The Heroes Of L'manburg City - W1th3red_Souls

The Heroes Of L'Manburg City - 1

Friday, 4th of February, 2117 - 03:08 pm, Essempi Time,
Essempi Empire, North-eastern Shire,

'Luck of the draw,'

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He had been walking, after a fight with his friends he was sulking his way home. Kicking rocks and uncharacteristically not caring about the cracks in the concrete.

(He and his friends did their best not to step on cracks; mostly to avoid the superstition that it would break their mother's backs.)

The fight had been dumb in the boy's opinion. Pointless, a waste of time too. Crossing a road. He knew the yelling fit he'd get from his parents, so the young boy looked both ways before crossing. Empty anything moving aside from a neighbour's cat, a feral thing.

He stepped onto the road once he was satisfied that there were no cars. The boy was too upset to even avoid the tarmac by only stepping on the painted white rectangles that marked the crossing. No, he trotted along, making up valid arguments in his head. Things he would've said, should've said.

Then he tripped on a untie shoelace. He knew it was a shoelace. This untied shoelace situation was very common. This boy knew the tug and twisting feel of falling over one's shoelace.

He fell forward, yelped in alarm and did a surprisingly cool rolly thing. If the boy wasn't so mad he would have been happy with the roll. He didn't feel hurt or bruised at all, just awesome. This moment was short lived though. A bright red sports car sped past. There were milliseconds between the tripping on the shoelace, the rolling.... out of the way? And the speeding car that roared over where the boy was less than a second ago. Beeping its horn, a middle finger flashed through an open window. Music thumping loudly in his ears just like his heartbeat.

He sat on the road for several moments, staring at where the red car's wheels had been. The true sinking in. If he hadn't tripped, well, he'd be street meat. Another casualty on the five pm news. As his breath evened out, he backed away, nearly falling over the curb, running home. The reality sinking in. Not entirely. The boy didn't have a comprehension of death.

Dashing around corners and leaping over low hedges. He shoved his key in the door, swinging it open, panting. Kicking off his shoes in the direction of the shoe rack. Then dumping his backpack at the corner of the kitchen countertop. Bolting up the flight of creaking stairs, to his room.

The boy was rightfully scared. He had almost been hit by a car. A speeding car.

The boy would have been more scared if he had looked at his shoes. He might've cried or tried to recite his mother's number from memory to call her. To tell her something he didn't understand, not in the least.

The truth was if the boy had seen his shoes, if the boy had called his mother. His mother could not have explained it.

His blue converse was messily near the shoe rack, splayed across the floor. One on its side. Both had black pen scribbled on them, ripped beyond repair. That was nothing compared to the fact that both of the shoelaces were tied. Tied just like they were this morning. When he tied them up while eating a 'healthy' brand of cereal.

Had the boy simply tripped on his own feet? Or had something else come into play. A god taken pity on him, divine intervention. Or perhaps something no one would ever know.