READ FROM BACK TO FRONT! ;)
Ive gotten a comment that this story is easiest to understand if you jump to the most recent chapter.
So... My very first fanfiction ever... Please feel free to review, I'd really like your opinion on this. I can see how you are wondering how this relates to Twilight, but here's a quick hinter... Vorone actually becomes Bella Swan.
12:00. That was a special time for all of us prisoners. It's exactly two hours after lights out; many are slumbering peacefully in the thick, oily darkness. Others who are not sleeping tend to more personal matters that require more privacy, like using the John or planning a personal escape route.
You see, once you're imprisoned, you begin to realize that freedom is hard to obtain once lost; midnight compares to a mystic fairy tale—even if it means being alone in a dark grimy cell. Being a seventeen year old girl in a jail cell leaves you ample time to dream, I still dream of fairy tales.
At the enchanting hour of midnight, I bolted up from the wooden cot I had pretended to sleep in for the past two hours and stretched my stiff back and shoulders. I swung my legs out of the cot and let my feet touch the cold, concrete floor. My slim hand reached between the crevices in the grimy rock wall and I used a fingernail to scrape out the small tool that had taken me six months to obtain—a paper clip. Most people take paper clips for granted; not quite keeping track of how many you started out with, rather, how many you have left.
That's what happened to the guard, anyways, who hadn't noticed he had dropped it near my cell. An impish smirk carved my lips in reminiscence as I crept across the cold cement floor barefooted. I didn't want to risk the shuffling sounds my shoes would've made while crossing the floor. The darkness that seemed to hang in the air made the surroundings hard to see, especially since everything in the national prison was painted a thick, stormy grey. I pressed my face as close to the bars as I possibly could get, wedging my cheek between the space as I peered out of my cell.
Just as I thought. The guards were no where in sight, sleeping in their designated offices. Once reassured, I raised my slim hand to the rusted lock, feeling for the sought keyhole. Ah. there it is… I opened the paperclip with my teeth, and picked at the rusted lock nimbly—this would be a chance that would come once in my entire life sentence (if I was lucky, at that.) I was not going to waste my chance now.
Come on... My silent plea was emphasized with a bead of sweat that trickled down my face despite the icy draft. Leaning my body against the bars for a better angle, my nose was pressed so close to the rust, I could almost taste the metal on my tongue. I flicked the twisted metal back and forth between the keyholes, almost giving up until I heard the reassuring click.
I froze, holding my breath as I waited in the agonizing silence. No alarm went off. I sighed in relief, almost snickering to myself sheepishly. I should have known that this run-down shack they call a federal prison wasn't armed, and was just as simple as it looked.
With a shaking hand, the bars to my cell was pushed aside tentatively. When they were finally ajar, I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I held even holding in the dead silence. Excitement traveled through me at an unnerving rate. How I loved midnight.
My dirty foot gingerly stretched out to touch the smooth linoleum floor outside of my cell. The amazement only lasted a moment-I had no time to waste. I slung my small bag across my shoulders and started moving.
In an almost unconscious subtlety, I constantly looked down at my feet, afraid that my silent tread would have woken a lion. My wide eyes scanned the darkness in paranoia for the smudged faces behind the other cells. Thank God everyone was asleep. Now that my hysteria was somewhat contained, I focused my eyes on one thing as I walked down the cold hallway—the emergency fire escape. My emergency life-sentence escape.
In an instant, I was standing before the metal door to freedom. I knelt down to the floor, picking at the doorknob for only a moment, and unlocked the door with the same precision I had displayed at my cell. I grasped the handle, and swung open the door, which surprised me with its mass—it was definitely much heavier than it appeared. The door opened noiselessly but simultaneously in sync to the sudden horn that startled me. So this was where their alarm is, I thought grimly. No use panicking now.
The siren continued ringing ceaselessly as I jumped onto the narrow fire escape, with no other choice but to hope it was stable. A blast of cold night air raised goose bumps on my arms as I landed skillfully on the un-railed fire escape—my equilibrium just barely managed to catch itself before my toes could slip off of the slippery metal grating.
I sucked in a breath, staring down at the modest strip of city below me—the cars looked like tiny miniature replicas from here, the people appeared to be mocking ants.
Oh God... That is a long way down, I noted, taking a vigilant step back. I hadn't realized the prison building was at least a story tall. The narrow ladder—my only escape from the small landing—was made of rusted metal and looked as if it could topple at any second.
The siren blared in my ears tauntingly; I had little time left—I had to grasp the ladder. By the time my numb feet had settled onto the first bar, the now-aroused guards rushed into the fire escape, beady eyes meeting mine with cognizance.
Oh no. That can't be good…
"Vorone Komarov! Stop right there—" Whatever they were saying couldn't possibly catch my attention now—I couldn't risk being arrested again. I peered behind my shoulder slyly, noticing that the worn-down structure opposing the prison wasn't too far away.
What I contemplated within milliseconds was a risky and possibly foolish plan, but I was willing to take the dice with both hands, and hope for double or nothing. After all, I lived to survive, and I couldn't survive another sixty years eating slop and chum in a rotten jail cell. With another quick glance behind me, my hands clenched around the ladder and I pushed off of the wall with my feet.
The ladder lurched from the sudden momentum, and then teetered backwards. My knuckles on the ladder were white from the exertion I had no choice but to give. Please work, please work… I pleaded to every god I could possibly remember studying from childhood as the ladder's velocity accelerated—the wind suddenly whistled between the bars of the falling ladder. My heart beat drummed in my chest to emphasize the speed of how quickly the world was turning in this instant. If there was a way I could make it out of this so-called "plan," it could only mean that a miracle had occurred. My eyes squeezed shut as the wind that broke around me whipped the long tendrils of my dark hair into my face.
My eyes snapped open when the ladder stopped abruptly—leaving me to dangle off of the metal by my fingers. When the reverberate cannonade of glass shattering and concrete crumbling sounded, I realized that somehow, my plan had worked, and I had made it out alive.
The ladder had fallen over to hit the building across from the prison at an angle, (somehow identical to the one I had conjured in my plan) and it conveniently hung over the prison wall, barbed with electrocuted wire. I took in slow deep breaths, as I promised myself not to look down at the scene below my hanging body, which promised a great fall. I remembered the eerie childhood song that had always frightened me since I was little. London Bridge is falling down… Falling down…
I snapped out of the memory to shift my shuddering hands to the side of the ladder, and I inched my hands across the angled railing. My palms burned, protesting beneath the friction of the metal. My hands—equally as threatening—urged to risk a fall, but I didn't dare to release my grip until I was a few feet shy of the ground.
The fall was short, and was halted expertly with the reassuring thud of my feet against dirt ground. I glanced down at the bloody mess I had made of my pale hands, with a wince, but snapped my head back up, nevertheless. The guards were out of sight, probably taking the elevator down to the ground floor, which only meant one thing.
I had little time.
My legs broke out in a rhythmic sprint as I ran for my life, all over again. The small cell I'd been confined to hadn't allowed my muscles to move freely, and a burning strain quickly developed on the back of my calves—against my own will, I didn't adjusting my pace.
A quick glance behind my shoulder reassured me; the officers hadnt caught up to me yet. I snapped my head forward, and my lips barely uttered a curse—I had failed to notice the police car stopping my tracks before me in the narrow road.
"Vorone Komarov, you are under arrest! Put your hands—" I sucked in a deep breath of ice air and bent my tensed muscles, letting them spring and recoil. I leapt over the police car, without leaving a scratch on its pristine exterior surface. It only took the authorities a moment in defiance to my lead, to start their car and tail me. With each second, they grew closer, and closer… Fear seemed to ooze out of my pores.
"Oh god, Vorone, think!" I hissed to myself in desperation, between the puffs of air I was exhaling. "Okay," I sounded like a mentally challenged person, wheezing to myself while running like my life depended on it. No pun intended. I'll just sort out my facts… "Today is the 17th of October, a Wednesday. A Wednesday." Just my luck—the homeless Roevincans held their black market bazaars every third Wednesday of the month, and the bazaar was located only a block away, opposing the road I was on now. The horns on the police car continued blaring, creating a ringing in my ears.
I sprinted with all of the energy I had left, into a narrow alleyway that would take me to the other side of town. The narrow entranceway provided a small opening that the police car couldn't follow, but I could fit through with ease. The metal fence seemed to be a gateway to heaven for me, right now. With every stride I took into the alley, the sounds of the siren grew distant, and in the comforting darkness, I finally trotted to a stop, putting my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
In the seclusion of the alleyway, I stripped out of the bright orange jumpsuit, to let it fall to the ground with a slight rustle. The thin clothing I wore beneath were grimy and plastered to my skin, but anything was better than being recognized by the hideous orange, (although that did mean I had to find clothes later.) I stepped over the bundle before I could be tempted to sit and rest on top of it. Pulling the drawstring open to my bag, I peered at the meager contents—an old teddy bear with black button eyes from a fallen friend and spare paper clips. Doesn't hurt to be prepared.
Finding my way through the darkness of the alleyway wasn't hard; I had snuck into the bazaar a few times before—this was no different. While walking through the alleyway, I came across a thin laundry line, with a few thin sweaters and trousers. I thankfully borrowed a pair of each, sending a silent prayer to the person who owned these clothes. I buttoned the garments on as I walked. The colors of the worn clothing were dull, and completely mismatched, but I was nevertheless happy with them. Beggars cannot be choosers? Was that the American phrase? I shook my head at myself and continued walking, letting my hand trail the gritty brick walls.
Once I was at the end of the alleyway, the walls seemed to open up, letting the sounds and smells of a bustling city overwhelm my senses.
I let out a sigh of relief, knowing I was much safer than I was moments before. The people who crowded around bazaars and markets were usually street people—people who couldn't afford clothing from department stores. I was glad for that—my rugged clothes blended in nicely with their color-leeched rags.
I'd never claim that it is easy to hide, but it is definitely more leisurely than running for your life, to say the least. A slight glance over my shoulder told me I was safe—there were too many people around me; I would not be recognized for at least an hour in this crowd. A smile crept onto my lips as I breathed in the icy air happily.
I'm finally free…
I almost scolded myself aloud for thinking that—you'll never be free, Vorone. Just because I wasn't imprisoned anymore, that didn't mean I could be off my guard... No, I'd have to build my walls higher and stronger than ever.
I was born to survive. Not to live. I reminded myself strictly, turning east; headed towards the borderline fence between Roevinca and American territory.
That's where I would survive. I walked proudly at the time, never believing that in a few days, I would lose my life again.
For those of you that survived reading such a long chapter...
THANK YOU SO MUCH, from the bottom of my heart for taking time from your day to read my writing. Brookiel1611, thanks so much for your review, your wish is my command ;D The next chapter is now out, so please go ahead and read+review! The next chapter is from Edward Cullen's perspective... Hope you enjoy!