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Preachers Chronicles - A Way Home - Excerpt 3




Excerpt 3


He bounced to the left from the station, his feet moved in rapid succession, one after the other, as his only thoughts were to get away as fast as possible. The wheels of the bus passing, went round and round as if in its own slow melody of a nursery rhyme, the bus driver easily kept speed with him in curiosity. He heard sirens and the bus startled out of rhythm pulling to the left. He darted left down a long road, fearing the men in blue were in search for of and had plans to lock him in a cage for examination into the mind of a young criminal.

He didn’t need a head shrink, he needed to be gone from this place, or at least for the time being until he completed his task. He ducked into a parting for a small estate holding buildings for entrepreneurs. Inspired by the surroundings he used his young mind to calculate the right angle of him lying next to a great black bin that would keep him concealed, from the gang of four rolling with sirens blazing. The inspiration from entrepreneurism paid off, as the gang of four rolled by with blue sirens blazing. His heart beat against his rib cage as if in a great clapping applaud of delight, he stayed still, drawing great breaths as he paused from his great performance.

Ten past ten rolled to half-past ten before he even felt confident enough to step foot back onto the sunshine-paved east London’s Manor Park. When he’d first woke up this morning, he had no idea that his day would be so hectic and so soon. He had plans of sitting ringside of enjoying the heat beating down on his brown skin as he’d remember back to better days. Back to the days of eating the sugar and butter mix as he and his mother worked out how to bake a sponge cake before his gran would run them both from the kitchen in protest after looking at the mess of flour everywhere and eggshells littering the sink as if decorations.

She’d say, “You and your mother are both trouble, how you two mek such a mess, eh? Una left me kitchen, me sa left it.” He and his mother would give stifled laughs of protest before bursting into full giggles as they left the kitchen. He always remembered these times of him his mother and his gran all together in one place as being some of his happiest times. As at least with his gran there when his mother went searching for highs to combat her lows at least he’d be left with his gran and not within the vicinity of another strange man. His thoughts went back to that one particular man, and instantly his heart at thaw from the kinetic energy of good memories refroze with an arctic chill. He didn’t know the day would end up like this, but he knew why each day he stepped out, he stepped out combat ready, black attire his version of army fatigues.


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