running away - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
At the front of the bus sat a kid so tiny his bobbled hat only just peaked over the back of his seat. With every bounce of the suspension his head wobbled like it was only loosely attached to his neck. Then every once in a while he would disappear from view, only to bob right back up again. After ten minutes or so he wiped the condensation from the window with mittened hand and pressed a button nose to the glass. Hayley glanced around trying to see which one of these people looked like his mother. The kid was white, but that hardly helped, almost everyone on the bus was. His hair was covered. She gave up, it wasn't a very rewarding guessing game and she was going all the way to the depot, time for some music. By the time they arrived there only a few folks remained, the kid included. As always, she got off last, hurrying just wasn't her thing. The boy was actually a girl, under that hat were auburn curls and in her hand was the leash of a puppy. When she walked off with no adult...
After a life in the camp, behind the tall brick walls, the children stumble through the alien landscape. At first they just watched the trees, they clearly moved their arms in the wind but didn't walk. Their tops were green, but not like that hue they had seen in their meal slops, this colour was not only far more bright but varied in a way they had never seen. Beautiful. But was it dangerous?
At best they had a half-day head start, once the dawn bell rang they would be missed at roll-call and then the trackers would be sent. Jacob was the first to move among the resolute and faceless soldiers; their limbs moved just the same as before, ignoring him entirely. The rest of the runaways ran forwards and looked upward. The sky was mostly obscured by the green shapes, they seemed to be thin and soft. Mikka, the smallest, was first to look down and see a fern, she jumped. It was something like a spider to her, only huge. Jacob looked on their frightened faces, time to take command.
Distance was all that mattered. Grace wasn't stopping for anything and she sure as hell wasn't taking her foot of the gas for a little rain. Sarah's eyes stayed glued to the GPS display tracking their position while the world passed in a blur of red and white lights. The hiss of the tyres over the smooth tarmac was lost under the pounding bass of their preferred get-away music. Grace leant over to turn it up. In that instant she lost the opportunity to evade a newly broken-down car without it's lights off. Even if she'd been paying attention she would have been hard pressed to make the manoeuvre. As it was she barely had time to scream before the air bags knocked her back and sideways. The car tumbled over and over into the central barrier before coming to an absolute stop. Silence; it scared Grace more than the pain. Shouldn't Sarah be moaning or calling out? She tried to move but she was pinned by the collapsing roof and the steering column. Her neck was too fragile to move...
The only sure way to escape was to go in a storm. When the rain began to howl and the rain lash the concrete breeze blocks that made our shelters, we prayed for sound of creaking wood that would tell us the boughs of the mighty oaks and beech trees were being ripped away. Then we would know that the air was a wicked vortex of debris and the Overseer would be too scared to come after us. He would not risk his neck or his top-of-the-line hovercraft for us. Trixie had made an override for the security system on the door, after checking for the beams with dust we had scrapped from the walls there was no turning back. By now the main house would be ringing with alarms. With our arms linked around the waist of the person in front, and Trixie in the middle to stop her from being blown away, we bent our heads into the gale and forced out legs to move much like a centipede in molasses. Our limbs were feeble from too much time hooked up the machines, but at least the storm cloud blocked the sun.
The more brutal the storm the calmer my heart. We prayed for so long for God to send winds enough to cover our tracks with the debris of a storm, to wash away any trace of our path, to remove our scents from the bracken. If the gale were any less we would have been picked off already by the auto-flyers with their infra-red sensors, but they cannot navigate in the unforgiving eddies of violent air. Bitter gusts rip at our flimsy clothing designed for nothing more than our purpose as code slaves. It bites at our faces and stings our eyes, narrowed to keep out the relentless curtain of rain. We refuse be reduced by this storm, we embrace is as our brother in arms, a benevolent gift from the divine creator. For only such violence can deliver us. We fear not what is ahead, only what is behind. When we have reached the northern boundary we will dig out our trackers with a shard of plastic and head west to the city. Only in the throngs of the unwashed and faceless can we have any protection.
The runaways didn't even have words to describe temperature and weather in their vocabulary. They had never experienced either. The synthetic fabrics of their all-in-ones was designed for their air conditioned lives as human code slaves. It gave no protection against even a spring breeze, let alone the bitter onslaught of winter. The wind penetrated the polyester fibres with absurd ease and every drop of icy rain soaked through the instant of it's impact. Their body heat didn't so much as drain away or leach out slowly, it abandoned them with callous speed to leave them helpless and shivering too violently to either flee or communicate. When Emma began to cry the tears left frozen track marks on her face and they would have gone with anyone who promised them warmth, even if it meant captivity again.
The ants flowed around Sarah's foot like water at first but in minutes they were splashing over her shoes and heading toward her stockinged legs. They were nothing like the harmless black ones of home either. By comparison they were weaponized, like the product of some evil genetic engineering genius. They were armour plated with large sharp mandibles and robotic legs. They moved almost too quickly to be tracked and took offence with everything around them, including Sarah. Normally she would have run some time ago, but Tom was out there, searching, listening. One movement, one scream, one involuntary gasp and it was all over. She felt the sting of the ants through the nylon and they weren't stopping at her ankles. Her mind was on fire but she kept her limbs still until they reached her face, attacking her eyes, ears and lips. In seconds the air was rent with her scream, she ran, increasingly blinded deeper into the jungle. But in minutes warm hands were restraining her...Tom...
She ran through a maze of buildings and winding side streets as the sky rumbled, and heavy rain bounced off the cobblestones. A storm smothered the sun, greying the world around her. Drops of rain beat against her skin like hammers. The princess wasn’t at all fazed by it. Her dainty slippers were caked in mud and the storm had battered her braided golden hair into a tangled mess. She wasn’t scared. To a child who had hardly ever been past the palace gates, this was a grand adventure.