Ring of Oblivion

     My breath felt like shards of glass in my lungs. My feet hurt as they slapped against the sidewalk; the worn, stained soles of my running shoes were paper-thin. My black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that was much too tight and the headphones I swiped made my ears ache. With each stride of my long legs, my heavy backpack bounced irritatingly against my spine. I could feel the burn working its way through my aching muscles, fighting against the chilled air. My arms swung back and forth in time with my legs, but nothing could ease the tension from my shoulders or unclench my fists. Not even the familiar thump thump thump of the jog. My long fingernails dug into the soft flesh of my palms, lining up with the delicate, half-moon scars there. Despite my body screaming at me to rest, all I could think was don't stop running.

     Wrenching my gaze from the sidewalk in front of me, I looked up. The sky was a piercing blue, framed by the towering skyscrapers guarding the bustling city below. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. A storm was brewing, yet I kept running. Beside me, cars whizzed by and I listened to the cacophony of downtown traffic. In the distance, sirens wailed behind me, but they were gradually getting louder and louder. I picked up the pace, forcing my tired legs to run a little faster. Passersby stopped and stared as I ran, nearly sprinting down the street. Bright red and blue lights bounced off the windows of the stores I blew by. Heavy footsteps pounded behind me.

     "Thief!" A deep, gravely voice shouted, "Stop right there!"

                                                                                        *      *      *

     "Stop. Right there," the photographer orders, directing me to stand beside my mother. I groan inwardly, and shuffle towards her, my beat-up sneakers catching on the white drop sheet. Despite her knowledge of my intense aversion to photos, my enthusiastic mother insists on taking a family portrait every year. Not that we're much of a family.

      I begrudgingly put my arm over her narrow shoulders and she throws her hand around my waist. Her large, golden ring glints under the studio light, catching my attention. I roll my eyes. I don't think that stupid, gaudy ring ever leaves her finger.

     "Very nice, you two! Look up here," the photographer says, tapping the front lens of the camera. "Smile!" I give my cheesiest grin. I'm nearly blinded by the flash, but at least it's done. My mom spins me in arms and looks me in the eye.

     "Thank you for doing this, Ash. I love you."

                                                                                       *      *      *

     My breath caught in my throat and my stomach lurched as the full force of the memory hit me. My eyes burned, and the street blurred. I shook my head, shoving the pain into a little box inside my mind. My feet flew over the cracked pavement, but I wasn't fast enough. I could feel the hot breath of the officer chasing me on my neck. I turned a corner, darting down the nearest alley. The acrid stench of week-old trash stuffed itself up my nose; rats squeaked in alarm as I nearly crushed their tiny bodies. I lashed my foot out, and my heel connected the hard plastic of a can. The officer cursed behind me, stumbling over the fallen garbage. I smirked, satisfied as I heard the splash of someone's hand landing in a puddle of fluid-that-was-definitely-not-water.

     Ahead, a chain link fence blocked the alley that opened on to Michigan Avenue. The cold metal bit into my fingertips, and my toes scrambled to find purchase. Like a cat, I scaled the fence. I swung my legs over the top and dropped onto the sidewalk, my knees popping on impact. The officer slammed into the barricade, the thin metal the only divide between freedom and captivity. I took the opportunity to catch my breath as the officer reached up to climb the fence, his arms straining and face contorted. With a wink, I took off down the street, but I was yanked backward by my backpack. I shrugged the heavy bag off my back and pulled, with no luck. The fabric was caught on a rogue piece of wire from the fence. Frantically, I tugged at the straps. The officer was almost at the top of the fence. The backpack broke free with a final jerk. But not before tearing a gaping hole in the side. A giant, gold ring tumbled out onto the dirty pavement.