Wanted

• Lisa Sun, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2013

On the edge of death, I didn’t know what to think. They opened fire, I jumped, falling deep down the cliff. The wind brushed bitterly on my cheeks, there were screams and gunfire sounds, splinting through my ears.
I felt the tears well up in my eyes and memories flashed across my mind. I hit something cool and hard, is this it? I asked myself sadly, is this what it’s like to die? I couldn’t breathe and I opened my eyes, my vision was extremely blurry but to my relief I knew what was going on. I had fell in water… does that mean I’m going to live?

I used all my strength and started to kick viciously towards the surface, climbing awkwardly on dry land and desperately gasping for breath to feed my hungry lungs. A sharp pain staggered across my shoulder, I cried out in pain, they hadn’t stopped hunting me.
I am a murderer, wanted for gold, forever running in fear of being caught, I’m only thirteen, and I have the crime of death. I looked up to find them aiming their ugly guns at me, I ignored the spiteful growing inside my shoulder and started to run.

I thought I lost them, for now anyway, ahead of me was a cave, small but cosy and hidden amongst the braches, this would be the perfect place to stay, but of course not for long.
My headache is about to kill me, I rubbed my temple and felt fain. I could no longer resist the temptation of sleep, my eyes started to close uncontrollably, finally I fell down and sleep took me. That was my fatal mistake.

I woke up to find myself in a carriage bouncing on the road, I realised in horror that they’ve caught me at last. My left arm was numb, but I didn’t care anymore. I knew what would happen to people like me, I would be hung on Sunday at noon.
Suddenly my carriage creaked and stopped, they push me hard to get me inside and then left, leaving me plummeting towards the hard surface. I started to cry; sobbing about all the things that are unfair, death wanted me all my life. My own mother even tried to kill me. I hated the world. I hated everyone including myself. I hated the fact that I was born to die. I hated my life.

It’s Sunday the 9th of June, 11:55am, my death day, my legs wobbled as I walked outside, the sky darkened as if me being hung is a wrong thing, “it’s time”, someone shouted. They winded a thick strong rope around my neck, it’s burned like hell, I looked around to see the world one last time and felt my body dangling in mid-air, my heart skipped a beat and stopped, my eyes were closed forever.