The Parables

Cyrin - Precinct Four

Cyrin - Precinct Four

Squinting, I clench the knife tightly in my hand, my knuckles as white as the pearls on a necklace. In one swift move, I throw it forward and it slams against the wooden board. The knife protrudes from the red centre, on the target circle I painted myself. I grin and jog over to retrieve it.

"Four metres accomplished. Perfect."

Pulling the knife out of the wooden board, I turn back around. I let out a gasp. Holding the knife against my back so it's concealed, I narrow my eyes. A figure stands a few feet away from me. A boy. Flint.

"What are you doing?" Flint queries suspiciously, taking a step forward. I clasp the knife tighter.

"Nothing," I snap. "It's none of your business anyway."

"Maybe it is," Flint says. Suddenly, he lunges forward for my arm.

Twisting to the side, I push past him and run off. I unzip my jacket and shove the knife into the knife belt I have wrapped around my waist. Zipping it back up, I sprint faster. I can hear him following me. Cursing quietly, I dodge to the left and right. It was an old tactic my Father taught me.

"If somebody is chasing you with a weapon," he used to say, "dodge from left to right. It confuses them and they don't know where to throw the weapon." Father always had the best advice.

Dodging right, I suddenly see a small, round stone fly past my left shoulder. Veering to the left sight, I catch sight of another stone shoot past me. I grin and turn my head.

Flint is chasing me, clutching a handful of stones in his hand. His free hand is poised with a stone clenched tightly in it. He throws it straight towards my head. I duck and bolt down an alleyway on my left.

Bins line the alleyway's walls and washing lines droop from above, damp clothes pinned up to dry in the sun's heat. A plan quickly forms in my mind on how to escape Flint. Pressing on, I wait for a corner to appear. A few moments later, a right turning comes into view. I dash faster towards it and skid down the corner.

I leap onto a bin and onto another. Running along the line of bins, I throw myself into the air and grab the highest nearby washing line. I swing my body forward and bring my knees to my chest, crouching down on the top of the washing line. It wavers a little, but I stay extremely still. Just then, I see Flint run underneath me. I grin.

As soon as he vanishes from sight, I drop down onto the ground. Straightening up, I run back down the alleyway in the opposite direction to Flint. I flatten my hand against my chest, keeping the knives in place; I can feel the belt loosening, which isn't a good sign. Sprinting out of the alleyway, I head back into the street and search it for Flint. He's nowhere to be seen. I've lost him.

Darting across the road, I slip around the back of an abandoned building. The building used to be a factory, a textiles factory. Textiles is our industry, but after a fire set the factory ablaze, it was no longer able to be used.

I stop behind the building where nobody can see me and stand about five metres away from the target. Taking a couple of knives out of my belt, I throw one after the other at the target. They both hit the yellow areas of the target disappointingly. I sigh. Maybe I need to practise more at four metres away.

Suddenly, I hear something. A noise. The sound of footsteps. I slowly draw a knife out of my belt and spin around. Flint stands here, holding his hands up in surrender as I point the knife at his throat.

"What do you want?" I snarl.

"What do I want?" Flint repeats. "I want to know why you're throwing knives at a target behind the old Textiles Factory and how long have you been doing it?" I bite my lip. Can Flint be trusted? The obvious answer to that question is no, but something is nagging me.