of half-bloods and happenings
run
.
there's a monster in my bed
there's an animal screaming down upon my neck
oh no you'd better get up my friend
.
There was a pounding in his ears which had nothing to do with the thunder that rolled in the sky overhead. Leo shivered in his jacket, because even though it was a thick army fatigue the season was winter and it just wasn't enough over only a thin t-shirt. He glanced behind him at the looming house, all sharp corners and polished wood that shone in the bright flashes of lightning. God, he hated this place; which was why he was getting out of there. Tonight.
He shut the side door behind him, making sure it locked. He waited for the almost inevitable shout from upstairs of 'and where are you going?', but it never came. His foster parents were sound asleep. Leo sent his thanks up towards anyone who bothered to listen, before setting off at a run down the garden path and out the gate. It swung shut behind him, a deceitfully cheerful structure.
His footsteps were light on the pavement, the way he'd trained them to be. He'd been caught too many times to count because of how loud he'd been escaping, and he's learned from that, the way he always did. Even someone listening for something specific tonight would be hard pressed to hear him.
The rain lashed against his body, but as it was a change from the stifling air within the House, as Leo called it, it was very welcome. But it was cold; almost too cold, and for a single moment Leo felt tempted. Oh, God, he was sorely tempted to just light up and stay warm. But he couldn't. He could no longer trust himself, not after That Night. Never again, he'd promised to himself then, and he said those words aloud now. "Never again, Valdez," he growled, and the thunder rumbled above as if in response.
The street sign came into view. Leo rounded the corner, the pavement stopping abruptly and his feet meeting soft, springy grass. He kept on running.
Leo knew this area well. Three months he'd lived in the House, and he'd tried to run away often enough to have the surrounding area pretty well mapped out. He remembered that there was a sewer opening just ahead, a manhole in the middle of the street. God, he wished he didn't have to go down there, but he knew if he really wanted to run away, he'd have to do some things he wasn't happy about. And walking around in a dank hole full of unspeakable things was definitely on that list.
Sure enough, the streetlights up ahead illuminated the iron circle in the middle of the street. Leo ran over towards it and knelt down, fingernails digging down around the rim and struggling to lift the weight. Yeah, he was scrawny. That sort of thing happened when you spend your whole life on the run.
Finally the lid was off. An awful smell wafted up towards him, and Leo gagged. What was down there, seriously - discarded pairs of his Aunt Rosa's Fruit of the Looms? Ugh. Leo shuddered, hesitated a moment, but then thought of what awaited him back at the House and decided that whatever was down there would certainly be better. He placed his feet cautiously on the ladder rungs, felt around for a bit making sure they continued and didn't just finish into open air, and then pulled the cover back over the manhole, trapping himself in darkness.
Once again, Leo was tempted. And once again, he quashed his desire and continued on in the cold blackness. After a minute or so of climbing - honestly, he was going pretty slowly because he did not want to slip and fall into something nasty - Leo reached the ground. Surprisingly, it was rather dry, and Leo let out a sigh of relief.
"Well, Valdez," he murmured to himself, squinting and trying to see what lay beyond, "You're in quite a fix and no mistake. But it's no use turning back now."
And with that, Leo set his shoulders, hardened his feeble heart and took off at a run because, after all, that was the only thing he could do.
.
what a mess we're in
oh no you'd better get up my friend
oh no you'd better get up my friend, yeah
oh you know you better run my friend
.
Author's Note: Words in italics belong to the band Boy & Bear, taken from their song Milk & Sticks. CHECK. IT. OUT.