Part 1: Fly from the Danger
"Goddammit, can't you do anything right?! You damn girl, get outta
here before I bust yer head open!!" The man swung a heavily muscled arm at
the trembling figure standing before him.
"GET!!!" The girl gave a squeak and ran out through a door. The man
snorted, and poured another drink for the cyborg seated at the bar.
"Got problems o' my own," the barkeep muttered, "Don't need 'er
running around here and breakin' stuff. That other bar, whassit called...??"
"Kansas?" the cyborg ventured hesitantly.
"Shu' up!! Did I ask you?!?" The cyborg shook his head in panic.
"N-no sir!! Not my place to butt in!!" The barkeep swept up the
broken glass from the dropped bottle into a dustpan, which he emptied into
the metal wastebasket.
"Kansas......business ain't been so good e'er since that one opened."
The barkeep snorted, and refilled another customer's glass.
" 'F we don't keep enough chips flowin' though here, we're gonna get
condemned and torn down." The little girl peeked quietly through the crack in the
door.
"Uncle Roy-"
"GET OUT!!!!" The girl shrieked and shut the door hastily. She ran
down the cement hallway to the old rusting metal door to her room. It squeaked
loudly as she opened and shut it; its rusty hinges were wearing thin and would
need replacing soon, or she would lose her door.
She was almost ten now, and for nine long years since the orphanage
stopped taking the money from her deceased parents's account, she had
lived with her uncle Roy. He was a tyrant bar owner, who was poor, mean,
and one helluva drug addict, but he was her only living relative. She hated
him as she had hated no one else. It was a burning fire in her heart, that
charred any fond memories of him to black dust.
Her mind was made up. She grabbed her worn denim pack and
dumped the contents of her cardboard-box dresser on the ground. Neatly
folding the clothes, she packed them all in, along with pocket money and her
valuables, consisting of old holocards, trinkets, and a hairbrush and necklace or
two. She packed her rented schoolbooks; she didn't care if it was stealing or
not, when Roy had used the food money for drugs, she had stolen from
the market vendors and the restaurants.
She took the money from her uncle's strongbox, she took her dad's
old leather jacket and put it on, unaware of the fit, which was much too big
for her. She put on a wool cap to hide her brown hair, and wrapped a scarf
around her face. Putting on her boots, and shouldering her back, she
went to the back yard of the bar, which was filled with empty bottles and
old papers. The cinderblock fence was the first major obstacle she had to
tackle.
The girl climbed up the rough blocks, scratching her hands. She
reached the top and vaulted into the street below, landing lightly on the concrete,
unnoticed by the passing people. She took off in a random direction, running
as hard and fast as she could.
* * *
"Seka, the bar's closed. You need to wash the dishes....Seka?" Roy
Kristen peered into the gloom of his niece's room.
"Dammit!! That bitch!!!" Roy grabbed his coat and dug through an
old beer case to find his gun, an illegal purchase that had to be hidden.
"Damn kid....thinks that she can run away, do she...." Roy marched out
into the street, and walked off fast, concealing the weapon under his coat.
"She'll get what's comin' to her....."
* * *
"I need a knife." Seka shoved some chips onto the knifesmith's
counter.
"What're ya lookin' fer?" the smith drawled, "Sometin' small fer
protection or sometin' big fer murder?" Seka thought.
"Something not too big, but nice and sharp. And light." The smith
chuckled.
"Knives is always sharp, honey. I got just the thing fer ya." The smith
removed something from his backroom, wrapped in leather.
"Some cyber asked me ta make this thing fer 'im, then he went along
and got killed. So I'm givin' it ta ya." The knife was long and thin, about the length
of her arm. It was cool to the touch, and the handle was supple and easy to
grip.
"If yer plannin' on killin' anyone, watch out fer them hunter-warriors. And
keep it clean. Good blades cut best when they're clean." He gave the knife to
Seka. She nodded silently, and slipped the knife under her coat. Now that
she had protection, she was ready for anything.
To Be Continued...
"Goddammit, can't you do anything right?! You damn girl, get outta
here before I bust yer head open!!" The man swung a heavily muscled arm at
the trembling figure standing before him.
"GET!!!" The girl gave a squeak and ran out through a door. The man
snorted, and poured another drink for the cyborg seated at the bar.
"Got problems o' my own," the barkeep muttered, "Don't need 'er
running around here and breakin' stuff. That other bar, whassit called...??"
"Kansas?" the cyborg ventured hesitantly.
"Shu' up!! Did I ask you?!?" The cyborg shook his head in panic.
"N-no sir!! Not my place to butt in!!" The barkeep swept up the
broken glass from the dropped bottle into a dustpan, which he emptied into
the metal wastebasket.
"Kansas......business ain't been so good e'er since that one opened."
The barkeep snorted, and refilled another customer's glass.
" 'F we don't keep enough chips flowin' though here, we're gonna get
condemned and torn down." The little girl peeked quietly through the crack in the
door.
"Uncle Roy-"
"GET OUT!!!!" The girl shrieked and shut the door hastily. She ran
down the cement hallway to the old rusting metal door to her room. It squeaked
loudly as she opened and shut it; its rusty hinges were wearing thin and would
need replacing soon, or she would lose her door.
She was almost ten now, and for nine long years since the orphanage
stopped taking the money from her deceased parents's account, she had
lived with her uncle Roy. He was a tyrant bar owner, who was poor, mean,
and one helluva drug addict, but he was her only living relative. She hated
him as she had hated no one else. It was a burning fire in her heart, that
charred any fond memories of him to black dust.
Her mind was made up. She grabbed her worn denim pack and
dumped the contents of her cardboard-box dresser on the ground. Neatly
folding the clothes, she packed them all in, along with pocket money and her
valuables, consisting of old holocards, trinkets, and a hairbrush and necklace or
two. She packed her rented schoolbooks; she didn't care if it was stealing or
not, when Roy had used the food money for drugs, she had stolen from
the market vendors and the restaurants.
She took the money from her uncle's strongbox, she took her dad's
old leather jacket and put it on, unaware of the fit, which was much too big
for her. She put on a wool cap to hide her brown hair, and wrapped a scarf
around her face. Putting on her boots, and shouldering her back, she
went to the back yard of the bar, which was filled with empty bottles and
old papers. The cinderblock fence was the first major obstacle she had to
tackle.
The girl climbed up the rough blocks, scratching her hands. She
reached the top and vaulted into the street below, landing lightly on the concrete,
unnoticed by the passing people. She took off in a random direction, running
as hard and fast as she could.
* * *
"Seka, the bar's closed. You need to wash the dishes....Seka?" Roy
Kristen peered into the gloom of his niece's room.
"Dammit!! That bitch!!!" Roy grabbed his coat and dug through an
old beer case to find his gun, an illegal purchase that had to be hidden.
"Damn kid....thinks that she can run away, do she...." Roy marched out
into the street, and walked off fast, concealing the weapon under his coat.
"She'll get what's comin' to her....."
* * *
"I need a knife." Seka shoved some chips onto the knifesmith's
counter.
"What're ya lookin' fer?" the smith drawled, "Sometin' small fer
protection or sometin' big fer murder?" Seka thought.
"Something not too big, but nice and sharp. And light." The smith
chuckled.
"Knives is always sharp, honey. I got just the thing fer ya." The smith
removed something from his backroom, wrapped in leather.
"Some cyber asked me ta make this thing fer 'im, then he went along
and got killed. So I'm givin' it ta ya." The knife was long and thin, about the length
of her arm. It was cool to the touch, and the handle was supple and easy to
grip.
"If yer plannin' on killin' anyone, watch out fer them hunter-warriors. And
keep it clean. Good blades cut best when they're clean." He gave the knife to
Seka. She nodded silently, and slipped the knife under her coat. Now that
she had protection, she was ready for anything.
To Be Continued...