The Fugitive


The air was still, the sky empty, in the middle of the deserted field was a single old oak tree whose leaves had withered without any intentions of budding. The long grass met the black abysses in a perfect horizon and out of it swept a shiny crow, who gently rested on one of the many hollow branches.
A loud bang followed the crow and a shadow appeared, the shadow stopped for a moment to catch its breath and then continued to run never looking towards the bright lights over his shoulder. Although it was at least a mile, his legs devoured the landscape meaning he only stopped once he reached the tree, his intended destination.
He began to climb the tree but in his heavy hands a branch snapped. He threw it into the distance muttering a swear word under his breath and with a jolt the Crow flew into the distance.
He looked below him and as he did his eyes met an additional pair and at once the person froze.
“S..ss...Stanley?”
Stanley gave a sharp nod and then pressed his finger to his lips, the prison guard started to plead,
“You know I can’t do that Stanley, you know I could lose my job, please Stanley, It’ll be easier. For both of us”
Stanley took a step down. The guard reached for his radio,
“Stanley, please. This is foolish and you know it! After all I’ve done for you....I’m sorry”
He then lifted the radio to his ear and in one swift stab from a rusty nail, the guard toppled over hitting his head on one of the many jagged rocks. Blood began pouring from every orifice. Stanley stole the battered radio from the dead man’s clutch, and with a dry chuckle carried on.
Once again it was quiet, the stagnant air disturbed only by heavy panting and the vulgar smell of blood. The radio began to crackle, a twisted smile grew, his hideous mind started concocting a plan.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the field an ear piercing scream shook the earth.
“Sir? Sir! What was that?”
“How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?!”
“But Sir, do you think he’s close?”
“Of course he is, now pull yourself together!”
“Sir, I’m scared!!”
Through the radio the last line was repeated,
“Sir, I’m scared!!”
Immediately the pair of guards froze, the younger looked to the older for some sort of guidance, but the only help he could give was a simple shake of the head,
“It must of been the wind”
Once again the radio repeated the conversation,
“been the wind...”
A dead twig snapped behind them, and the sound of squelching footsteps became louder and louder, until the younger guard thought he couldn’t take it any longer,
“That’s it! I’m getting out of here”
“You’re not going anywhere!”
This time the voice was rough and scratchy, like fingernails on a strip of sandpaper. Once again Stanley produced the rusty nail, and stabbed the feeble guard numerous times, the once older and wiser guard turned around for any signs of refuge, but he was helpless.
The conversation flashed through his mind, just a few minutes ago, they had been talking happily, he never should of even been on duty, why did he volunteer the poor lad? Maybe he should of listened to him, but now; now it’s too late. He’d be dead in a few minutes.