The Fugitive - Short Story

Authors Avatar by abuelgasim (student)

The Fugitive

It’s such a cold night. The air is still and freezing and the streetlight provides no warmth, simply a harsh pool of sterile light. Underneath the light she’s huddled, sucking as much heat as she can out of her only cigarette. Her hands shake as she brings it up to her pale lips, takes one last drag, and flicks it away. The cold extinguishes the glowing spark at once, and all that is left is the smoke, spiralling up past the light to mix with the night air. It starts to rain. Slowly at first, but gradually getting heavier. Eventually, she pads out of the light and down the street to where a derelict warehouse sits. She’ll be dry there if not any warmer. Her eyes dart about between the dark, tangled locks of hair that covers most of her face. She’s looking for something, though she looks terrified of finding it. A man passes her in the street, giving her a brief smile before donning a pair of sunglasses. She gives it no further thought as the rain turns to hail, which stings as it collides with her head and neck. But just as she reaches the shelter of the warehouse, a thought crashes over her.

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She knows that man. The man who wears sunglasses at night, who is always impeccable in a shirt and dinner jacket. She knows him all too well. Then she becomes aware of other things. The way the hail suddenly stops, and the soft click as a safety catch is removed from a gun. The warehouse is dark but she darts inside, feeling a relief at losing herself in the darkness. Her relief, however, is short lived. A shot screams out from a gun and the splintering of wood and a blossoming of pain tells her she’s been clipped by ...

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