Teacup and Bullets

 

I had stepped in quick sand and I was sinking. Fast. As metal met skin in a dangerous combination I felt my heart climb fire fighter style into my throat, the impossibility of death squeezing away my precious pool of courage. As the gun trigger clicked into reality and death sucker punched me in the face I panicked, knowing I had to do something. So as the gun gave one final click before impossibility I kicked out and in that split second there was a fire-cracker bang and then my calf was throbbing and my head spinning.

 

Screams filled the class room and in the confusion of random gun shots, panicked students and good ol’ crazy man I hobbled to the door, trying to ignore the smell of my blood and the bullet in my leg. I limped down the hall way, throwing hurried glances behind my back . My heart was running marathons and my breath was laboured, smothered by the scream worthy pain shooting up my leg. The corner loomed in front of me, like a candle in the night and I allowed my stomach one somersault of joy, exercising its ability to happy dance.  I threw one last precautionary glance behind me, expecting to see the expanse of blue speckled plastic and the rows of royal blue lockers.

 

Boy, was I wrong.

 

There, running spastically down the hall, was the lanky form of the devil himself. His shirt clung to his chest with sweat and his face was twisted into something horror movie like, angry, bitter and bloody minded. His gun was in his hands, but he wasn’t shooting it. I didn’t have time to wonder why. Hesitation equalled death and I wasn’t prepared to die.

 

So with a gut wrenching pain I forced my wounded leg into gear, gritting my teeth against the white hot agony that had clumped around the bullet wound. I ran, my left leg dragging slightly behind my right. I felt like I had swallowed a whole country, the urge to puke up the giant land mass almost unbearable. But adrenaline fuelled my getaway and I kept on running, hissing through my teeth each time my bloodied leg hit the floor.

 

I didn’t dare to look back. Not only was that completely forbidden but it would slow me down, something I really couldn’t afford with my leg. I pictured the man running towards me, focusing on the distance. I estimated he was only a quarter of the way down the hall. Shit, he would be here soon. I kept sprinting, aiming for the sanctuary of our school library that sat at the end of the corridor. Ironic, I had never thought the library would be my saviour.

 

The pain was screaming, the blood was streaming and my poetic sentences weren’t going to last much longer. Risking a glance behind me was dangerous, but I did, my heart dropping down to my stomach. The hall way was empty, but my ears told me that he was nearly catching up.

 

I turned back around and my heart aimed for a new speed record and my legs hadn’t the power to stop the momentum.  Why I had to stop the momentum? Because two bloody idiots decided now was the right time to cuddle in the middle of school.

 

I ran solidly into them, the chic letting out a surprised kind of wail and the guy saying something that would make my mother faint.

 

We collapsed onto the floor, I was on top, people were wriggling and my leg was screaming but I had no time to play pussy. Crazy shoot-y man had just joined the race, and we were three targets placed easily smack bang in the middle of no man’s land.

 

“Get up!” I whispered frantically, hoisting myself up off the two. I glanced quickly at crazy guy and the door to the library. Luckily my momentous crash had carried us closer and we only had a couple of metres to cover. I let my gaze snap back at the two getting up.

 

The girl had long, strawberry blond hair that curled down to just below her shoulders and bangs that stayed weirdly straight. Her eyes were baby blue and freaking scared, her skin was pale with a light dust of freckles on her nose. She stirred some recognition, I knew I had seen her before. Remy? Rachel? Rachel. I thought. It was Rachel.

 

Anyway, the girl wasn’t doing anything helpful. She was busy staring at my leg, which I had purposely avoided examining and was going to continue to do so until someone  half nelsoned me and forced me to do so.  The guy was looking at me like I had’ I LOVE HITTING CHICS’ written on my t-shirt and I can’t say I was looking at him with anything different.

 

Daman Winters was standing there, his no-good arms crossed over his no-good chest. He was staring me down with his freakishly graceful eyebrows raised in casual loathing.

 

“We would have, Muscle Head, if you hadn’t collapsed on top of us.” I rolled my eyes. Fine, die.

 

“Your leg!” Rachel gasped, her hands flying up to her gaping mouth. Again I rolled my eyes.

 

“We need to get to the library.” My words were punctured with gasps. Man, I felt so out of shape.

 

“Why?” They both said at the same time in completely different tones. As soon as the words had left their mouths, the gun spun and hit the locker behind Daman, leaving a head sized dent. If he hadn’t ducked, it would have hit him in the head. So close. All three of us back traced its trail and locked onto the form of Mr I-eat-Children-for breakfast, still running towards us. My heart thumped in urgency and both Rachel and Daman’s mouths dropped open in desperate surprise as he bowled towards us, the hand that threw the gun now pumping frantically at his side.

 

“Oh.” Said Rachel, frozen. “That’s why.”

 

 Daman, however spun straight around, grabbing Rachel’s hand and starting to sprint off.
“Run like your mothers chasing you, Sporto!” Second time I’ve been called Sporto in one day, One by a physcomaniac and another by a social outcast high school dropout. And I though getting shot in the leg was the worst part of my day.

 

“Really? “I yelled, sprinting after him. “I thought we should just stand there and be cosmically screwed by The Joker over there!” My eyes locked souly on the library doors and I tried to focus on my destination. This was just like football, and they were the goals. And I was versing Lord Voldy and his death eaters.

 

My leg was dragging me down, slowing my speed. Soon the other two were at the doors, whilst I was still out in the war zone. Yeah, thanks, team. My heart was thumping adrenaline through my veins, but it wasn’t working. I was slowing down. I can’t lose.

 

I heard the guy’s rapid breathing, and felt the stench of it brush my neck. I pushed my body further, desperately trying to escape death. He was behind me, his massive feet hitting the ground a lot faster than mine. The door was nearly tangible but so was I in I-snort-Panadol’s view. I can’t loose

 

Desperately, I extended my hand, ignoring the screaming in my leg. Nearly there, Hudson. Nearly there.

 

Unfortunately, nearly never won any freaking medals, and as life mooned me in humiliation, I felt a hand grab my collar and heard the frantic breath of my attacker as I was yanked away from sanctuary and welcomed into the hot hands of Satan himself.

 

I lost, and the fans were throwing bullets.