ANY IDEAS HERE ASSOCIATED WITH THE LORIEN LEGACIES SERIES BELONG TO PITTACUS LORE. I TAKE NO OWNERSHIP OF THIS WORK.
Chapter One – Five on the Fly
The London night, saturated with twinkling lights, is beautiful from above. Free from the booming sounds of a city that never sleeps, and hidden from the endless accumulation of filth that is characteristic of most major cities, the London seen from the sky is a piece of art. Illuminated by a white-orange glow, cooled by a fierce breeze, it is an exhilarating sight, one that inspires thoughts of freedom, and can't help but make one feel that if she were to just jump out into the night, the wind would pick her up like a feather, and send her flying across currents of air.
Number Five looked down upon this artistic mirage, gazing in awe at the bank of the Thames River, with its water lapping up against the bank, illuminated by city lights. She loved watching the wind push tiny waves into formation, loved how the lights were reflected in the River's cloudy surface, how the boats, glowing with their hanging lanterns, seemed to glide effortlessly by below her.
It has been awhile since her Guardian passed, shot through the heart by a Mogadorian arrow. It had happened in the early days of the Mog invasion, before they had enough financing for the full-tilt weapons of mass destruction. She knew Loria would never have approved of her five-story balcony. It was too open, conspicuous, expensive, too high off the ground, many rational things that would have kept Five from enjoying her life in the past. But now it was different. She was on her own.
She truly did miss Loria. She had literally been like a mother to Five, caring for her since childhood, watching her back at every turn. It was the saddest time in all of her life when she passed, and it affected her deeply – changed her into a new person. With the death, Five had decided it was inevitable, this whole dying thing. It couldn't be prevented even if you ran all your life, hid in a hole underground, changed your name to Jane Doe, nothing could stop it. So might as well enjoy what life has to offer.
It was not these optimistic philosophies that ran through her mind, however, when she heard a knock on the door, and a raspy voice coming from behind.
"Open up, fivey wivey, we knowwww you're in there."
Suddenly, her serene calm was crashed, carried away like a dead rat on the Thames'. Suddenly, the view was not so worth it anymore.
"Come out come out wherever you areee."
The voice continued, and Five decided to look out the peephole to see if they were preparing to break down the door – a huge mistake. Staring back at her was the eye of a monster, ringed with red, filled with hate.
"Ha, there you are!"
The next thing Five saw before she dove for cover was the barrel of a red blaster. She screamed when she heard the first shot, terrified when she peeked over the couch and saw a burning hole in the center of the door, one booted foot stepping through.
She screamed even louder, her voice pinching the Mog's eardrums in discomfort.
Then she saw it – her way out.
As the Mogadorian entered her apartment, his friends soon to follow, she ran towards the balcony, not so happy as before when she noticed the twinkling street lights illuminating a five story drop down into the River. She took one last, deep breath of city air before she heard the sound of another shot being fired. And then she jumped.
The crowd of would-be attackers sniffed the open air on the balcony, searching for a trace of Five. Had she really committed suicide? The Mogs were delighted by the prospects of having their jobs done for them, but it was strange. This would be the first time one had ever given up without a fight - and of course they would be telling their cohorts that she took one look at them and killed herself out of fear. But it was too risky to guess. They would have to take a look.
Now standing at the entrance to the apartment building that had served host to her lovely balcony, Five eyed the Mogadorian's huge sixteen-wheeler parked out front, scoffing at the idea of all of those Mogs trying to pass as truckers on the highway. It would probably be nice to rid them of that burden. No one likes pretending.
Grabbing a rag from the glove compartment and some gas from the tank, Five soon had a cozy little bonfire heating up London. And then she ran. And ran. And ran.
She kept sprinting until she found a place where she was sure nobody would spot her. And then, jumping softly upwards, she flew out into the London night.
Love feedback, positive or negative!