The runaway


He was running, he never stopped to look, all he seemed to do was run. Run and run and run! “Stop, thief!” Said the people as he ran by, noticing the partially torn loaf of bread at his side. Shirt bounding, he ran between citizens on the sidewalks. They seemed as if they didn’t notice him, just the way he liked it. Soldiers, war-torn and solemn, scowled jaggedly at him. He soon ducked into an ally to catch his breath and perhaps have a small snack.

He scarfed down half the loaf and spat out the over-baked, crispy crust, as he didn’t care for it. Man, did outdo her! he thought. Just then, a small shadow approached him and bellowed lightly, “You’re wasting.” He plopped down next to him. “Gimme,” he said goofily. “Oh, hey Delta,” he said to Delta, forking over the other half. Staring at the ground, he and Delta munched on over-baked, crispy bread crusts. Delta was a young, blonde tween with freckles abroad on his face, seeming to move every night, as if they were a small legion of warriors. The lady, a woman so nasty that her warts spelled ugly in braille, soon rounded that corner and swung at the lively kids. “Run man!” screeched Delta as they ran out into the streets, avoiding many close scrapes. They ran by one of their friends as they always spotted her every where throughout the city. “Hey, Stella!” they said simultaneously as they sped by. Stella, a young daisy, sat on her front step watching it all take place. She had long brunette hair and a small pink bow on the top of her head, always to the left. And then, THWAP!! And everything went black.

So now, that boy who loved to run, who all he seemed to do was run and munch on crispy bread crusts, was taught a lesson that day: don’t steal, good things always come to those who do right things.