I stormed out of the bank with my teeth grinding in fury. The lifeless grey street closed in on me as panic started to rise in my throat like acid until I choked, spluttering and gasping for breath. My father - that vindictive, spiteful beast - who refused to lift a finger to help me or -
Manni. At the store. In fifteen minutes, he will march in and put a gun to the temple of the first innocent shopper he comes to, and I'll be three miles away, sat on the blackened steps of my father's bank with blurry eyes and wet cheeks.
Or I would be, if I didn't love him. I ran.
My feet pounded the pavement in rhythm, getting faster and faster. My pulse quickened and my muscles woke as my lungs drew deep, steady breaths. I tore through the shadows of the oppressive buildings like a leopard on the hunt. I darted past the rows of parked cars and brushed off the scowls from passers-by, rounding the corner as a flash of green hair smothered my vision-
The woman checks over her shoulder. She catches a glimpse of three police officers on her paths as sirens wail in the distance. She hugs her child to her chest and speeds up, desperate to find shelter. They won't take her baby, not this time, because this child is hers. It doesn't matter that her baby has blue eyes and this one has brown, or that her baby never cries and this one is screaming out loud, shh, shh. She won't lose her sweet little Josiah again. As the woman turns to face the authorities now surrounding her, she hides her baby in the tangled remains of her once soft, lush green hair, and begins to hum a lullaby.
- and I shoved aside a woman with a pushchair. Left, right, left, right. Breathe. Don't hesitate, don't stop. Just run.
The labyrinth of tiny alleys and narrow, crushing sidestreets gave way to the raucous market district of central Berlin. Wafts of hot sausage and spices filled the air as I shoved through the crowd. I breathed deeply, taking in the scent that echoed Manni's cooking almost perfectly. The fishmonger across the plaza hollered at the top of his voice words which became incomprehensible as I found strands of Manni's low, gruff voice woven in. I did a double-take as as man swerved past with olive skin and heavy eyebrows. Oh, Manni. I had to fall in love with such a rash, desperate fool. I knew then, whatever happened today, that he would get us both killed.
I didn't notice the bike until I hit the floor-
The man's face is swollen and bloody, with bruises starting to form in patchy colours across his skin. The snake tattoo on his neck all but disappears in a wash of purple and green. His vision is blurry and his head spins as he lifts up a fraction, only to have it come crashing down onto the red-covered pavement as the pain flares up again. The man grits his teeth in agony and groans. The sound comes out as a pathetic whimper, but it's enough to make the woman look away from her phone. As hi vision clears, the man finds himself face-to-face with a young lady kneeling beside him. She smiles kindly, then reaches out to caress the artist's palette blooming across his face.
"It's going to be okay," she breathes.
-next to a pale neck laced with swirls of dark green ink. The crash snapped me out of my daydream. I jumped to my feet and took off once more, blocking out the furious cries of the cyclist. I had almost no time left. The sun beat down on my bare shoulders and I raced faster and faster, trying to ignore the searing pain in my thighs. I had to reach Manni. Almost like a gauntlet, a car pulled out in my path and I vaulted as instinct took over.
Far in the distance, uniform-clad figures surrounded another, broader man, kneeling on the ground. As I grew closer, the image sharpened and features became recognisable. The man's olive skin. His heavy, dark eyebrows. The shirt I picked out for him that morning.
I saw him fall before I heard the shot.
