oneA Chapter by K.C. ZbrykThe engine of the steel paneled beast revs as he runs the light, flipping off the camera as he does so, wincing from the smoke rolling off his running cigarette. A long finger of ash falls into his lap while he squeals around the corner heading towards the nearest highway, towards the nearest exit from this hell hole of a town. “F*****g suburbia, f*****g city, and f*****g cigarette.” He mutters letting the wheel slide through his fingers. He mashes the pedal down to the floor, letting the speedometer run over the posted limit and well past. He needed to get clear of this mess. He needed to get clear of it all. Sadly its only getting harder to exit a country. Especially when the easiest methods involve money, passports and no existing criminal history, and he was short on all of these, specifically the last one. The sirens in the distance were rolling closer to the pillar of smoke that was his last residence, and the place where his life stopped. He had resorted to viewing himself as dead. This is what happens when you kill someone, they kill you in retribution, specifically when you kill a suit. “They wanted to bleed me dry. They wanted all that I have and I’m not willing to cough that up. F**k them. That’s what they wanted to do to me. Just got to get to a safe place, got to get to Shaun. He can help if I can get there.” But he was sweating bullets, and he had no way to call. They could track him however they wanted. Between the cameras, the RFID chips, the police and his manic action she knew they were gonna have no hard time following his slew of wreckage. As he screeched onto the on ramp he sideswiped a brand new Cadillac SUV, but his car was stout and kept right on running. The driver was screaming at him from behind the glass, and he could care less. He didn’t even bother to slow down or look back he just ran for the highway. It all started when they sent him a letter. Paper never looks menacing especially when it comes with a stamp and has your name printed on it so nicely. So he popped open his knife, as he took the stairs two at a time, and cut that f****r open. What could come from an envelope? Said right there in times new roman addressed to Kyle Zygote response requested immediately. They always want some immediate response, like he didn’t have a life or something. He was supposed to be at their beck and call whenever they needed. That’s the government for you. F**k them. He shoved his key in the lock and snapped the deadbolt open, momentarily forgetting the paper in his hands. As he slammed the door and kicked his shoes into the corner the envelope fell to the floor. He smoked a cigarette while he put ice into a short glass and poured himself a drink. Good old red label never let him down. It burned as he took the first slug but it was a good burn. That kind that gives you goose bumps and a small shiver up the spine, oh how he loved the feeling. When he opened his eyes again he saw the envelope with that one red stripe on the left side. Made it look important. So Kyle picked up the envelope from its resting place on that old stain in the carpet and pulled out the paper. For a long a*s piece of paper it had a sparse amount printed on it. All it said was: Mr. Zygote, We are requesting that you contact us in regards to your credit. It appears that there have been a few discrepancies in the information that we have received from you and we would like to assist you in correcting this problem. You immediate response is requested, and if we are not contacted in the next twenty four hours we will send a representative to your residence. Thank you. © 2013 K.C. ZbrykAuthor's Note
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Added on January 2, 2013Last Updated on January 2, 2013 Running Dead
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By K.C. ZbrykAuthorK.C. Zbrykthat one with the lights, and buildings too!, COAboutHi I'm Kiefer. Not the actor, or any other strange kiefer titled product, I'm just an amateur writer working on some stories and spitting out the occasional poem. Everything that is posted here is.. more..Writing
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