1 The Final Stretch

The mist fogged up his glasses as the rain poured down on the broken tiles of the shabby house. Multiple buckets filled to the brim with water could be seen and a toddler could be seen running and trying to empty and replace the buckets.

The house was pitch black and only moonlight shone through the cracks in the roof. There were smoky remains of a fire in the fireplace and it emanated small amounts of heat. The wallpaper was tearing away from the wall and the wooden structure behind it revealed gigantic cracks.

There were multiple chairs and sofas with torn leather and foam spilling out. The downpour finally stopped and the moon completely shone through like a spotlight on the child sitting next to the fireplace trying to get whatever heat he could from the remains of the fire.

The child was never loved by the world. He was abandoned, beaten, bruised, and broken. His grey hair glittered in the light and his grey eyes showed no emotion.

The remaining rain pattered on the floor as the boy fainted from exhaustion.

He woke up to the squawking of crows and the smoky black clouds from last night still lingering over the destroyed settlement. Cans of tomato soup and platefuls of bread and potatoes could be seen on the table in front of the cracked television. Muddy footprints covered the once bright red carpet. You could see a man with a bottle of gin in one hand and a plateful of food in the other.

His light stubble contrasted with his bushy unibrow and balding forehead, A toxic scent coming from his white vest and worn-out pants. The main attraction of him was the multiple rings on all ten fingers, the jaguar chain made with moissanite, and a gold tooth that mixed in with the rest of his yellow teeth.

The boy stood up straight when the bottle of gin flew his way but he was too slow and the bottle burst open on his head as the remaining gin trickled into the fresh wound and mixed with the boy's blood.

He walked towards the sink cabinet and grabbed the remainder of the things in the first aid kit. He patched himself up only to hear the man cursing at the radio stations. He tried to wring the gin on his clothes into a bottle.

This gin always cost around 200 shillings for the bottle. Moonlight whiskey is what they called it since it was only drunk once, on the night of a full moon. However, the man, his stepfather, drank it daily as a celebration of doing nothing the entire day.

The bottle was half full when he was done wringing it and added to the many other bottles he had filled over the years he now had a full barrel's worth which would sell for around 30 copper or 3 gold. He always had a plan to escape this sorry excuse for a house and tonight he finally had enough to leave.

For the first time in years, the boy showed some emotion, a grin, towards his stepfather who lay on the couch with no idea as to what was about to happen next.

It was the time of dusk as the moon shone like a silver platter, beautiful and always out of reach. The cold winter wind felt like daggers going through the open holes in his ragged jacket. He admired the utter silence which was only broken by the howl of wolves in the forest.

He moved like the wind, undetectable, unnoticeable, and untraceable. He had a light backpack and this was the only time in years that he was thankful for having a small number of belongings. Two sets of ragged clothes, some bread and raw potatoes, a leather canister filled with water, a notebook, and the main attraction of his satchel was his father's hunting rifle. It had a silenced barrel and a 10 times scope. The magazine was longer than regular snipers and was a mixture between a rifle and a bolt. The glossy finish on the wood body reflected the moonlight. It cost the same as the barrel, 3000 shillings, and his stepfather had sold all of the child's belongings to buy it.

He ran through the empty town square and reached the edge of town where the horse carriages were going to and FRO the town. This was it, the final stretch.