CHAPTER TWO
Racetrack involuntarily bucked his body, preparing to utter a yell, when he felt the unknown assailant hurl themselves backwards. He released a queer noise, a hybrid of a wheeze and a whine. The impact on the ground caused a sharp stab in his abdomen and he felt the wind being abducted from his lungs.
He could hear the guards' bellows coming closer and could see their bright lanterns quivering with their strides.
A clammy hand found its way to his mouth and he felt the person shift from under him, their breathing heavy, pick up their right leg and place it over his as though to keep him still.
He saw the dim features of the guards as they halted just a few paces from him and looked in every direction but in his. One guard stomped his foot bitterly and uttered a curse.
The second muttered something in agreement. "Those goddamn kids. Did ya see what they did? Unscrewed the goddamn bars from the window!"
The first vigorously nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but if we don't find 'em, Snydah's gonna have our heads on a plattah for dinnah."
The second sighed. "Alright, they can't have gone far." He motioned with his lantern. "You look that way and I'll go this way."
"Alright."
Racetrack watched with bated breath and strained eyes as the crunch of the guards' boots and the illumination of their lanterns died away.
His breath came out in one great exhalation.
He then cried out in great surprise when he felt the body underneath his give a great buck, throwing his off them and to the ground, where he came up, sputtering dirt. The figure was in a sitting position, pulling the hood of their black cloak further over their face.
Racetrack opened his mouth to say something, when the boy abruptly snapped his head towards him, his face pitch in the night. "What the fuck d'ya think ya where doin' back dere? Tryin' ta git anuddah lifetime at da Dump of Refuge?" his voice came out shaky and unnaturally high-pitched.
Racetrack let his jaw drop as he stuttered like a fool. "I.I.YOU!"
The boy tossed his head and Race could feel the boy regarding him with an air of haughtiness. "Yeah, it's me. Who da hell else d'ya t'ink it was? Snydah undah dis cloak?"
"I don't know. I don't even know who ya are. I jist wanted ta say t'anks," Race said gratefully.
"T'anks for what?" the boy snapped, beginning to rise to his feet.
"For savin' me from dat dump."
"I didn't save you. I saved me. You'se was jist a mistake."
"All da same, t'anks," Race said, slowly standing, his gaze never leaving the boy in the cloak.
The boy released a snort as he tossed his head. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't want anyone to end up like me."
Racetrack knitted his brows together. "What do ya mean 'end up like you'?"
The boy's bitter laugh sliced through the still air. "My life story, kid, is a long one and I have a life ta life. So's if ya don't mind, I would like to get outtah here befoah Snydah catches me again."
And with that, the boy turned and quickly dashed around the corner of the House of Refuge. Racetrack stealthy followed, keeping low and glancing up at the looming structure every other second. He reached the front of the building to see the midnight form of the boy passing through the open gate.
Silently, Race followed the former's footsteps He quickly slid between the creaking gates and raised his gaze to the House of Refuge one last time to see figure of the daft looking boy leaning out the window, carefully clutching the line of bedsheets in his grasp. His gaze was following the sheets and Racetrack could almost feel his raw emotions of craving to climb the line and disappear into the night. He fell back against the gate, entranced by the boy, until the boy suddenly raised his head, his gaze falling on Racetrack, his jaw dropping. "There! There! He's there!"
Race appeared as though he had been shocked with a bolt of electricity for his whole body flinched violently and he jerked himself from the gates, as they released a cry of protest.
He stumbled backwards, his brain suddenly overwhelmed with this impossible feeling of confusion. He heard the guards' bellows and saw their footsteps and their bobbing lanterns, as they grew closer. This queer feeling was as though his limbs were desperate to obey him, yet his mind was clouded with a fog, a fog that severed his psyche from his body.
I can't go back to the House of Refuge! I can't! his mind screamed.
The guards were only a few yards away now, the light blinding his vision, the yells tearing his ear drums apart.
And then he felt the impossibly strong hand clamp down on his shoulder, roughly turning him around and pushing him forward. He stumbled, tripping over himself, yet he was pushed forward again and again. "Hurry!" a low voice hissed in his ear. He picked up his legs and blindly began to run as though in a fantastical dream, the hollers of the guards and the thudding of their heavy boots against the sidewalk audible tenfold to him. And then the bellows and the pounding slowly died away. And the only sounds were the soft thudding of the two pairs of feet pounding against the sidewalk and the grunts and wheezes and hisses and pushes of the person behind him.
Racetrack abruptly halted, feeling as though his legs would shatter if he were to move another inch. Immediately, he was thrown forward, just nearly regaining his balance as his rescuer slammed into him, releasing a cry.
This hust intensified Racetrack's wonders. If t
he boy wouldn't say volentarily, he would say under command. Race saw a street light a few feet ahead. Without thinking, Race gave the boy a hard shove, sending him landing under the glare of the light. The boy let out a cry of pain.
Race ran over to the boys side and knelt down, ripping the hood off his face. Race let out a loud cry. "You'se not a boy...you'se a goil!"
It was true. A very pretty--yet at the moment very angry--girl sat glaring up at him with one blue eye and one green eye, her face heated from rage. Her long blonde hair hung about in a messy ponytail.
"Now da truth is revealed. Da mysterious boy ain't a boy aftah all, 'e's a goil! Now let me go!" she snapped.
Race knelt there, pinning the girl's arms to the ground. She was too curious a thing to let get away. "What were ya doin in da House of Refuge?"
"I stole some damn food! I had me cloak on and dat stinky sonofabitch Snydah doesn't know a goose from a cow so he t'ought I was a boy!" she hissed, her odd eyes glittering harshly.
"What's ya name?"
"Why shoahd I tell a prick like you? I did my part of da deal. I gave ya freedom. Now gimme some freedom."
"Tell me ya name and den I'll let ya go."
"My name, my name is, uh....Buttahfly..."
Racetrack let out a laugh. "Buttahfly? Now, sweet'haht, I know dat dat ain't ya real name."
"It is too, ya prick! Buttahfly James."
"Well, Buttahfly James, it's a pleashah ta make ya aquaintance." Race took one of her pinned hands and gently kissed the back of it. "I'se Racetrack."
Butterfly stopped her squirming and looked at Racetrack with soft eyes.
"Yeah, I know. I'se a lady man," he said concededly.
Butterfly groaned and kneeled Racetrack in the stomach. He let out a moan and rolled over on his back, clasping his stomach. Butterfly stood up and walked down the dark street.
"T'anks again!" Race wheezed.
"You're welcome!" Butterfly called with out looking back.
*********
Sarah Sprites pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head and crept to the mouth of the dark alley. Flattened against the side, she peered out into the sunlight in front of her. What she saw across the street intrested her. A pizzarea had a basket of French bread sitting outside, warming in the sun. At that moment, Sarah was willing to risk her life for just a crumb, for she felt like she hadn't eaten for a million years.
Sarah stared at the basket of bread, trying to brainstrom a plan in her head. But all she could think of was to cross the street, grab the bread, and run like hell. And she did just that.
Pulling her hood lower over her brow, she sucked in a breath and darted out of the alley and over to the pizzarea, snatching a loaf of the bread. Without looking back, she ran like the devil was on her heels.
She soon heard the cries of the owner in his deep Italian accent: "Hey, hey, hey come back here! Somebody stop that thief!"
Sarah pushed the hood off her head and craned her neck around, her hair blowing behind her and a wicked grin on her face.
She saw the small figure of the heavy Italian man standing in the doorway of his pizzarea, waving a wooden spoon in the air and yelling. She responded by taking a huge bite out of the bread.
She was too far away now to see what his reaction was, so she ran to the opening to another alley and stopped to catch her breath. Clutching her side, she walked to the end of the dark alley, whick ended in a moldy redbrick wall. She found a pile of discarded, warped old crates and sat down on one.
She held the bread to her nose and inhaled the delicious scent. "Um...finally real food!"
Sarah brought the loaf to her mouth and prepared to take a bite when a blow across the side of her head knocked her off the crate and to the ground.
Her whole body rocketed in pain. When she opened her eyes, at first she saw only bursts of stars, but then her eyes adjusted to a boy in tattered cloths hungerly leaning over the French bread that had fell to the floor.
"Hey!" she weakly yelled.
The boy glanced at her.
"Hey!" she said, trying to pull herself up. "Dat's my bread!"
The boy bent over, snatched up the bread, and took off down the alley.
Maybe it was the overpowering hunger that drove her, but Sarah pulled herself up off the ground and persued the boy. Despite his speed, Sarah easily overtook him and brought him to the ground with a thud.
She rolled him over onto his back and strattled his torso. Her multi colored eyes flashed in fury and her grip tightened on his collar.
"What d'ya t'ink ya where doin' stealin' me food?" she growled.
The boy looked up at her, and despite the black and blue marks that surrounded them, his ocean blue eyes flashed with a look of amazement.
"What?" she hissed.
His electric eyes scanned her face, and they widened.
"Sarah Sprites?"
Racetrack involuntarily bucked his body, preparing to utter a yell, when he felt the unknown assailant hurl themselves backwards. He released a queer noise, a hybrid of a wheeze and a whine. The impact on the ground caused a sharp stab in his abdomen and he felt the wind being abducted from his lungs.
He could hear the guards' bellows coming closer and could see their bright lanterns quivering with their strides.
A clammy hand found its way to his mouth and he felt the person shift from under him, their breathing heavy, pick up their right leg and place it over his as though to keep him still.
He saw the dim features of the guards as they halted just a few paces from him and looked in every direction but in his. One guard stomped his foot bitterly and uttered a curse.
The second muttered something in agreement. "Those goddamn kids. Did ya see what they did? Unscrewed the goddamn bars from the window!"
The first vigorously nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but if we don't find 'em, Snydah's gonna have our heads on a plattah for dinnah."
The second sighed. "Alright, they can't have gone far." He motioned with his lantern. "You look that way and I'll go this way."
"Alright."
Racetrack watched with bated breath and strained eyes as the crunch of the guards' boots and the illumination of their lanterns died away.
His breath came out in one great exhalation.
He then cried out in great surprise when he felt the body underneath his give a great buck, throwing his off them and to the ground, where he came up, sputtering dirt. The figure was in a sitting position, pulling the hood of their black cloak further over their face.
Racetrack opened his mouth to say something, when the boy abruptly snapped his head towards him, his face pitch in the night. "What the fuck d'ya think ya where doin' back dere? Tryin' ta git anuddah lifetime at da Dump of Refuge?" his voice came out shaky and unnaturally high-pitched.
Racetrack let his jaw drop as he stuttered like a fool. "I.I.YOU!"
The boy tossed his head and Race could feel the boy regarding him with an air of haughtiness. "Yeah, it's me. Who da hell else d'ya t'ink it was? Snydah undah dis cloak?"
"I don't know. I don't even know who ya are. I jist wanted ta say t'anks," Race said gratefully.
"T'anks for what?" the boy snapped, beginning to rise to his feet.
"For savin' me from dat dump."
"I didn't save you. I saved me. You'se was jist a mistake."
"All da same, t'anks," Race said, slowly standing, his gaze never leaving the boy in the cloak.
The boy released a snort as he tossed his head. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't want anyone to end up like me."
Racetrack knitted his brows together. "What do ya mean 'end up like you'?"
The boy's bitter laugh sliced through the still air. "My life story, kid, is a long one and I have a life ta life. So's if ya don't mind, I would like to get outtah here befoah Snydah catches me again."
And with that, the boy turned and quickly dashed around the corner of the House of Refuge. Racetrack stealthy followed, keeping low and glancing up at the looming structure every other second. He reached the front of the building to see the midnight form of the boy passing through the open gate.
Silently, Race followed the former's footsteps He quickly slid between the creaking gates and raised his gaze to the House of Refuge one last time to see figure of the daft looking boy leaning out the window, carefully clutching the line of bedsheets in his grasp. His gaze was following the sheets and Racetrack could almost feel his raw emotions of craving to climb the line and disappear into the night. He fell back against the gate, entranced by the boy, until the boy suddenly raised his head, his gaze falling on Racetrack, his jaw dropping. "There! There! He's there!"
Race appeared as though he had been shocked with a bolt of electricity for his whole body flinched violently and he jerked himself from the gates, as they released a cry of protest.
He stumbled backwards, his brain suddenly overwhelmed with this impossible feeling of confusion. He heard the guards' bellows and saw their footsteps and their bobbing lanterns, as they grew closer. This queer feeling was as though his limbs were desperate to obey him, yet his mind was clouded with a fog, a fog that severed his psyche from his body.
I can't go back to the House of Refuge! I can't! his mind screamed.
The guards were only a few yards away now, the light blinding his vision, the yells tearing his ear drums apart.
And then he felt the impossibly strong hand clamp down on his shoulder, roughly turning him around and pushing him forward. He stumbled, tripping over himself, yet he was pushed forward again and again. "Hurry!" a low voice hissed in his ear. He picked up his legs and blindly began to run as though in a fantastical dream, the hollers of the guards and the thudding of their heavy boots against the sidewalk audible tenfold to him. And then the bellows and the pounding slowly died away. And the only sounds were the soft thudding of the two pairs of feet pounding against the sidewalk and the grunts and wheezes and hisses and pushes of the person behind him.
Racetrack abruptly halted, feeling as though his legs would shatter if he were to move another inch. Immediately, he was thrown forward, just nearly regaining his balance as his rescuer slammed into him, releasing a cry.
This hust intensified Racetrack's wonders. If t
he boy wouldn't say volentarily, he would say under command. Race saw a street light a few feet ahead. Without thinking, Race gave the boy a hard shove, sending him landing under the glare of the light. The boy let out a cry of pain.
Race ran over to the boys side and knelt down, ripping the hood off his face. Race let out a loud cry. "You'se not a boy...you'se a goil!"
It was true. A very pretty--yet at the moment very angry--girl sat glaring up at him with one blue eye and one green eye, her face heated from rage. Her long blonde hair hung about in a messy ponytail.
"Now da truth is revealed. Da mysterious boy ain't a boy aftah all, 'e's a goil! Now let me go!" she snapped.
Race knelt there, pinning the girl's arms to the ground. She was too curious a thing to let get away. "What were ya doin in da House of Refuge?"
"I stole some damn food! I had me cloak on and dat stinky sonofabitch Snydah doesn't know a goose from a cow so he t'ought I was a boy!" she hissed, her odd eyes glittering harshly.
"What's ya name?"
"Why shoahd I tell a prick like you? I did my part of da deal. I gave ya freedom. Now gimme some freedom."
"Tell me ya name and den I'll let ya go."
"My name, my name is, uh....Buttahfly..."
Racetrack let out a laugh. "Buttahfly? Now, sweet'haht, I know dat dat ain't ya real name."
"It is too, ya prick! Buttahfly James."
"Well, Buttahfly James, it's a pleashah ta make ya aquaintance." Race took one of her pinned hands and gently kissed the back of it. "I'se Racetrack."
Butterfly stopped her squirming and looked at Racetrack with soft eyes.
"Yeah, I know. I'se a lady man," he said concededly.
Butterfly groaned and kneeled Racetrack in the stomach. He let out a moan and rolled over on his back, clasping his stomach. Butterfly stood up and walked down the dark street.
"T'anks again!" Race wheezed.
"You're welcome!" Butterfly called with out looking back.
*********
Sarah Sprites pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head and crept to the mouth of the dark alley. Flattened against the side, she peered out into the sunlight in front of her. What she saw across the street intrested her. A pizzarea had a basket of French bread sitting outside, warming in the sun. At that moment, Sarah was willing to risk her life for just a crumb, for she felt like she hadn't eaten for a million years.
Sarah stared at the basket of bread, trying to brainstrom a plan in her head. But all she could think of was to cross the street, grab the bread, and run like hell. And she did just that.
Pulling her hood lower over her brow, she sucked in a breath and darted out of the alley and over to the pizzarea, snatching a loaf of the bread. Without looking back, she ran like the devil was on her heels.
She soon heard the cries of the owner in his deep Italian accent: "Hey, hey, hey come back here! Somebody stop that thief!"
Sarah pushed the hood off her head and craned her neck around, her hair blowing behind her and a wicked grin on her face.
She saw the small figure of the heavy Italian man standing in the doorway of his pizzarea, waving a wooden spoon in the air and yelling. She responded by taking a huge bite out of the bread.
She was too far away now to see what his reaction was, so she ran to the opening to another alley and stopped to catch her breath. Clutching her side, she walked to the end of the dark alley, whick ended in a moldy redbrick wall. She found a pile of discarded, warped old crates and sat down on one.
She held the bread to her nose and inhaled the delicious scent. "Um...finally real food!"
Sarah brought the loaf to her mouth and prepared to take a bite when a blow across the side of her head knocked her off the crate and to the ground.
Her whole body rocketed in pain. When she opened her eyes, at first she saw only bursts of stars, but then her eyes adjusted to a boy in tattered cloths hungerly leaning over the French bread that had fell to the floor.
"Hey!" she weakly yelled.
The boy glanced at her.
"Hey!" she said, trying to pull herself up. "Dat's my bread!"
The boy bent over, snatched up the bread, and took off down the alley.
Maybe it was the overpowering hunger that drove her, but Sarah pulled herself up off the ground and persued the boy. Despite his speed, Sarah easily overtook him and brought him to the ground with a thud.
She rolled him over onto his back and strattled his torso. Her multi colored eyes flashed in fury and her grip tightened on his collar.
"What d'ya t'ink ya where doin' stealin' me food?" she growled.
The boy looked up at her, and despite the black and blue marks that surrounded them, his ocean blue eyes flashed with a look of amazement.
"What?" she hissed.
His electric eyes scanned her face, and they widened.
"Sarah Sprites?"