My Turn, Style!

Mind the gap if you are living on the ledge. (photo by eternaldomnation)

The first problem was I was nearly out of time.  I was Harrison Ford, sans the tweed, and I ran towards my only option.  Home.  The obstacles were countless, so when I found an opening that increased my odds to merely possible, I took it.  That’s how I ended up there. Could no-man possess land?   If so, I was there.  I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, yet when I saw myself run from one end of the reflection to the other, it looked just like me.

Could they see the adrenaline?  People stared at me from every angle.  I was a foreigner, indecent to the law.  Exigent circumstances got me there, I’d say.  And they’d need to get me out.  I was trapped.  I was surrounded.

The second problem was the only way out was to prove you belonged there in the first place.  I didn’t belong.  I was a fugitive, and I was on the run.  I ran with faith as my only guidance, yet at every turn I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.  As often is the case, desperation landed me there.  The only way to get to where I belonged was through where I wasn’t supposed to be.  I saw an opening and pounced.  I broke the law.

Another problem, I had no plan.  Only sweat and fatigue.  I kept going.  I worked my way though out the inside, tunnel after tunnel.  I’d have to improvise to get out.  I’d tell a story.  I bury them with credentials.  I’d plead.  There was always the embassy if I was in too deep.  They’d understand, but only if I failed to get out.

Short bursts of breath forced efficient thoughts.

– Failure.

– Not an option.

– No time.

– I got in.

– Get out.

– Search.

– Opening.

There.  My peers.  We’d do time together.   Out.  They made it.

They snuck behind someone else as they put their validated ticket into the turnstile.  I did the same.  I had no option.  There wasn’t enough to time to consider double jeopardy.  I jumped the gate on the way in and snuck through on the way out.  I had to get home by any means. Punishment?  Must be sitting next to this dude on the Eurostar who keeps encroaching my armrest.  Hey, isn’t there a law against that?

Categories: Creative Writing

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2 replies

  1. Cute. You scammed a ride on the tube? Well done.

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