A bug flew into my open mouth.
My eyes snapped open as I wheezed out the small creature.
Is this what death feels like?
Jordan jerked away at the sound of my discomfort. He groaned. "Where are we?"
"I don't know. Hopefully somewhere safe." Tall stalks of chocolate bars rose above my head. Leafy greens swung back and forth to the symphony of birds. Shy hints of blue poked from underneath them. Stray curls of thick, dark brown jabbed into my peripheral vision. Curls? My hair is naturally straight.
I rolled off the ground onto all fours. My joints cracked and popped which eased me. Jordan's silhouette was already scouting out the area. There wasn't much to see other than woodland. The trickle of a river far away was quiet. Heat radiated over my bare shoulders. I was wearing a cardigan the last time I checked. I felt my neck. The necklace my mother, Carson, gave me was missing. I looked down at myself. Rags was the first word I could think of. I scowled until Jordan came into clearer view.
His business attire had magically transformed into a leather jacket and spotless white shirt. Tight fitting jeans clung to his thighs. Dark green cargo boots were symmetrically laced into perfect bows. It was a simple classic but on him, it looked too good. I had to stop myself from gawking too noticeably. I hope he doesn't notice my rags. I blushed.
"I found a path a little ways down. If we follow it we should find someone." He sat by me. He cocked an eyebrow. "Where are your clothes?"
"I should be asking you the same thing, biker boy."
He looked down at himself for the first time. He moaned. "I look like a great-grandpa."
I laughed. "Keep up, gramps." I sped around the trees and left his own laughed far behind, I usually didn't like running, or anything above a brisk hike, but I felt different. Some internal instinct took over. My feet barely touched the moist dirt, my arms moved in pace. Jordan's heavy boots thumped behind me, I guess about three feet away. The dirt path came nearer.
"Go straight!" Jordan called. I obliged. Texture change: the gravel stuck to my feet. My hands seemed to darken on the spot, going from a latte to a mocha. I probably look more like my mom now. The tip of a log roof poking out of the trees signaling we were almost to help.
I slowed easily without bending over.
"Have you been working out?" Even Jordan noticed my enhanced athletic skills.
"No, I don't think so. It just came naturally."
The gravel bounced lightly. A mechanical hum buzzed in my ears. I turned around. A red convertible was squeezing its way towards up on the narrow path.
"We should ask them for help." I started walking to the car. It didn't cross my mind how old it was. At least one hundred years, maybe one hundred fifty.
It showed no sign of slowing as I approached. My steps and strides lessened. It wasn't until Jordan stepped in did I realize they weren't going to stop for me.
An old white man got out the car. To say he was annoyed would be an understatement. A woman was in the car with him, possibly his wife. She didn't look very happy either.
"Why'd you do that for?" His gruff voice was frosted over in a Southern accent. Patches of red bloomed on his face. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans. I couldn't help but notice the rifle in his car and the stench of blood surrounding him.
"Sir, you were about to run her over."
"Hell yes, I was. Would've been doing you a favor, boy."
YOU ARE READING
Broken
General Fiction"What year is it?" "1955." "Thank you." I turned around, my fears confirmed. I understood why the world seemed so different now. So hostile towards me for no reason. I was black. I was a girl. I was in rags. And it was 1955. ...
