Short Fiction: Untitled

Mickey vaulted the tall, spiked fence with ease. A youth spent in physical labor left him in good shape in spite of his recent lack of exercise. The knowledge that he was being pursued aided in his determination. Any number of reasons could explain why someone was interested enough to pursue him, but he couldn’t settle on one particular reason. He was being harried like an animal before dogs, therefore he must run.

They were dogged in the chase. He had traversed city block after block, backtracked, chose streets at random, yet they were still there. Although he had yet to catch a glimpse, the certainty that they were were still there kept the young man alert. racing across a busy street, leaving honking cars and cursing drivers in his wake, Mickey ducked into an alley and dug out his phone. The police station was close, so perhaps some officers could meet him along the way.

The phone rang several times before a deep voice answered.

“Vancouver Police Department, how may I direct your call?”

“Someone is following me and I need assistance. Do you have anyone that can meet me?

His blood ran cold at the operator’s words: “Come now, Mickey. You cannot escape. Wait for them and we can talk this out. You have only been an annoyance so far and violence will not be necessary.”

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