unLUCKY

Chapter One Oh God, no. Not like this! It couldn't end like this. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as I ran down the block as fast as my legs could carry me. They were gaining in on me, I could hear them, like a stampede of bulls charging after me. I didn't know how many there were, but if I was to go by sound alone, I was sorely outnumbered. There was nothing remotely athletic about me. My lungs screamed in protest, and my legs ached. I might have only been running for about five minutes now, but it felt more like fifty, if not an eternity. The streets were bare— dismal, the sun had long retired, yet here I was. Why the hell was I out at such an hour? I knew the answer. It was because I was a risk taker– too stubborn for my own goods, but I'll never admit it out loud, especially not to my overprotective, overbearing, helicopter parents. I wanted my own way, I got my own way and now here I was, running away, on my own – running through these streets with my woes, though nooks and allies where even the moon refused to shine. The sky seemed to darken by the minute. My clothes were soaked and heavy with sweat, my hair plastering itself against my temples and sticking to my neck. But the discomfort of it all paled in comparison to my current plight— Trying to outmaneuver these relentless energizer bunnies that just won't quit. To them, I was the perfect bait. Perfectly heavy in all the wrong places with boobs I wish I could tie in a knot or just throw over my shoulders. I'd never call myself a pig– perhaps a cute hamster, maybe? Which was probably why I made such an easy target. If not for the 100-meter headstart I had and the spike of adrenaline, I'd definitely been in their clutches already, though, in all honesty, I think they were purposely prolonging this chase. I had seen them, like a cliche of suspicion, a black SUV van, coming to a stop at the curb of the long stretch. Maybe I should have played it cool, but my guts strongly objected, screaming danger, so I spun on my heels and ran for dear life. I was not from around these parts, and maybe they could tell that from a mile away. I had eluded my bodyguards, ditched my cell phone, and bolted. All I wanted was one night of freedom, away from the obligations of my crazy strict, heavily guarded life. Now, here I was— running for my life, but I was determined to push through, even though all I wanted to do was stop, drop, and play dead dog. My chest constricted due to strain, my heart grew tired and threatened to give up on me, but my legs kept moving, though I wasn't quite sure how much longer I'd last. The thugs were closer now. No doubt they had ditched their van to emphasize just how much of an easy prey I was. And they were right. However, I wasn't going to give up without a fight. I just wish the slipper on my left foot felt the same way before flying off and leaving me to fend for myself. I may have been de-slippered, but I was determined not to be de-feeted*. My tender foot stung as it slapped against the cold, concrete pavement, an endless road in sight. I was tempted to dip down through an ally, but what good would it be if it came to an abrupt ending? I had taken my fair share of risks for one day, enough to teach me a lesson and last me a lifetime, so I kept on ahead, hoping to at least stumble across someone, anyone who would help. But not even the homeless or strays seemed to be crazy enough to be out on the streets at such an hour. The whole city laid bare. Everyone, except me, apparently, knew better than to wander around these parts at such an hour. I never believed in fairytales or midnight monsters, but now I was starting to second-guess myself because these men were clearly monsters. I could barely breathe now. My lungs sizzled with each ragged breath that slipped through. Sweat dripped from my brows, blurring my vision as tears stung my eyes, burning trails through the grime and perspiration that coated my face. My arms and legs felt like jelly, threatening to collapse with fatigue. But I struggled to keep going. A sharp pain arrested my right side. My knees wobbled underneath my weight, and my fingers tingled as my world began to slow down. In a last-minute attempt to ditch my attacker, I gripped the corner of a building, taking a sharp left, invariably doing what I had been trying to avoid for so long– cornering myself. Shoot, I had to think quickly on my feet because my brain was clearly too exhausted to. There was no time to catch my breath, or they'd catch me. With my last surviving brain cell, I did the unthinkable. This was sure to make headlines if the press ever got hold of the news. "Dumpster Diving? Is The President's Daughter Adding A New Sport To The List?" And I know there'll be no shortage of crude jokes and comments about it. But I had to do what I had to. I groaned inwardly as I took the plunge, followed by instant regret as the pungent stench of filth attacked my nostrils. Instinctively covering my mouth, I muffled my gags. It was a pig's playpen filled with rotting food, and only heaven knows what else. I lay there, as still as possible, in the heap of trash as the sound of deep voices and heavy footsteps approached. My heart was beating so fast that I could swear it was trying to escape. Each thump, so loud, I feared they would hear it. I tried to hold my breath as they drew closer, starving my lungs of air, but my lungs weren't having it. I had no choice but to breathe in and out, as silently as possible, the rancid fumes of toxic waste. I wanted to cry. What had I gotten myself into? Their footsteps echoed louder. They were closer now. No longer were they running. They knew I couldn’t have gotten far. There was literally nowhere to go. "Hmm, I wonder where she could be?" One dared to muse. "Could it be here!" He dramatically questioned, ruffling one of the plastic bags that sat beside the dumpster. It tingled and rang with the sound of broken glass grinding together. And for a split second, my heart froze– What if those broken glasses had been in here when I jumped? My body shuddered at the thought, the slight tremor disturbing a rat who thought now was the ideal time to sequel and run out of hiding. I slapped my hand to my mouth, swallowing a scream as it ran over me and out of the dumpster. Even he knew I was doomed. They'd spot me easily if they only so much as peeped over the edge, and then my fate would be entirely up to them. "What about here?" Came another skin-crawling voice. "Anybody home?" His counterparts cackled as he kicked the dumpster, waking a swarm of roaches. I wanted to scream as their tiny claws scampered all over my body. I was hyperventilating. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly, finally giving up all hope. I waited for the inevitable as the same one who kicked the dumpster chuckled. "I think we struck gold boys." It was over. They got me. "Hey, sleeping beauty." The voice mockingly cooed. "Your prince charming is here.... look, I even brought the other side of your shoe... should I see if it fits?" I dared to pry my eyes open. Standing over the mouth of the dumpster were three men, and though the darkness hid their sinister expressions, their evil intents shone as bright as day. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way... I'll let you pick." The man smiled, showcasing a rack of gold lining his bottom teeth. I hesitated. "So the hard way, I take it." He chuckled, suddenly waving a gun before me. "He's got great aim." One of the other two whispered like a friend urging me to rethink my decision. "I'll count to three." The gun swung back and forth carelessly in his hand. "1..." "He'll really do it. I'm telling ya, he'll do it." The whispering warner came again, anticipation dancing in his voice. Yet I remained unmoved. To them, I was defiant, but little did they know fear had grippled me so tightly I was crippled, frozen in place. "2...." I waited with bated breath. Then the dreaded number came. "3!" A shot rang out, and instantly, my eyes clamped shut, bracing for the pain. My ears roared in silence, unable to pick up anything but the ringing in my head, then three more shots. I felt myself go limp. It was over. I was dead. “Hey, get out slowly, and with your hands up!” Who? Wait, what? I blinked several times, touching my body, prepared to wince at the slightest sting of pain, but nothing. I knew I heard gunshots, three. So, how was I still alive? "I said, get out with your hands up!" The gruff voice shouted again, this time more forcefully. Clearly, his words were directed toward me. Was it a cop? Had I been saved? I've never felt so relieved by the presence of an authoritative figure. Usually, I'd be thinking of how to escape them, but now I'd gladly run into their arms. I sat up, my eyes instantly falling on the gun that was once waved in my face. Now, it laid fallen in the same pile of trash I was in. However, I dared not touch it for fear the officer might assume I was a part of the mobsters. I slowly stood, empty hands held high in surrender as I took my first deep breath of freedom. In the dimly lit way, my eyes unconsciously flicked down as I sought to get out. Below was a body, his head cushioned by the shards of glass poking out from the black alleyway trash bag. I gulped at the site, a shudder raking through my body as I forced myself to look away from the haunting view. Instead, I turned my gaze to my Savior, the officer– the casually dressed officer, the no cop car officer - his gun still pointed at me. The more I stared, the more I studied it, and the more I studied it, the more apparent it became. This was no officer. Had I just trade one villain for another?