The Escapees

Hi reader(s), I'm writing this mainly to just write. (: None of it is true, so it is not a true story. And no they are NOT escapees from jail or anything, they are a band.

And by now I have bored you to death so onto the story..... Enjoy!

Comments And Votes would be highly appreciated (:

Chap One:

Running, that's how all my dreams have been lately. Just running, no people, no feelings, no sense of surrounding, or anything: just the rocky surface below my feet.

And just like lately I wake up panting, with a thick line of sweat running along my forehead and the back of my neck. I use the sleeve of my shirt and wiped it off, climbing out if bed simultaneously. My bed was only a mattress on the floor with a bunch of blankets and some pillows. It's not the best, but it works.

I opened the fridge like usual but this time found a bottle of some strange liquid, grabbing it I leaned against the counter. I had swallowed most of the overbearingly strong drink before throwing up in the kitchen sink. Maybe this wasn't the best thing to have.

It was about five in the morning so I downed the rest of the bottle and started making my shirt for today. Since all my other ones seemed to be in dire need of wash; I made a mental note to go sometime this weekend.

Using my bare hands I ripped the sleeves off and stretched the arm holes largely open. I took cardboard and a pair of scissors and cut the words "Kissed by a Rose" out. Taking my black spray can I sprayed the stencil onto the shirt, managing to also get other parts of the shirt. Before slipping it on I placed random slits in the collar and used pins to hold it together, same with the hem.

Sighing, I now pulled the work of art over my head straightening it in the broken mirror in my tiny run down excuse for a house. It's like something you would find in a 1970's catalog. Maybe a magazine my mother would still have stored up in her attic.

I pull on my leather pants, black sneakers, and my studded jacket that I won in a fight. My short hair is messed up like usual and the top layer is bleached while the under is my normal jet black. The roots are starting to fade a lot, going back to black, which makes it look even cooler in my perspective. I run my fingers through it lightly catching and breaking apart any knots that I received through sleeping.

I always have my makeup on so there's no point in bothering with it, although I do touch it up a bit in the bathroom with a little water and my finger. Sliding out the door I close and attempt to lock it, which doesn't exactly work, I stuff the key deep in my pocket. It was a chilly morning; you could see your breath in the air.

Halfway across my front lawn my neighbor Julian runs out screaming, "That's it! I'm sick of this crap from you!" Just like every morning. I closed the wire gate and put my hands in my pocket. It wasn't long before I heard him coming up behind me.

Julian lives with his mother and soon step-father number three. Every morning is the same, running out screaming at them; he can't stand either of them. But he's in need of someone, ever since his father left when he was only 7 his family has been falling apart. His mother is a gold digger because she can't afford anything with a lack of job.

It isn't long before he has fallen in step with me on our way past the downtown shops. "I think I'm going to leave tonight, to get away and just go some place better," he starts imagining like every morning. He can't though, because if he tried he couldn't ever come back- he wouldn't be accepted back. Also because his mother and fathers are the only money he has at the moment.

            I rub my eyes and feel the endless bags and take the smoke from him, needing it. Luckily, he was too busy to notice. "It'll come true one day sooner or later Aly," he says calling me by my nick name. My name's Allyson- I hate it. In a few months I'm going to have enough money to legally change it. I'll change it to something cool like what a rock star would have.

We walk to school and I have already finished the smoke and dumped it in the street. Of course I didn't care about what people thought about me, I was a nobody: one of those who stand in the background, wanting to be somewhere else in the world- in life.

Brrrrrring! The awful pitched bell rung over the campus rousing the lifeless students. I however was already inside going to class- never thought the bad kid went to class did you? I had an art class- which I have no idea why I signed up for: oh that's it; I still needed my art credit.

I wasn't the first in so I studied the pins clipped into my neckline (of the shirt). No one stared today, which was the closest thing to good as you'll get.

Class dragged on boringly because I can't draw or paint or sketch like the other talented kids in my class. But oh well, it's just art.

I sit at the back of every class by myself, never wanting attention from anyone except the ticking clock. Nothing seemed to pass the time so I actually got away with going to the bathroom. That's where I go to search the girls' backpacks finding some prescription medication- which I only take one or two.

My life has never been how I wanted it to be, living by myself, raising myself, doing whatever. But we never get what we want in life.

Splashing cold water on my face I gather myself and go back to class. I make it through the day each class the same routine. But last class was cancelled due to a bomb threat so i headed home.

I sat in my bathtub with a guitar music book. The worst part was I had to learn myself because all the teachers were too expensive. But I am pretty good; the only thing that calms me down after a harsh day.

But my talents will be pushed to the limits soon enough so practicing maybe worth it.