Copyright 2013
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[This is a re-post from September via another blog, *Misc. Ramblings*, when I transcribed this experiment in "micro-fiction" from 22 tweets that tell a little story. Fashioned in the spirit of a great writing series I shared with my good friend, Scott Murphy, over several media, a few years ago. Just for fun, just to share. Enjoy!]
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He'd been awaken by two beat cops walking through the park. "Hey man. Wake up. Wake up, buddy. Ya can't sleep on the park bench."
The detective was reluctant to push too hard initially. "You're a bit of a hard ass, aren't ya man?" The room was dark and cold.
When asked about his background he explained it simply. "I've been trained variously by four armies. So I've learned a thing or two."
"Ya gotta play to your strengths", his pa had always said. He's certainly been able to do that most of his life. Always testing.
It was a long time before he opened up and let his confidence be known.
"Beh!", is all he said when asked about things by the others. "You a retard?" they asked. "Beh." "Huh. Must be."
He had been quiet much of that first month. Watching, listening to the men behind bars with him, figuring how things worked.
"I'll tell ya", he'd declared to his cellmates, "They ain't gonna keep me, no how no way."
"No how no way. But how ya gonna find your way?", the old man asked.
"It's not only what they say, but how they say things, and who listens, whose eyes wander, there's wisdom there", Blue'd said.
"I can't believe you actually listen to what they say", he'd said to Old Blue several weeks back. He'd learned much since then.
The attorneys droned on for hours, and the judge's lengthy comments at sentencing were the last straw. He knew it was time.
"Adios, amigo!", was last thing he said to the judge as he slipped his bindings and sprinted past the bailiffs through the doors.
He'd used a red car, a white bicycle, and Electric Blue Razor to make his escape that started from city hall downtown.
He'd been on the run for so many hours, evading his pursuers, he was a bit complacent. An uncharacteristic error, nearly fatal.
The snarling rottweiler nearly caught him two blocks back. Scrambling to the top of the chain link fence, he'd torn his trousers.
The smell was quite pungent in the doorway. The red paint on the door was chipped, peeling. The porch light had broken long ago.
He was relieved to have made it through maze of the Whittier complex in one piece. Dodging potholes and street refuse wasn't easy.
The houses grew as he moved west through the city. Apartment blocks gave way to ranch-style homes. By sunset, he was almost there.
He sat at the kitchen table most of the night, wondering what the next day would bring. It was time for change. Enough with fear.
He came into the house through the bathroom window. It was his usual entry point. He was exhausted after evading the law all day.
On stiff legs, he walked out of the darkened room and into the early morning. The sun was just breaking over the hills to east.
