 1

Chapter 1-The Escape

The man smashed the vase and I quickly scurried out of the way, dodging it by a centimeter. He snarled under his worn black hoodie. "Get back here," he raged. Sweat trickled down his forehead. A single strand of dirty black hair poked out from the shadows of his hoodie.

I scrambled toward the kitchen. My brain thrived in chaos. I felt a sense of thrill, a dangerous thrill. Quickly, I considered all the options. In a mere second, my brain picked out the most clever one with only a 16.7 percent chance of failure.

I sprinted over dirty broken plates, dodged smashed wine glasses, leapt over used red Hefty party cups, and grabbed the sharpest shard of broken plate I could find. Blood trickled down my hand. "I don't have anything worth killing for, you know," I remarked, keeping my voice steady and my shard pointed at him. The blood reached my wrist.

He laughed his drunkard laugh. "Right now, a broken clock is worth killing for, girl." He inched closer. "Besides, I wouldn't kill you. Don't worry." He was about a foot away from me, and I could smell his sour breath. "I have other uses for you. I could use a fighter like you any day."

My eyes softened. "Do you pay?"

He smiled a cocky smile. "Four bucks an hour."

I lowered my shard as a single thought raced through my head: Wow, his guard is taken down way too easily.

I cut the shard through his wrist. It would give me a head start, but wasn't deadly.

He yelled and I ran upstairs as he scoured the wreckage for a cloth, cursing all the way. I quickly grabbed the emergency pack I had been storing in my bedside table's second drawer.

I sprinted through the front door, leaving the man stumbling through the wreckage. I don't think he saw me as I slipped out of the door, finally free.

I think I ran for about an hour before I collapsed on a bench in a completely unfamiliar place. And I cried.

This wasn't something I did normally, or rarely. But I couldn't help it.

Are you freaking serious?!? I had a great life. And Karma had to swoop in and ruin it.

See, I worked at a car dealership. The man who owned it was the most slimy, lying scumbag of a man you'll ever meet. He wore a crisp purple suit with a matching tie every day, and always had his hair slicked back with gel. He called me "Vic" which was a nickname I hated. Victoria was my name. Not Vic.

But he paid very well for me to jack up the cars and sell them for MUCH more than their worth. I was only 16, but I was making 40 bucks an hour.

Mom and Dad were successful lawyers. My 25 year old sister was a second away from discovering the cure for malaria. Then disaster struck.

Mom and Dad got fired, and my sister's formula became toxic. She got banished from the lab and never got a call back. We had to sell our house and move to Wilkin Street, the sketchiest street in California. Our little apartment was weak and easily broken through, and I couldn't pay anymore because I lost my job when we moved away. Mom started smoking, and Dad couldn't bear living like this, so he moved into a retirement home. I'm jealous, but 16 year olds aren't allowed, because we aren't 60. My sister got a boyfriend and moved into his mom's basement. Mom eventually had to get help, and after she passed out I had to get her an ambulance. She had to stay there, but then was released into a home for people like her. So I was all alone, a sitting duck for robbers and various other types to kick down the front door and say: "SURPRISE!!! I'm here to kill you." I was so damn sick of it.

I learned how to defend myself, and now I'm here. On this stupid wooden bench in Sketchyville, California.

I don't know what to do, or where I'm going to go. But I'm free.

And without the comfort of my stiff little mattress, with the cold night air on my face, my stomach full of stale crackers, I went to sleep.