The Ending - Chapter 2
So thinking back at your life is supposed to help you through future problems, right? Like when you jump off a building and are falling quickly to a concrete sidewalk, learning how to poach eggs can help you through it?
I really don't think so.
But what does help is my knowledge of how to grab something and hang on to it for dear life. Swinging my arms to my left, I latch on to a fire escape pole. After dangling there for a moment, I let go and hit the ground, balancing myself with a left shoulder roll. I must say I've always been fond of the urban sport of parkour. Years of Youtube videos really help you when you need a hand. Try it sometime. It works, I promise.
I pull myself off the pavement and begin sprinting at a comfortable 15 miles per hour, turning corners like this was what I was made for. Which, in a way, it was. I leave my pursuers gagging in my dust, yelling French curses at me. After about 10 minutes of dead running, I pause at a pay phone on the side of a busy street. I dial Glenn's number, hoping,- praying,- that he would pick up. My cell phone is too easy to track, so I can't use it right now. My friend answers on the third ring.
"Bonjour?" I wanted to laugh at his faked accent. He was never really good at them.
"I need picked up, and soon. I have a feeling I'm not safe here for long." I spoke in quick English, knowing that most French civilians would think I was speaking gibberish.
"Where are you?" I glance around for a streetsign.
"At the corner of 5th and Market Street."
"Alright. I'm on my way. And, Alex?"
"Please be careful. I don't want to lose you again." I sighed.
"I know." And on that happy note, I hung up and ran inside a nearby convienence store, hoping it wasn't crawling with goons.
Which, it was.