The Dark Horse (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} struggleofwords) wrote,@ 2005-05-19 00:28:00 |
|
Chapter 9: The Escape Artist
This made it the third time she had gotten caught. The Chinese couple in the basement had a certain knack for attracting strays. Three times, three escapes, three captures. And there was bound to be more. She could not help her youth, her agile frenzies, her sense of adventure. Three:
1) Slipped through between legs, unbeknownst to her hosts. Slid by before the door clicked shut, and suddenly before her loomed the death white halls of freedom. The floor, cleaned the day before with dirty water, stank of stagnancy. The stables at the end of the flight of stairs offered mystery before hunger got the most of her. At midnight, she surrendered.
2) The threat of a prison is almost unbearable. Doomed to this injustice on prior occasions - held hostage, illegally transported, de-sexed in vicious operations - she fled. The crazed bolt was chased by loud voices and a storm of feet. But the darkness enveloped her; she let out a couple fading cries to confuse her pursuers, then became silent. Hours past. The slimy mildew and dustmites offered no intelligent conversation. In her loneliness, she forget herself and tried to find her way home.
3) The encroaching summer boredom had her crazed out of her mind. Desperation encouraged the huge leap out of the three-story window. The fall, arms outstretched, had been hard to shake off. The impact made the pads of her feet ache. But the smells, the bright green, the sun smarting of her dark hair made her wild. A few days later, she found herself back inside, dazed with wonder and stupefied by the architecture of her home. Warm welcomes greeted her, and for the moment she appreciated their intentions. But ever faithful to her daring enterprises, she schemes - Number Four.
This made it the third time she had gotten caught. The Chinese couple in the basement had a certain knack for attracting strays. Three times, three escapes, three captures. And there was bound to be more. She could not help her youth, her agile frenzies, her sense of adventure. Three:
1) Slipped through between legs, unbeknownst to her hosts. Slid by before the door clicked shut, and suddenly before her loomed the death white halls of freedom. The floor, cleaned the day before with dirty water, stank of stagnancy. The stables at the end of the flight of stairs offered mystery before hunger got the most of her. At midnight, she surrendered.
2) The threat of a prison is almost unbearable. Doomed to this injustice on prior occasions - held hostage, illegally transported, de-sexed in vicious operations - she fled. The crazed bolt was chased by loud voices and a storm of feet. But the darkness enveloped her; she let out a couple fading cries to confuse her pursuers, then became silent. Hours past. The slimy mildew and dustmites offered no intelligent conversation. In her loneliness, she forget herself and tried to find her way home.
3) The encroaching summer boredom had her crazed out of her mind. Desperation encouraged the huge leap out of the three-story window. The fall, arms outstretched, had been hard to shake off. The impact made the pads of her feet ache. But the smells, the bright green, the sun smarting of her dark hair made her wild. A few days later, she found herself back inside, dazed with wonder and stupefied by the architecture of her home. Warm welcomes greeted her, and for the moment she appreciated their intentions. But ever faithful to her daring enterprises, she schemes - Number Four.
