Hey peoples! I have another excerpt for you! Yay! This one is from a different story from the last, I hope you love and I hope you like it better! The last one was really crappy! Oh, and Monice? You don't need to read this one, you already did!
Prologue
Life is full injustices. The strong preying on the weak and weary, the rich and powerful striking fear into the hearts of their hapless victims. Broken hearts shattered beyond repair, and manipulated adolescents slaves to the very drugs that were invented to save lives that now pollute and desecrate them instead.
Amidst this madness live heroes and cowards, cops and con-men, locked in an endless battle of wrong vs. right, good vs. evil. In the past right has nearly always prevailed. But as time wares on, the bad in this wretched world of ours has begun to far out way the good. From civilians, we get violence, from politicians, we get corruption, and from the government, we get lies.
Life just isn’t fair. Russell Blake knew that too well.
Pittsburgh PA, September 12, 2011
His hands blurred in and out of his vision. Blankly, he watched the thick crimson blood drip off his fingertips and fall into the glistening pool forming in his lap. Drip… drip… drip… counting away the last seconds of his life. Shifting abruptly into shadows, his whole world faded to black. As his limp body toppled sideways, landing in a heap on the floor, a sound reached the cellar. Crackling, hissing, and popping, a fire would soon devour all evidence that Russell Blake had ever entered this horrible warehouse.
Suddenly, the loud slapping of footsteps echoed through the silent building. The sound fought to make itself heard over the roar of the now-blazing inferno. “Russell? Russell Blake? Are you down here, kid? RUSSELL?” Bursting into the basement, the man gasped and rushed forward to Russell’s side. “Russell? I’m with Pittsburgh PD and you’re gonna be okay. Can you hear me?” Automatically his index and middle fingers went to the boy’s neck, checking for a pulse. At first, nothing, then a small throbbing. Four seconds later, another. Four and a half seconds later, another. His pulse was rapidly diminishing. “Dispatcher, this is James Wallace reporting. I need an aid-car and an engine at 9784 32nd, the old ware house off of 45th is on fire and someone’s been hurt. I repeat I need an aid-car and an engine at 9784 32nd. What is your ETA?”
A voice crackled through the speakers of Officer Wallace’s walkie-talkie “ETA 7 minutes!”
“Hang on Russell.” As James whispered to the unconscious boy, he noticed how terribly beaten the he was. His hair was matted with semi-congealed blood and his face was a mask of that same sticky crimson and glistening bruises, which were spreading across his young boyish face. Both eyes were swollen almost shut. His hands were also covered in blood. His own blood. There was a black-handled switch blade sticking out of his stomach and even more blood was dribbling onto the floor. So much blood! He thought. James’s first instinct was to remove the knife but he couldn’t or Russell would start bleeding more than he already was. Officer Wallace could tell by looking at him that several of his ribs were broken. If he tried to move the boy one of them could puncture his lungs. However, he had no choice. Quickly devouring the building, the fire would soon reach them. Russell’s life or, for that matter, death depended on his being moved outside to the comparative safety of the open air. Slipping one arm under the boy’s legs and one gently under his neck, the Pittsburgh police officer gingerly lifted him off the ground.
James rushed the boy toward the door from which he had come. Lazily drifting down the stairwell, smoke was starting to fill the room. Russell was barely breathing so the urge to exit the building grew inside the young officer’s gut. Dark and foreboding, the stairs appeared to go on forever. Taking one step at a time, Officer Wallace drew in a deep breath and stepped into the smoke.
~Elise Oziel
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