His eyes jolted open as fear flooded his body. It was dark. His subconscious first, then his conscious mind realizing that he was in free-fall. All limbs extended outwards, searching for something to grasp onto. His fingertips grazed the surface of something rough, immediately causing pain from the sharp scrapes. The pain was welcome, as it was his only hope.
He thought back to the night before, the screaming and fighting. It seemed so futile now. He wished he could take it back. Tell her it wasn’t a big deal, that he loved her. He had slammed the door on her face fuming. Regret washed over him, a sadness that clouded his thinking.
He felt something else. It was tight on his fingers, but more supportive. His falling slowed as the vines collected in his hand. Now his whole body was slammed against the side of the building, dragging downwards, scraping from knee to chest. He could he sirens far off in the distance. He could laughter from the next street over, the late night lovers in the street, stumbling out of the closing bars.
Finally, he hit something hard, small for such force it caused as he jolted to a stop. It felt like a tree branch as he quickly swung around his upper body so he could grab hold. With one hand fully grasped around the branch, the other bracing the wall, he clutched the branch with both hands, as relief ceased him, now fully processing what just happened. His body stung, feeling wet droplets trickling down his left shin and hipbone. He looked down to see how far up he was, seeing a streetlight glow against the wet sidewalk far below.
He turned his head to look back up, seeing the bend in the branch he was holding onto—it was too late though. Snap. He was in free fall again.
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She ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She could feel the first tears brushing down her nose, then the taste of salt in her mouth. She wiped them away as fast as them came. She knew this day would come, and she was prepared for it. She sprung off the building steps first into a brisk walk then feeling the raindrops meld with her tears, picked up her speed into a jog.
Four blocks away, the key landed in the lock clicking open. She burst in with new energy and ran for the bed. Crawling underneath, she yanked out her largest suitcase, and started stuffing the contents of her closet into it. Her thoughts were as scattered as her jumbled clothes.
Sitting atop her bedside table, the package she had received exactly six days ago with no return address was waiting to be packed more meticulously than the rest of her belongings. She was careful to wrap it delicately in a scarf and then into a smaller compartment of the suitcase. The last thing she did before leaving the apartment was place a handwritten letter on the entryway table. The letter was detailed and neatly written, unlike her haste to leave the apartment. Whoever would find it, would know exactly what they would have to do.
Down the Alley, www.nwsaweb.org/cody/.
Twins and their mother, www.google.com/search
Brother and sister walked side-by-side, wandering or lost, onlookers would never know. One had a newfound hope after the last visit, the other saw the new advancement of a vague letter to be as helpful as a magnifying glass in search of a pearl in a snow storm. They had been on the quest to find their birthmother for a year now. Sick of going in and out of foster homes for the past thirteen years had worn them into cynical and bitter people. However, after being separated for eleven years from each other and then transferred to the same home right before their 18th birthday was a sign from the universe, telling them what they did not know. They took it as a sign to go find their mother. They each had one family photo that had endured through the years. Notably the only possession they truly could call their own. Nothing else traveled consistently between homes.
The two had been sleeping in between homeless shelters and local park benches for the past several weeks since it got warmer. The nighttime’s filled damp coolness ate away at their aspirations of even finding their mother or a real place in the world. Her brother resolved to not allow his sister to resort to desperate measures for money, despite many opportunities to do so.
The only address they had had been a bust, as the lot had been vacant for years. The neighbors they talked too gave them a few leads but all were dead ends.
As they were walking, the wind started picking up and they could feel a storm approaching. She was staring longingly at the photograph of her mother from seventeen years ago, when a gust of wind wrenched it out of her grasp. The two of them immediately started chasing after it, bumping into a few stragglers on the street on the way.
She had the photograph in eyesight and was approaching seconds before she saw footsteps approaching and a large expensive looking dress shoe clamp down on the corner of it. She raced up to it and bent down at the same time as the well-dressed man. He got to it first and held up the photograph staring at it. She looked up into the eyes of a handsome man in his mid fifties, worn by years in a cubicle and stressful hours. He looked from the photograph to the girl, “you look just like your mother.”
moziru.com/images/old-letter-clipart-handwritten-2.jpg.
Dear Emory,
I am so sorry but I had to leave. I couldn’t tell you about what’s been happening because they have been watching me and I was worried about your safety. They know about what we did and I couldn’t watch you get hurt. I left John last night. I know he will be hurting but this is for the best. He hasn’t suspected anything, so I am in the clear. The war has been going on for far too long and if I can do anything about it I will. I left more details for you in the journal; you know where to find it.
The commission on espionage has cracked down and are requesting all efforts. Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. I know you want to be involved but you are more helpful from the outside, and out of reach from the others. I will get in touch with you again when its time. Continue on with our plan we talked about. It is still imperative to keep up appearances so we have the right connections when its time.
Look after John for me. And like I already said- stay out of trouble, I mean it.
Yours truly,
LJT
Old Study Room.
www.therookies.co/projects/animation/old-study-room/.
He was on his knees in the study; panic and desperation consumed him, as he knew he was running out of time. There were so many draws of papers and volumes of materials to look through. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for but had this feeling that he would know when he came across it. The letter said it would be here, he just thought it would be easier to find. There was so much information what was it that he was supposed to find.
A couple hours ago overwhelmed by the smell of must from the old papers, he had opened a window to ventilate the room. A strong breeze came through blowing his disorderly stacks of papers he had already scoured fluttering around the room. Many of the volumes of hardcovers that filled the shelves were about philosophy and religion, works dating back into the 1700’s. He couldn’t see how any of this was making sense. The man he thought he knew was suddenly more of an enigma than ever before.
Nowhere in the stacks and stacks of files could he find a single photograph or documents that mentioned the man’s family. One letter alluded that he was going to visit a mistress but nothing more than a glimpse into the idea without any details of where or when that might have been or even to whom the letter was supposed to be written for. Perhaps it had never even been received.
As he went through the old mahogany desk, he got the bottom and felt the smooth surface, until he got to the edge where there was a hidden latch, positioned at the back and out of sight. It was locked. The jolt of hope evaporated as quickly as it came.
Enamored by the locked compartment, he did not hear approaching footsteps. The door swung open and shook him out of his hopeless trance, as a woman stood in the doorway hand clutched around a pistol at her side. He suddenly realized it was not information he was seeking but a person. She was sent to him and he was supposed to meet her here.
“John is dead."