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Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Pilar's Flight
I wrote a pretty sweet short story for English class, "Pilar's Flight." Enjoy.
Pilar stood on a street corner, her every move wary, as a gazelle moves when a cheetah is on the prowl. She sidled down the road, looking behind her furtively with every step. Reaching the next street, she quickly stepped into the deserted two-story warehouse that lay on the corner of Mission and Main. She determined that no one was there, and promptly hid herself away from sight; José’s henchmen had arrived.
She recognized the two men instantly from her position behind a pile of cardboard boxes, though her vision was obscured by the dark of night. Presently the taller of the two, Tony, spoke in a heavily accented, yet refined, baritone. “Dmitri, listen: the work we’re doing now, it’s great… It’s just, sometimes I miss my Mafia days in Sicily; I’d get paid for a job like this.”
The smaller, Russian man, also a former mobster, replied, “I get where you’re coming from, Tony, but hey, it’s a living!”
“… But it’s not a living; hence the problem.” The tedium of the henchmen’s conversation was beginning to get to Pilar.
“Whatevah, fuhgeddaboutit… So, what’s this chick we’re catchin’ s’posed to look like anyways?”
“Boss says look for a hot brunette.” Pilar attempted to stifle her triumphant chuckle.
“You hear somethin’, Tony?”
“Yeah.” She was in for it now. The two began to pace toward the source of the noise. When they reached the pile of boxes, approximately three feet tall, they paused for a minute moment, then an even more minute second moment, silently planning a stratagem of offense. This pause granted Pilar the chance to jump brazenly up from her hiding spot, spinning and lifting up her feet to kick them both in the face.
Cognizant of the fact that she had little time to spare, she rapidly scaled the warehouse stairs, while the two henchmen wasted little time in their pursuit. Dead end. The henchmen were already darting up the stairs, and Pilar had nowhere to go but out. And her way out was the slightly more difficult way, what in colloquial terms would be called – a window. Still, capture by José was the last thing she wanted; it would be hell.
The window was closed – that’s what feet are for. Her size 8 shoes made short work of the glass, and she narrowly escaped the grabbing hands of her pursuers as she leapt onto the awning below. A spectacular landing. One more perfectly executed jump took Pilar to the beaten city sidewalk. She checked her Rolex by the light of a streetlamp. 2 AM? Child’s play. I could go all night with these idiots. She again broke into a fast run down Mission Street, hoping to lose the henchmen before they could pick up her trail.
A figure appeared, sauntering toward her in his purple Armani suit. José. Pilar immediately broke into a sprint in the opposite direction. Too late; she was instantly apprehended by the muscle-bound duo of Tony and Dmitri, each henchman gripping one of her arms with inescapable force. Resistance was useless at this point. Pilar was brought before José, himself a one-man court in this part of town.
“I see you’ve been workin’ pretty hard tryin’ to escape me.” He spat out the words with an unseemly swagger that seemed to invariably emanate from men of his status. “I like hard work… I like to – reward it. So I’m gonna make this as painless as possible for ya.” Pilar sneered; he responded with the smile of one who is in complete control. He laid his right hand on her shoulder, boastfully declaring, “Tag! You’re it!”
Pilar stood on a street corner, her every move wary, as a gazelle moves when a cheetah is on the prowl. She sidled down the road, looking behind her furtively with every step. Reaching the next street, she quickly stepped into the deserted two-story warehouse that lay on the corner of Mission and Main. She determined that no one was there, and promptly hid herself away from sight; José’s henchmen had arrived.
She recognized the two men instantly from her position behind a pile of cardboard boxes, though her vision was obscured by the dark of night. Presently the taller of the two, Tony, spoke in a heavily accented, yet refined, baritone. “Dmitri, listen: the work we’re doing now, it’s great… It’s just, sometimes I miss my Mafia days in Sicily; I’d get paid for a job like this.”
The smaller, Russian man, also a former mobster, replied, “I get where you’re coming from, Tony, but hey, it’s a living!”
“… But it’s not a living; hence the problem.” The tedium of the henchmen’s conversation was beginning to get to Pilar.
“Whatevah, fuhgeddaboutit… So, what’s this chick we’re catchin’ s’posed to look like anyways?”
“Boss says look for a hot brunette.” Pilar attempted to stifle her triumphant chuckle.
“You hear somethin’, Tony?”
“Yeah.” She was in for it now. The two began to pace toward the source of the noise. When they reached the pile of boxes, approximately three feet tall, they paused for a minute moment, then an even more minute second moment, silently planning a stratagem of offense. This pause granted Pilar the chance to jump brazenly up from her hiding spot, spinning and lifting up her feet to kick them both in the face.
Cognizant of the fact that she had little time to spare, she rapidly scaled the warehouse stairs, while the two henchmen wasted little time in their pursuit. Dead end. The henchmen were already darting up the stairs, and Pilar had nowhere to go but out. And her way out was the slightly more difficult way, what in colloquial terms would be called – a window. Still, capture by José was the last thing she wanted; it would be hell.
The window was closed – that’s what feet are for. Her size 8 shoes made short work of the glass, and she narrowly escaped the grabbing hands of her pursuers as she leapt onto the awning below. A spectacular landing. One more perfectly executed jump took Pilar to the beaten city sidewalk. She checked her Rolex by the light of a streetlamp. 2 AM? Child’s play. I could go all night with these idiots. She again broke into a fast run down Mission Street, hoping to lose the henchmen before they could pick up her trail.
A figure appeared, sauntering toward her in his purple Armani suit. José. Pilar immediately broke into a sprint in the opposite direction. Too late; she was instantly apprehended by the muscle-bound duo of Tony and Dmitri, each henchman gripping one of her arms with inescapable force. Resistance was useless at this point. Pilar was brought before José, himself a one-man court in this part of town.
“I see you’ve been workin’ pretty hard tryin’ to escape me.” He spat out the words with an unseemly swagger that seemed to invariably emanate from men of his status. “I like hard work… I like to – reward it. So I’m gonna make this as painless as possible for ya.” Pilar sneered; he responded with the smile of one who is in complete control. He laid his right hand on her shoulder, boastfully declaring, “Tag! You’re it!”
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