Gifts

by Ethan Marsh

XVIII

  The pain of dying is worse than the pain of being dead itself.

  -

  I know that. I feel lots of pain in my stomach and I know that I have to get food soon. I walk down many tracks, double-tracks, and quad-tracks. It puzzles me why there are not many people on the streets. It confuses me because everyone I see walking along, seems like they are having the best time of their lives. For the things that have happened to me in the past couple of..., I don't think it is even possible for me to think of peace. To think that life is considered a good thing.

  I continue the painful walking until I come across a rundown building. All of the windows are boxed with wood. The building was not very big, and the building made me think of my last day at the school. We were learning about the three needs of life: food, water, and shelter. I speculate these three things.

  I have zero out of the three. I think automatically.

  The building will provide me shelter.

  This building will help keep me alive.

  I run across the four lane track to the other side of the street where the building is located. I run as fast as I can, as if there was a feast laying in front of the building, to give me whatever it is that I need. As I am crossing the next street, a red sub(actually identical to Henry's, even at first I call for him, but then I realize it is not him because a small white symbol is painted on the front of the sub: the symbol of the government) comes zooming down the street, I'm guessing much faster than supposed to. I dash across the remaining of the distance, and have to dive in order to not get hit by the larger object. My face smashes into dirt.

  The adrenalin saved me. Again.

  I get up from the ground, only to see that the red sub had stopped. I am not looking for trouble, so I quickly run to the building. I still try not to resort to violence. Violence is horrid. I look back to the red sub and see that nobody has gotten out. The truck is stopped simply on the road.

  I bang and bang on the door, but it is boarded up with wood that I can not break. That is one thing the adrenalin does not give me: strength.

  Someone gets out of the sub. I didn't know who it was, all I heard was a sub door slam. I press on the door hard, seeing that the boards were starting were starting to burn, but far from perishing.

  "Hey kid!"

  I press harder. I know the adrenalin will save me either way, but I did not want to fight this guy. I won't fight anyone. Not again.

  "Kid! What do you think you're do-"

  Fear crawls up on me, seeking the violence hidden deep within me. I dash up to him, tackling him to the concrete ground, then smash his neck onto the steps. I press my hands against his chest, until I see the burning of his heart. He falls to the ground, twitching rambunctiously.

  I fall to my knees as I see him dying. I can't stand to know that I killed someone. This wasn't the first time that I couldn't stand to know something.

  I feel like I am dead. No food, no water, no heart. I have killed people. I am being hunted. I will die, before old age.