Runaway

Subject: Runaway Mon Jan 04, 2010 11:44 am

Back to original forum: https://jetroleplayemporium.rpg-board.net/writing-f24/harvey-s-collection-of-stories-t41.htm#1107

Plot: Jessica is a rich, goody-two-shoes girl who runs away from her home to evade getting married. She ends up in Brazil, where she meets a camp of international people who are also runaways. While there, she realizes how important nature is and the beauty of love. Little does she know that her old fiance is close behind....

The winds made my hair whip my face. I was out of breath and my legs were screaming, but I continued running. My dress was torn and dirty; it’s lace sweeping across the jungle floor. The tight bun that used to hold up my auburn hair was now loose, releasing flyways into the air. I didn’t dare look back to see if anyone was following me, I just ran, not thinking about anything but, “No.”

I finally fell down to the ground, the cold earth scraping my knee. Sobs escaped my lips, echoing through the air. Images of the past day flew in my head, making me dizzy. I lay my head on the ground to collect my thoughts, and found myself dozing off.

In my dream, I was back in my old house in Manhattan. I was in my room, reading one of my favorite books. My fingers fluttered the pages as I finished the book, yet again. Sighing with contentment, I looked out the giant window to find my father talking to a young man.

We lived in a huge mansion. My father was the owner of a big company and my mom was a big time lawyer. Combining the two jobs gave us plenty of money. My father even looked like one of those big, fat, rich stooges that owned bug homes. He was short and plump, with a small comb-over. His black, beady eyes were gleaming with joy as he looked at the young man.

My mother was the opposite. I got all of my looks from her. Our dark, auburn hair with bright green eyes gleamed with our pale skin tone. We even had the same personality. Caring, smart, sympathetic, and a passion to read and write. Though she liked to wear big, flashy gowns, I preferred to wear my jeans and sweatshirt.

I walked away from my window and placed the book back in my large bookshelf. The books were starting to overflow, and they spilled out in neat piles on the floor. Their bright covers stood out against my white walls.

My room was completely white except for the books. I liked it that way. It made it feel like the books were the only things that were important in the room. Which was true.

After a little bit, I decided to finally go downstairs. Not soon after I was halfway down the spiraling steps, I head chortles and whispers. My foot touched a creaky step, and the noises stopped immediately.

“Dad?” I called.

My father came bustling out of the kitchen with a wine glass in his hand. His plaid suit had a red stain on the front, indicating that he was drunk, yet again. I walked down the final steps, and saw the young man out of the corner of my eye. Seeing his looks, I suddenly whished that I was wearing something nicer.

His dirty blonde hair fell over his sky blue eyes. He had tan skin, and yet he looked pale. He wore simple jeans and a white shirt that looked a little too big for him. Even though he was amazingly handsome, he had the same gleam in his eyes as my father did.

“Jessica, I want you to meet Mr.….” My father’s slurred voice stuttered out of his lips. I smiled to the man as he said, “Higgins. Jason Higgins.”

He walked up to me and held out his hand. I grasped it with dignity, and felt my heart flutter in his presence. Surprisingly, though he had a muscular shape, his hands were weak and seemed they were used very little.

“I have a feeling we will be seeing a lot of each other.” His husky voice said to me. I forced a smile and nodded, unsure what to say. Though he seemed to be nice, I didn’t like the looks of him. In my perceptive view, I saw my father become fidgety.

“Jessica, meet your fiancée!” He finally blurted out. All color drained from my face.

“Wh-what?” I mumbled. Apparently my father didn’t notice.

“Jason is to marry you!” He beamed, “He is from a wealthy family and is promising to help my company. He just had one requirement, and that was to see if I could get him a bride.”

I knew enough about him already. I quickly excused myself and ran back to my room. There, I grabbed my phone and started dialing my friend’s number.

“Hello?” My friend, Emily, picked up quickly.

“Emily!” I cried, feeling tears coming. I quickly explained my situation.

“So what do you want me to do? I can’t change your father’s mind.” Her exasperated tone said.

“Google him. I want to know more about this guy to figure out why he would want me to marry him.” I sighed, tired.

The line went silent as she searched for him, only asking little question here and there. I got up and paced around my room.

“Here we go,” Emily finally says. “Jason Higgins, gambler. Says here that his family had it good, like you, but liked to gamble. Lost the family’s entire fortune.”

I stopped my pacing. “So what does he want with me?” I asked in barely a whisper. I could see Emily shaking her head.

“Not sure. We have time to find out. There is going to be a lot of planning for this wedding.” She said before hanging up.

Sighing, I walked back to my window chair and stared out into the nearby buildings. I stood there for hours, thinking, until there was a knock on my door.

“Come in.” I called, and Jason walked in.

My heart stopped beating for a second. His beauty still stunned me. “So we decided on a time for the wedding.” He said after three minutes of silence. “Tomorrow at noon. Be ready, my pretty one.” His voice was crooning, and he brushing the back of his hand against my cheek before leaving. I stood there for five minutes before my breathing was back too normal.

I paced some more. Tomorrow? Why so soon? Is it something he wants from us? My brain felt overworked, so I lie down in my bed and shut my eyes. Thoughts zoomed through my mind, so I pushed them out and slowly fell asleep.

^*^

My eyes fluttered open. At first, my mind was empty, curious. Then I remembered what just happened. Groaning, I sat up in my bed. From across the room, I saw myself in the large mirror I hung on my wall. My auburn hair was tangled and fluffed, covering my puffy eyes.

I sighed and got up to walk to the bathroom. Suddenly, my door opened. Silky hair similar to mine flowed in as my mother stepped into my room. She held a beautiful gown in hand. White, large, and beautiful

It took me a little bit to realize what it really was: my wedding gown. “NO!” I called. “NO NO NO!” My voice was cracked and loud. It made my mother’s eyes shadow with sorrow.

Though I refused many times to put it on, I was somehow placed in our compact Porsche. We drove for two hours, trying to get to the church. My mother sat by my side, rocking me in her arms. She hummed in my ear, soothing me moderately. Too soon, we arrived.

We walked into the large church to find my father awaiting me. He looked tired, yet giddy. My first thought was that he was drunk again. The look in his eyes told me different. No, not drunk. He was drugged. His eyes were blood shot and he scratched his throat as if it were as dry as a desert.

My mother became tense as she led me by him, hurrying up her pace as she went. I looked up at her panic stricken face, worried. “It’s okay, Mom,” I crooned, “I’m fine.”

My sympathy was wasted. She shook her head violently, tears welling up in her eyes. She pushed me into a dressing room and held out my gown. Silently, I took the dress and slipped it on.

It fit me perfectly. Pure white and strapless, it had a thin layer of lace sewn onto the top. It had bows bordering the bottom, and the veil matched it. Tiny bows were embodied into the veil’s lace to match the bows, barely visible against the sparkle of the tiara that it was attached to. As I slipped on my heels, my mother brought out the bouquet.

I stared at myself in the mirror, appraising myself. That was when I figured out why I was to be wed.

My father had said Jason was wealthy. But Emily had found that he had gambled away his family’s fortune. Obviously, my father had not heard of this and easily believed that he was rich. He didn’t want my love. He wanted my fortune. But he wouldn’t get that if I were alive. He wouldn’t get that if any of my family were alive. No, he would have to kill my entire family.

I turned to my mother, eyes wide. By the look on her face, I knew she had gotten my message. She gave a tiny nod so only I would see. So, I ran.

I ran back to the Porsche and revved the engine once I turned it on. My father had given me a spare key to everything once I turned 15. My foot hit the gas pedal, and I zipped out of there.

The horsepower in the car sent me down to the nearest airport in 20 minutes. As I ran inside, I ripped off the heels I was wearing. People stared at me as I ran over to the ticket booth. I wasn’t surprised. A bride running in an airport was sure to catch people’s attention. Even the person running the booth stared.

“Can I help you, ma’m?” He chuckled. I glared at him and he stopped laughing immediately. I put a couple of thousands on the table.

“Give me a ticket to the place farthest from here.” I growled. He turned to the computer in from of him, and in seconds, I had a ticket to Brazil in my palm. “The plane is leaving in ten minutes.” He called after me as I ran to the gate.

It took me five minutes to get to the gate. I sat in one of the small chairs, breathing heavily. My eyes scanned the crowd, freezing at what they saw.

Two men in black were looking around the crowd. I could tell that they were looking for one person in particular: me.

I stood up and walked over to the place where people started boarding for Brazil. Though it wasn’t my turn, I gave a couple hundreds to the woman to let me in. Just before the men looked at me, I ran inside the plane.

My hands held up the ruffles of my gown as I sat down in the front row of the plane. The flight attendants stared at me, but closed the door as the last passenger came in as if nothing had happened. I could see between the cracks, and to my pleasure, two disappointed men were on the phone outside.

Sighing with relief, I closed my eyes as I rested my head against the seat. A wave of tiredness flushed over me, and I slowly drifted off into a deep slumber.

^*^

Someone shook my shoulder gently, making me stir awake. “Would you like some breakfast, ma’m?” A woman next to me asked. I looked up at her and saw that the flight attendant was serving meals.

“Yes please.” I said, smoothing my dress. “Thank you for waking me.” I smiled at the woman next to me. She looked about 60, and her wrinkled skin turned red.

I was served a plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. After taking one small bite of the bacon, I realized how hungry I really was. I shoved more and more into my mouth, tying to fill my empty stomach. My tummy gave a groan, and I regretted stuffing myself instantly. Standing up, I tried to scrunch up my gown as I walked down the isle to the bathroom. At the time, I wished I were back in my jeans and sweatshirt instead of a bridal gown.

The plane ride lasted for one more day or cold meals and many trips to the bathroom. When the intercom announced that we would be landing soon, I was beginning to feel sick. The plane had become bumpy and the food was churning in my stomach. The woman next to me seemed to enjoy it. When we swooped down and back up, she laughed with glee. As the plane swayed from side to side, she made up stories of roller coasters and times when se was young. It kept my mind off of the ride for a little, until she mentioned the swooping sensation.

We landed on very rough terrain. The old woman told me that I could find her where the river ends, and that I should visit soon. It made no sense to me, but I smiled and said I would. The attendant helped me out of the plane out of an entrance to the open area instead of the airport.

I ran

And ran

And ran

This lasted for hours. My direction was off, and I just kept on trucking through vines and branches from the jungle I was trapped in. My dress became torn, and the tight bun that held my hair together was loose and flyways fell down my face.

I had lost track of the amount I had ran. My legs became wobbly and I sat on the ground, sobbing. I sat there, crying, for who knows how long, until I fell asleep.

^*^

I awoke with a start from the vivid memories I had remembered in my dream. My breathing was heavy and quick, and it took me about a minute to realize that my dream wasn’t a dream.

Sighing, I sat up and looked around at my surroundings. I groaned internally. “What have I gotten myself into?” I muttered to myself.

Footsteps echoed in the air, and I sat up, abruptly, and ready to defend my self. My hand inched towards a sharp rock I had spotted. By the time I had in locked in my death grip, I had realized that it was only a native Brazilian.

His skin was dark, along with his chocolate eyes. His black hair was shaggy and short, and somehow, I liked it. He wore baggy camouflage pants and nothing else, showing off his muscular chest and arms. Though he had a tough appearance, he looked kind. He held out his hand to me and said, “Girl need help?”

His tone was thick with his accent, but I smiled as he tried to speak to me. It was obvious that he hadn’t talked much English in his life. I grasped his sturdy hand, pulling myself up. “Thank you.” I smiled again. He flashed me a brilliant smile.

“Come to village. We give food and clothing.” Before I could reply, he started dragging me to a large willow tree.

Inside its branches, there was a store of food. Fruits and vegetables were spewed on the ground in neat piles next to herbs. “Take one.” His broken English said to me, his hand reaching for some grapes. I picked up a fig and started walked with him again.

He pushed aside the branches again to reveal a group of huts circling a bonfire. About six huts were lighting up in the dark night, and people started pouring out of them as the native called out to them. All of them stayed close to their huts, except for one. It was a female, about my age, with long, braded black hair. Unlike most of Indians, her eyes were blue. I would have guessed that she was Brazilian, but by the clothing that she wore made me realize that she was Indian.

Her traditional yellow sari was tied tight around her waist, and bangles shone on her wrists and ankles. “What is your story?” She asked in flawless English. My mouth fluttered over the words of the past few days.

I didn’t notice how powerful my words were. I found myself tearing up and my eyes leaked. As I poured out my heart to her, I didn’t see how many other people were coming out of their huts. I stopped abruptly at the end, looking at the swarm of people surrounding me.

They were all of different cultures, and by the looks of them, all runaways. Just like me. The one closest to me was obviously Korean. Nearby him, was someone German. My eyes scanned the small crowd. European, Chinese, Russian, Japanese, South American, Canadian, Mexican, Australian, and then there was me, Manhattan.

The people smiled at me and shook my hand as they welcomed me. I tried to smile back, but I was scared, and tired to add to that.

I heard a soft chuckle behind me, and I turned to see the Brazilian boy smiling down at me. “Come.” He said in his husky voice, turning towards the nearest hut. I followed him, eager to get some sleep.