The Run

191

The man is sitting at the counter of Benny's Burgers. He is still sporting that bushy beard, dark hair still framing his face, and his cap is still screwed on his head despite his being inside. Again, it doesn't look so out of place - young people and their fashion these days...

The place is fairly busy, which is how the man likes it. It helps him go unnoticed. Each chair at the counter is occupied, either by a trucker having a well-deserved rest, or one of those typical small town cops eating a bagel just for the sake of distancing themselves from the cliché doughnut.

In the booths, all kinds of people are eating a late breakfast - respectable families having a morning out with their respectable children, a lone man looking passively out the window, a teenage couple who probably can't afford another place to have dates than Benny's fucking Burgers.

A plate suddenly lands in front of the man, and the metallic clang almost makes him jump out of his seat. His heartbeat paces up, and for a second, he is ready to storm out without looking back. The grounded side of him, and the dish filled with eggs and bacon and pancakes, stop him from doing so. The man sets a hand on his rumbling stomach, the other picking up the fork, and just for good form, he looks up at the waitress, who doesn't seem pleased with her job, and offers her his best murdering glance before he starts eating up. The man has been raised with good manners, but that one there doesn't deserve a "thank you".

As he devours his meal, the man glances up at the tv screen above his head from time to time. It's on the news channel, thankfully, because that's how the man stays informed. He's having a last gulp, rincing his burning mouth with water - the chef must have poured the entire pepper shaker in that plate - when the image on the screen threatens to make him choke.

"-man from Columbus, Ohio, still reported missing. It has been more than six months now, and the Dun family is still hopeful that somewhere, somehow, their son is still alive. Joshua Dun, also known as Josh, was the drummer of famous Ohio-act Twenty-"

The voice of the reporter blurs out as the man's throat tightens around his vocal chords, and suddenly it feels very warm around him. With a trembling hand, and tears rimming the corner of his eyes, he looks for cash in his leather jacket's pocket, but all he can find is a single dollar. "Fuck-" he mutters as he struggles to take his hand out of the small pocket.

The trembling is worse now, and the man's breathing is strangely difficult as he bends down to retrieve his backpack at his feet. Quickly, he sets the bag on the counter, missing the plate half-full of eggs by an inch, and opens it, rummaging into it as the television now broadcasts pictures of that Joshua guy.

The man's throat is dry and painful now, and he obviously tries to keep a panic attack at bay when he finally gets his hand on a black wallet. He swiftly glances around him - nobody's watching - before he pulls out a twenty dollars bill that he automatically sets on the counter before leaving his stool, rushing for the door and away from that damn television set.

He's almost at the door, fumbling with his backpack's zipper, when the waitress appears out of nowhere, a tray full of coffee mugs precariously held in the palm of her hand. His momentum is too big, and the man sees the collision before it happens.

The mugs fly high into the air as the two bodies bump into each other, but gravity quickly brings them back to the ground, and coffee spreads all over the two of them.

"Fuck-" he mutters again, and it seems that these days, it's the only word available in his vocabulary.

"Oh my God," the waitress goes, eyes as wide as flying saucers, and he notices that they're a dark emerald green before she speaks again. "I'm so sorry, sir!"

She reaches her hand towards the counter and grabs a handful of paper napkins. The man is mysteriously frozen as she proceeds to pat his shirt and jacket. "I'm really sorry," she says again, "I didn't see you there and- Oh gosh, I'm so-"

"Sorry, I know," he lets out with a grunt, finally getting a grip and pushing her hands away so he can pick up his backpack. "It's fine."

"Wait, let me-"

"I said, it's FINE!" he blurts out aggressively this time, and he doesn't even look back, rushing out the door, his backpack still open in his hands.

He only breathes out when he reaches the car. His face is flushed and droplets of sweat run along his forehead as he leans on the vehicle, catching his breath. Closing his eyes, he lays his head against the cold metal of the car, then, when his legs start to feel less like jelly and more like actual limbs, he opens the door and steps in, sitting behind the wheel.

It takes him a few more minutes to actually regain composure, and when he feels like he can finally think clearly, he starts thinking of his next destination. He needs to get away from this city. He knew it was too close, too dangerous, but he's in a rush now. He doesn't have time to be mad at himself. He needs to go.

-----

I didn't plan on writing and publishing this so quickly, but the prologue got me too excited and I couldn't wait to share more with you guys. I hope you're intrigued!