Motivation

Footsteps pounded on pavement; harsh breathing rebounded off the crumbling walls of long-abandoned buildings. Behind me, indistinguishable shouting echoed down deserted streets, the high-pitched screams of bloodlust sounding eerily like baying hounds set loose on a hunt.

An apt analogy.

I ducked under a rusted chain-link fence half ripped from its moorings; the barrier curling in on itself as if it could no longer stand to bear witness to the savagery of humanity.

A strand wire, hidden by weeds struggling to grow through the cracked concrete and perpetual shadow of urban decay, gouged into my leg. It had cut deep, drawing blood. Fighting back the cry of agony desperate to escape my lips, I pushed on, running as fast as my thirteen-year-old legs would allow me.

Clutched tightly in my hand, a single black notebook, the only thing that mattered. I had to keep going. This was my only chance.

Ahead of me was a doorway, little more than a gaping black maw, no indication of whether it offered sanctuary or despair. It didn't matter; I needed to rest, to regroup. Gasping, each inhale a stabbing ache searing my desperate lungs, I crouched low, hesitating for only a second before ducking into the unknown.

Backing into a corner, I surveyed the room. At one time it might've been a shop, selling jewelry or high-end fashion to the upper echelons. Now it was a husk, offering the perfect hiding place for the downtrodden masses it would have shunned before.

Outside, the sounds of the crowd were further away. It could be a trick; an auditory illusion caused by the echoing emptiness. The city had long since been abandoned by civilized society. Only the desperate and lawless called this depressing metropolis home now.

My fingers clenched on the object in my hand, the black leather of the cover, worn and smooth. My possible salvation.

A stone skittered at the end of the street, a shout of triumph, a call to arms, and I knew my time was done.

Springing up, I bounded through the store, jumping broken display cases and ducking under fallen signage, heading deeper into the space. My leg throbbed where blood oozed from my wound, marking my trail as clearly as pointing neon signs.

Light up ahead, such an absurd oddity in a city full of shadows. I was exposed and disoriented, blinded as I ran into it, but still I ran. There was no other choice.

Ahead, an alley loomed, calling me home to the comforting darkness I craved. Skidding in, I sprinted down to the end, sliding on broken asphalt, coming to rest behind the rusted remains of a dumpster.

Shouts behind me indicated how close I was to being discovered. I struggled to mask my breath, my body sucking in desperate drags of air. There was no way out.

A small sound behind me, a flicker of movement and I whipped around, fist raised, ready to fight to the last.

There was a gaunt face, bathed in shadows, wide green eyes haunted by all that life had thrust upon her. She observed me through the small window embedded in the foundation, a woman, older than me, probably nineteen or twenty. Her thin bloodless lips flat with terror.

The glass had long since shattered, only iron bars separated us. Iron bars that were too small for me to fit through. There was no safety for me there.

Thuds at the mouth of the alley, jeers and cries of a crowd narrowing in on their prey.

I was done.

Stretching out my arm, I forced my hand to release its precious cargo. Confusion flashed across her face as a pale, dirt-smudged hand hesitantly reached out to meet me.

"The rules," I gasped. "Keep it safe. Don't let them get it. If you can't get out, pass this on to someone who can. Make it to the bridge by nightfall and you win."

She frowned, examining the book, held closed only by a worn, leather tie. I didn't tell her not to open it. It didn't matter. Chance was she was like me and wouldn't be able to read anyway.

"Go. The book has to stay in motion. If you can't do it, find someone who can. Don't let them get it. Understand? Understand?"

She startled, eyes wide, a shaky nod indicating her acceptance. Stepping back into the gloom, she disappeared, taking my hopes and dreams with her. Seconds later they found me, and I met my fate.

I was number one.

***

The boy who'd handed me the book cried out as he was surrounded, but I didn't wait to see the end. He'd gambled everything and lost.

I knew what this notebook was; the stories had filtered down even here, in the stygian world. Slipping through the darkness effortlessly, I traveled deeper underground. There was safety in the obscurity of the subterranean world. The boy had lived in the light, what little filtered through the rotting husks of the concrete jungle. He might’ve disagreed with my description, but he'd left himself open to the predators.

Not that there weren't hunters and prey in the below; it was just a different type of caste system. More subversive, aloof. The nuances deeper, a delicate balance of betrayal and deceit and survival.

I wasn't strong enough to carry this burden. There had never been any question of it.

But I knew someone who was. Someone who deserved the chance this small, innocuous black book offered.

Now the task had fallen to me to ferry it to its rightful bearer. I was nothing in this story. A paragraph, a descriptive filler. Something to be skimmed over to get to the meat of the plot.

I was number two.

***

The world that was and the world that had been were vastly different things. I remembered both, one more than the other. I tried not to change too much, but one had to adapt to one's environment. And one learned not to refer to oneself as ‘one’ in most company, as a sign of education was liable to get you killed.

I settled back into my nest of blankets and rags, accustomed to the odor of the underground commune. Time was relative here. There was no sun or moon to dictate our patterns, only necessity and survival. A fire burned low off to one side, people huddled around it much like humanity had been doing for eons. Fire represented safety, or at least the illusion of it. Warmth and comfort, a mesmerizing dance of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and yes, even water. It was alluring and desirable and something that would make life better.

I'm sure that's what the moth thought before flying to its death as well.

A foot nudged my leg, drawing my attention to the young man looming over me.

"Old man. Where's the girl?"

"Lot's of girls here," I crowed, waving my hands in the exaggerated dance of someone not altogether there. "See, there's Diana. Over there is Monique. Ah-ah," I tutted, waving a finger at the space at my side. "You can't have Angelica. She's my favorite."

"Crazy old bastard," the youth muttered before stalking off, in search of more lucid information. I was grateful for the dark; it hid my smirk. It was so easy to fool those around me into believing I was harmless; a pathetic reminder of a time gone by. I was a chameleon of sorts, camouflaging with my environment. There but not there.

Time passed. It might have been minutes; it might have been days. No way to tell. Soon another shadow slipped up to me, whispering in my ear, desperate to remain unseen.

"I have something," she whispered, a slip of a girl, like a pale moonbeam from my youth.

"What?" I wasn't particularly interested, but she seemed agitated, her body almost vibrating with suppressed energy.

"Here." It was a breath, barely even a sound. But I looked down to her hand, half-hidden in the tunic that hung from her thin frame.

Quizzical, I struggled to make out the details of the vague black rectangle in her hand. It took a moment for reality to collide with my disjointed musings. When clarity struck, alarm raced through my system.

"Child, put it away. You need to go, leave this place. Take the chance."

She was already shaking her head. "No, this isn't for me. I'm not strong enough, fast enough. I belong to the dark. But you started in the light. You should finish in the light."

A deluge of emotions rioted through me. Wonder that such selflessness could still exist in such oppressive circumstances, the insane burst of hope and wonder; oh, to see the sun again.

Reality was quick to return though. I was old, my life done, my spirit simply waiting for my body to reach the same conclusion. No, this opportunity wasn't for me.

"No, child. Bless your generosity, but this gift isn't mine. Give it to someone more worthy."

A raucous laugh across the way startled the girl and she cringed, folding in on herself. "I can't. They already suspect I have it. I can't keep it any longer. Please"

In a move that was as familiar to me as it was all those years before, when I lurked in alleys swapping illicit drugs for dirty money, I palmed the notebook, slipping it under my shirt, tucked into the waistband of my pants.

"Alright, I have it. Go, find a place to hide. Stay safe."

No more words were exchanged and it was as if she became one with the darkness. I was alone and now the sole possessor of a most wondrous gift, the greatest of curses.

I needed to find my successor; this was not my destiny.

I was number three.

***

I thought I had a chance when I lost them in the river, a precious plastic bag protecting my cargo. But they caught up with me.

I was number four.

***

The underground is the only way to make it through. Fewer people, more places to hide. I would make it; I needed to make it. This was my only chance.

I was number seven.

***

Others had relied on stealth and deceit. They had no clue how to exist in this world. Only the strong survived.

I was number fifteen.

***

The sun was sinking low on the horizon, painting the sky a portentous blood-red. A man stood at the entrance of the bridge, carelessly smoking a cigarette.

"You got it?"

Raising my shaking, blood-soaked fist, I handed the precious notebook to him, never questioning why so many had risked everything that day, only to fail where I succeeded.

Grunting, he tucked the cigarette into his mouth, squinting through the smoke as he opened the book, flicking through the pages.

With a nod, he closed it, tucking it into a back pocket, treating it as carelessly as a disposable lighter.

"What number are you?" he asked, only mildly curious.

"I don't even know." Countless people had come before me. All I knew was that I had prevailed.

Another grunt. With a booted foot, he nudged a bag towards me.

"Here. Twenty grand. It's all yours." He glanced over my shoulder, taking in the ruined cityscape. "Enjoy."

And with that he disappeared into the twilight, returning to whatever reality he called normal life, leaving me to struggle with the consequences of my actions that day.

***

With a sigh, the author sat back, wrecked from the emotion of it. This story had sucked her in, words practically pouring onto the page.

Scribbling in her day planner - the inspiration for the flight of fancy - she noted the submissions closed in ten days. Enough time for a proofread and a second opinion.

Eyes unfocused as thoughts of the $20,000 first prize rolled through her brain. Indeed, how far would she go, for a chance at such a life-changing prize?

Time will tell...