Feet aching, heart racing, mind whirling.

Just a little bit further…

My hands steadied themselves against a grimy bricked wall as I smashed through a line of dented garbage cans, bouncing across the alley and into the streets. High above me sat a flock of overly-plump pigeons whose beady eyes darted back and forth, watch the scene below. They waited expectantly on the rooftops, fluttering in anticipation of scavenging the trash cans.

The sound of the hungry pigeons were lost over screams of anger.

Leaping over the spilled remains of someone's leftover lasagna (and nearly slipping on a used diaper in the process), I continued to scramble away with only one short, faltering stumble. The thumping in my temples sounded like drums of war, keeping in time with every stride.

I turned onto a open street, pushing past a mass of people. Rich woman in lavish designer fur coats, business men in strangling ties carrying suitcases, even the occasional hobo- all were merely faceless obstacles to be avoided. Shrieks and profanities were shouted my way.

Of course, as soon as they say the blue uniforms the crowd parted like the Red Sea. I could hardly hear them over my own gasps for oxygen (I need to hit the gym or something, my stamina is not what it used to be) as they demanded for me to halt.

Sweat-soaked hair whipped around in my eyes as a I glanced back. My pursuers were very much the comic duo, their batons whacking them in the thighs as they ran. One's body was stick-thin, very much overshadowed by his partner's wide girth. Both had nasty pit stains and red faces, but despite running them through my usual route they weren't giving up.

Rookies, I though with a frustrated shake of my head, They're always so eager to please. Any other cop would have given up six blocks ago.

Time for desperate measures.

I bolted for the street corner and hopped onto a wooden bench situated conveniently at a busy intersection. I curved the soles of my feet over the wooden planks and balanced on the back rest like a gymnast, swinging my arm around a nearby lamppost. I landed back into the street, my toes curling around the edge and the soft skin of my arm pinching against the poster and advertisements taped onto the sleek black metal of the street light.

A curious crowd of people had formed around me and the police officers gasped in sudden fright as a cit bus zoomed by, not inches form making me a spot on the windshield.

An amused smirk tugged up at the corners of my lips as I called out wildly, "Come on, boys! You arnt even trying. At least the last cops got within a couple feet of me. This is just sad."

The bulgier cop put his hands on his knees, his cheeks puffed out as he tried desperately to catch his breath. His cap rested crookedly on his head. His partner wasn't looking so hot either, red in the face and sweating up a storm.

"You don't have anywhere to go! You're under arrest!" Stick-man managed to spout ina tone that sounded more like a plead than a command.

"See, now that is precisely why you'll never catch me." I twirled around the post, tip-toeing back onto the edge of the bench. My attention was fixated on the traffic- this had to be timed perfectly. "Word to the wise: Don't underestimate me!"

And with that, I flashed them a lazy salute and leaned out into traffic.

I caught a few screams from the crowd before the thunderous WHIR of a passing truck caused me to vanish.

Some blocks and a couple of stop-lights later, I released my grip from the metal grating of the transport truck and hopped off at a four-way intersection. With a giddy whistle and me tapping my hands on my thighs, I strolled down a narrow side street.

My fingers wrapped around what was stuffed precariously in the pockets of my dirty brown crago pants, as if to make sure it hadn't disappeared.

Shiny, expensive, and headed for a pawn shop.

The morning light streamed down over the cement-grey apartment buildings and reflected on the blue windows of sky scrapers in the distance. I turned the corner and rapped on the walk-through window of my habitual fast-food joint with my knuckles, bypassing a long line of tired and impatient customers. The window slid open with a SHUMP and out peeked Ruby. Her usual over-done make-up stuck off the lines in her face in clumps, her bottle-made orange hair mushroomed over the tip of her visor in defiant curls.

"Look who showed up," Her lips pouted as her gravely smoker's voice drilled in its usual low-octave ton. She raised a perfectly maintained eyebrow, looking me up and down in disapproval.

I was a little worse for wear, I'll admit. I could understand why she pursed her lips harshly with judgement. No shoes, a sweaty white tank-top, dirt and rust coloring my face and clothes. I wasn't exactly Miss America over here, but who could blame me? I'd just been chased seventeen blocks- props to butch and his stick man partner for even making it that far.

I wiped my tangled hair behind my ear with a passing sense of self-awareness. "Nice to see you too, Ruby. Now may I please have…" I bit down on my bottom lip as if thinking about the choices (which I was, I was starving d I wanted to savor this moment), though we both knew I would order the exact same thing I always did. "A double-stacked Baconator, extra bacon and a jumbo Fruit Explosion?"

Ruby popped a cherry-bubble and started chewing with her mouth open. "Sure thing, hun." She turned to ell out the order and then looked back at me. "How goes things at home? I saw your brother yesterday, looked a bit under the weather."

"Oh he's fine, great even. A regular pocket full of sunshine!" I rubbed my shoulder in remembrance. Too much whisky in a man with big arms and a short temperament leads to a lot of broken things, luckily not my arm. This time, that is.

Ruby pinched her lips until they were white, her nostrils opened and closed. She knew what the street was like, having the after-hours job that she did. But Dorothy also didn't like it when I lied to her.

"Here's your meal hun. I'll see you later." She said briskly, giving me a brief nod and slid the package over to me. "NEXT!"

I was shoved out of the way as a jogger with a poor attitude gave his order.

I pulled the straw to my mouth and shuffled down the sidewalk, not wasting the effort to remind Ruby that I hadn't paid yet.

My heart was still racing a bit after my morning endeavor, so I devoured my Baconator like a vacuum, tossing the wrapping over my shoulder nonchalantly. The liquid sugar from my drink wasn't exactly going to calm me down. I supposed the adrenaline was still streaming through my veins since I couldn't help but bounce about the curb in a boisterous kind of way. I even clapped my feet together mid-air in a mockery of a Broadway dance routine.

Ha, what a perfect way to start the day. Successful pinch and run, a healthy clump of fried food in my stomach. Things are looking up for-GAH! Brain freeze!"

The pawn shop was down by the docs, so I had quite the walk ahead of me. Making sure to drink my Explosion more slowly, I took the long way around (just in case those cops were being thorough).

A breeze that stunk of salt and pollution wafted over my heated skin.

The world ignored me for the most part. I enjoyed staring at people who kept their yes fixated to some invisible goa, or intently on their cell phones (never had one. I don't see the point, I've never had anyone to call), too socially awkward to make contact.

I passed a man carrying a box of what looked to be huge earthworms, some crazed goth boy with melted eye liner and frizzy hair, and an old man who looked freakishly like Yoda giving it his all at a set of steel drums with a grimy cap out in front for any passerby's kind generosity.

I tossed him a few five dollar bills in passing, not stopping to accept his thanks. They weren't mine anyways, might as well spread the wealth.

The pawn shop faced the river, distant ferries trailed back and forth across, a few sailboats snaking in between. A flock of seagulls squawked at each other, their heads bobbing about as they searched for any scrap of edible litter.

The sound of a bell tinkled as I pressed against the glass door. I glanced into the store-front window, and a neon "OPEN" sign flickered. The store was lined with worn oak tables and shelves that ran the length of the store. There were assortments of goods of all fink. Necklaces, tattled paper backs, old war junk, even a few skulls (fake… probably. You never knew in this pawn shop). No organized system was present to distinguish between the types or styles of the products, the buyer would have to rummage around until they found what they were looking for.

Florissant lights lined with thin cages hummed from the ceiling, with many unlucky flies littering the canisters.

The counter was near the back, a way to force any tradesman to perhaps catch side of something they might fancy before reaching their goal. I sauntered across the multicolored tiles and plopped my 'find' on the counter top.

I slurped at any Explosion that might be hidden at the bottom of my jumbo cup and whacked the copper sprayed bell a couple of times. A mini-rotary fan buzzed back and forth, hardly stirring up the stuffy air at all.

A man of Native-American descent shambled up to the counter. He was wearing a plaid shirt with white washed jeans and a cowboy hat. His long hair hung in bountiful dreadlocks.

"How can I help my favorite customer today? I have a new shipment of novels, original copies straight from the office desk."

His offer hung in the air for a moment, but I waved it away. "Just selling today, thanks Joe."

"Hmm," Joe snapped on a surgeon's glove and inspected the goods with a surprising delicacy for his sausage fingers. "I would be able to spare… perhaps a hundred for this piece."

I slammed my now-empty Fruit Explosion down on the glass cabinet. "A hundred? Are you trying to rob me?" (Ironic, right?)

"It's worth four times that! Five, if you count the effort it took to get it." I snatch my stolen goods from Joe's greedy hands and held them back with a warning. "There are plenty of other pawn shops in this city, Jerry. I can take them elsewhere-"

"No, no!" His thick accent slipped through his rushed words. "I have to make a living here, Amy. How about two seventy-five? Final offer."

I smiled with fake sweetness at him, and slowly handed them back.

The great thing about Joe was that he never asked questions. Once a valuable object crossed the threshold of his shop, how it was attained was irreverent.

"We have a deal then." I picked up my Explosion and started to turn back towards the door.

"Here, take a look at this, my dear Amy." I turned around and glanced down at the manuscript that was plopped down in front of me.

Joe was being pushy, it seemed. He hummed a tune and started rummaging around in the cash register while hopping from foot to foot.

Out of sheer politeness, I lifted the page by the corner carefully (you rip it you buy it) and let out a small squeak of pleasure. The title of my favorite novel was staring back at me.

Game of Thrones was a definite all-time favorite, along with every other book in the A Song of Ice and Fire series.

And why?

Simple.

The combination of all the characters, streaming from the prideful and good-looking Jaime Lannister to a little but badass Arya to a sneaky Little Finger to even that little bastard Joffrey Baratheon was what made the series great. That and the knowledge that no character was safe- my heart churned at the thought of the Red Wedding.

Robb Stark was my favorite character, personally. It was truly and injustice, what happened to him. Complete bull. If I could rewrite it, I would.

"This is-" I pointed at the penned paper.

"One of the original copies." He stated, and began to count out folded green bills. He paused and looked up at my shoulder through musty, square framed glasses. "That's quite the bruise you got there."

I shrugged nonchalantly.

He slid the bills towards me and fanned them out. Still staring at my shoulder, he said, "In my clan, we believe that stories are powerful things."

I nodded, not really listening to him speak as I started counting the paper myself. Joe could just go on and on about his clan if you let him. Funnily enough, I never met any of them.

He pressed on, leaning over the counter while he stared at me intensely. Like a midnight alley cat who knew which bag of discarded trash had a leftover can of tuna.

"Stories can change your life."

"Sure, sure." I waved the bills at him and grinned "Thanks a bunch, Joe. You look out for yourself, you hear?

I started to wiggle my way between the stacks of tables towards the door. My sweaty palm clamped tightly around my earnings for the day. I knew exactly what I was going to buy first- a giant strawberry sunday, and then shoes. Definitely going to need some shoes, wasn't about to go fishing for my last pair in the sewage pipe (long story).

I thought Joe had remained behind his counter, until-

"They're an escape, stories are."

I nearly banged my head of the cheap card-boarded ceiling for how high I jumped. I bet I could have competed in the Olympics. First all that running this morning, then the jumping- I was turning out to be a regular athlete.

Jerry was hunched over my should now, like a large raven with a hump in it's feathers.

"Some people need an escape once in a while."

It was a little too close for comfort. "Uh-huh, yeah. Look, I gotta jet. You have a nice day now, okay?"

"Good, glad we see eye to eye."

I felt an involuntary chill run up my spine. Thoroughly creeped out, I looked him in the eye as I had one elbow up against the PUSH handle of the door. Joe tapped the priceless Game of Thrones manuscript to his temple, smiling knowingly. "You have fun out there."

"Fun, yeah. I'll see you around, Joe." Slightly miffed, I stepped out into the bright sunlight and-

Had a heart attack.

Okay, okay. I'm exaggerating a tad. I didn't have a heart attack, per se. But it sure as hell felt like one. My entire body seemed to shrink in on itself, and this strange feeling of my conscious leaving my mind and entering another left me unconscious.

I was lying on the ground when I rejoined the world of the living, a killer headache making my mind a bit fuzzy. I fought my eyes open, blinking against a bright morning sun.

The peaceful docks I had expected to see was gone, replaced by a countryside foreign to a city girl like me. There were men in extravagant armor and a few women in long, fancy dresses. Horses were pulling wagon loads and large clumps of scraggily servants were propping up tents and starting fires. Flashy banners were strewn about the camp, a mix of stags, lions, and wolves.

I almost gagged at the stench- sweat, grim, even human waste overflowed my sense of smell-

Wait.

Smell… what the hell is wrong with my nose? I reached a tentative hand towards it only to realize I didn't have a hand. I had a long limb covered in soft white and brown fur that had a paw attached at the end.

My nose was soft and wet, at the end of a long snout.

I must be tripping BALLS.

Ruby had to have slipped something into my drink-That had to be it. She gave me some cocaine or weed or whatever the hell kind of drug made you hallucinate that you were a large dog in a medieval camp.

"Lady, come." A young girl's voice called out and my ears-long, pointed ears- swiveled towards the sound. Instinct made me struggle to a sitting position, turning towards whoever had spoken.

A girl no older than fifteen was staring intently at me. She had long red hair done up in a complex braid, with bright blue eyes to match her dress. After a few moments of awkward eye contact she frowned, crossing her hands across her chest. "You learned this weeks ago, Lady!" She said with a huff.

If I didn't know any better, I would say that it was-

"I guess she's not a perfect lady like you, Sansa." A gangly little girl with dark hair snorted. "Oh shut it, Arya!"

Sansa and Arya. The banners. Lady.

If I didn't know better, I would say I was in Westeros right before it all fell apart at King's Landing.

No, no, no. This can't be true. I'm a girl from Boston, who lives in a crappy motel with her unstable brother and pays the bills by relieving people of their valuables.

So lost in all the crazy thoughts in my head, I almost missed the last part of the conversation between Arya and her sister.

"Me and Mycah are going down to the Trident to look for rubies."

Rubies… Oh no. If I remembered right, today was the day Lady was killed.

As soon as Arya took off, I ran after her. Dog legs- No, I corrected myself, Direwolf legs- were surprisingly easy to run with.

"Lady!" I heard Sansa screech behind me, but I ignored her.

Whether I liked it or not, I was stuck in this world. And I'll be damned if I was going to die in it so soon.

As I navigated the camp and kept a few paces behind Arya, Jerry's voice kept ringing in my head.

Stories are an escape… Some people need an escape every once in a while.