The rain pelted down on the street as the young black haired boy limped, a hand on his side, the pain was starting to intensify. How much longer was this going to take? How far would it take for him to find help?
Sure the police were there but the boy knew better than to go to the police for this. It would only lead him into more trouble than it was worth. That would involve answering questions that he couldn't answer.
How many streets did the streets have? He had been around the world many times before, he hardly remember Paris having this many? Stumbling, he leaned against an alley wall. Gazing out at the night sky, the raven haired boy shook his head.
When did the moon have a twin? He surely didn't remember the moon doubling up. It was not the same, nothing was making sense anymore, his mind jumbled and twisted.
'What am I going to do?' Wilbur thought as he limped a bit more down the streets. It hurt so much, bruises and all. The walls were moving again, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
He had been so stupid, why had he refused help from the police? They could have helped. But no, the Robinson boy had ran. Ran like a coward. It was cowardly.
Stumbling, the boy almost fell to the ground, a hand gripped his shoulder tightly to keep him from falling. A scream nearly escaped the boy's throat as the grip softened.
In the dark night of Paris, he could not see who had helped him. His vision was starting blur worse, before he could say anything, the world as he knew it was swallowed by darkness.