Getaway

• Arielle Gravning, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2015

I dashed behind the wall and out of sight just as he stormed into the room. I could feel my heart in my throat - each pulse threatening to suffocate me. My trembling fingertips traced the cracks in the peeling wall. My other hand the held a bag. THE bag. I knew what I would be facing if he found me. I peered around the corner.

He was dressed in his suit and his head shaved to the skin. His menacing fingers unlocked the suitcase he laid on the table. This man was smarter than any other mastermind I had ever encountered. I would have to be slyer than ever. My bare feet pattered silently on the cold, damp tiles.

I held my stare on him as I crossed towards the stairs, with each tread praying desperately that it wasn’t the one where he looked back. The beads of sweat on my forehead crawled into the crevices on my face. Just he checked over his shoulder, I leapt against the wall and held a hand over my mouth; my quick quiet breaths had grown into helpless gasps.

Tip-toeing, I snuck through the darkness and up the stairs. Startled, I jumped. Two dark eyes stared back at mine. I sighed. Relieved. It was only my brother. He pushed a slender finger to his lips and we crept through the hallway. We could not afford to be caught. If we were, we would surely be beaten and locked up. For a moment, I felt a sharp pang of regret. 'I should have never done it' was the thought that constantly pounded my mind.

The two of us sat silently in a shadowy corner – the candle in the far end of the room straining itself to produce what little light it could. My brother glanced at me and, for a split second, smirked. But that was one smirk too many, for we could now hear him thundering up the rusty staircase.

Pounding were his feet on each and every step. Each individual thump shaking the ground. Each individual thump paced to my heartbeat. Each individual thump inching nearer and nearer.

I turned to my brother, who glanced back at me with the same horror mirrored in his eyes. 'We should have never taken the risk.' That was the thought embedded upon both of our minds.

I turned to see his haunting silhouette in the doorway. Arms crossed tightly on his chest. His stern expression with his lips firmly pursed together.

He stepped closer. And closer.

I could feel his harsh breath shrieking down my neck, causing the hairs to stand on end. My thoughts tangled and twisted as I stared at my hands - they themselves shaking to the rumble of an earthquake. I did not dare look into his sinister green eyes, for their very gaze could taunt you for weeks.

Then he said it.

“Josh, I specifically told you not to take the bag of potato chips.”