GSGL revised (Underlined stuff is new)

14 years old
Bailey Brimstone
Brown hair 14 year old girl named Bailey Brinkman went missing after she attacked her foster home keeper. She is 5' 1”. Hazel eyes and brown hair. Lean build.

Fervently, I packed up my things in my small and green , ratty old duffel bag. I had heard them in their negotiations earlier in the night at about 10:30, when they thought me and the other kids were fast asleep in the our scratchy and stained cotton sheets. The runner of the foster home, Ms. Dinkleberry (don't let the innocent “plump fairy gnome thing” name fool you. She is vicious despite her plump body and rosy cheeks. I advise you to stay away from her at all costs.) was talking on the phone. To a research company. The conversation went like this:

RING!
She swiveled away from her desks computer screen, picked up the old rustic phone with her bright red nails and pudgy fingers, and in her bored, robotic voice she recited just as she had so many times before:
“Hello, this is Dinkleberry foster home for children and teens, what may I do for you?”
Now, the only reason why I could hear the other side of the phone was because, out of curiosity and habit to see if anyone was interested in adopting me or any of the other children, me and another kid set up the system from a phone we found in a dumpster to a land line. The kids name was Travis, he was a whiz with mechanics, quick to react, athletic, smart, and most of all, an older brother to me. When I was first transferred to Dinkleberry foster home, I was 10. Small and scared after so many transfers from foster home to foster home, He took me under his wing and nurtured my weak and famished soul into something strong and independent. We became impossible to separate. One day I woke up and he was gone. He just disappeared, leaving me devastated. Later, I finally got up the courage to confront ms. Dinkleberry. I was then 12, tall and lean. I towered over her and demanded “Where did he go?”.
She plastered on a fake smile, assuming this burst of confidence was just a faze “Hon, he was taken by the government. For... Reasons.”
“what reasons?” I stood my ground
She became bewildered at my solidness, but quickly recovered and shouted furiously with pure fury in her eyes “BAILEY! Kitchen duty for two months! And house cleaning! AND laundry!” A smirk crawled across her face just as she turned away. She thought she had won, but instead she made a declaration of war. I silently vowed to do everything within my power to make that woman sorry, and I did a pretty good job of it.
So anyway, back to the main point, I picked up the brown plastic phone and silently eavesdropped.
The person on the other line spoke cleanly with perfect grammar, in a deep masculine, professional voice “Ms. Dinkleberry, It is our greatest wish that we may take in miss Bailey Brimstone.”
I nearly dropped the phone onto the cold floor and bit back a yell of joy. For years I had wanted a family!
“May I ask who this is?”
“This is GSGL research labs.”
Okay, so maybe they weren't exactly a family.
“I've told you before guys, as much as I despise that headstrong brat, I won't sell her over for research unless its a good price. The risk of being caught by the public is too high.” The Dinkleberry sneered.
Huh. Somehow their phone call slipped by before me. And selling me? To a research lab? I never liked Ms. Dinkleberry, I always though of her as mean, but not sinisterly evil and the type of person who would sell a kid to a scientist for research. This was getting interesting.
The voice cleared his throat and stated
“We are offering $1 million.”
“DEAL!” She her wooden chair clattered noisily against the stained wooden floors as she leapt into the air and shrieked as she clutched the phone tightly, you would have thought she had just won the lottery.
“but before we conclude this decision, we must ask you some mandatory questions.”
“Fire away!” she giggled gleefully
“Is Miss. Bailey in decent physical condition?”
“yes, why?”
“well, she will be going through some physically taxing testing. Is she claustrophobic”
“No, why?”
“She will be living in a re-enforced glass capsule for the next ten years. Thank you. We will pick her up tomorrow at noon.”
Great. My new “family” wants to do testing on me and keep me in a glass tube for the next ten years. Not going to happen.
So anyway, I'm packing my duffel back right now, its got barely anything in it. Lightweight blanket, water bottle I pilfered from the kitchen, spare change of clothes, $10 dollars, and that's about it. I sit down gently on the squeaky springs of my bed and sigh. Maybe I am being a little impulsive. I mean, maybe the police are on the case and I won't be picked up by these GSGL people. Maybe The Dinkleberry will have an astounding change of heart and pity me and not sell me. But whats the chance of any of those events?
My worn tennis shoes lightly tap the wood floor as I stand up fifteen minutes later. Padding out to the hallway, I press my head against the splintery wooden door and listen for any sign of Ms. Dinkleberry. I strain my ears for soft footsteps of the occasional adventurer who sneaks out on a dare, and all I hear is the old house moaning as it shifts, almost as if the weight of so many kids over so many years is finally beginning to take a toll on it. My slender fingers grasp the cold doorknob and slowly twist it towards the right. I flinch when I can turn it no more. I almost hoped that it would begin to turn endlessly as foolish as that sounds, and that I would have all the time in the world to escape. But time is running out. I sneak a glance at my blue digital watch. Black numbers don't lie. It's 4:30 am. I inhale shakily and collect myself. Why am I so nervous? I mean, hundreds of times I have crept out of my barren room and headed outside to hear the crickets chirp and the birds voice a song of comfort, why should this be any different? I slowly creep onto the worn wooden planks, then gain speed as I slide by other kids doors. I move swiftly, a shadow. The gaping hole at the end of the hallway yawns into the kitchen and dining room, beckoning me forward. Suddenly the lights flood on “Oh, you think you are gonna escape miss? Not happening” I look back, Ms. Dinkleberry is there, breaking into a lumbering jog. How did she sneak up on me? That has never happened before! Feeling panicked and trapped, I break into a sprint for the main door and jostle its lock forcefully. She is gaining on me. The lock clicks and I explode out into the night and glance over my shoulder as I race along the grass towards the forest and fields, Ms. Dinkleberry is there in the doorway, her dark figure illuminated by lights as she raises her fist and shrieks “You may be faster than me, but I'm calling them and they will get you! Oh, don't you worry! They won't stop at anything and...” Her voice grows fainter into the night as I pull away like a racehorse from the starting gates.
Mist blankets the golden corn fields and dew drops scrape against my jeans. I hug my green sweat shirt tightly as my drenched tennis shoes squelch along. Walking along the highway next to some cornfields, I begin to devise a plan. My main priority is avoid GSGL and survive. Second priority is to find out why GSGL wanted me so bad. Third priority is live happily ever after. Scratch that. Like I'll ever live happily ever after. My third priority is to live a comfortable life. So back to the first priority, Avoid GSGL and survive.
In large cities, nobody will notice me that much, but there is much more law enforcement and that's where they will look first. Small towns notice change in an instant and alert authorities. Medium sized towns, well, the change won't be noticed as fast and the law enforcement is much more laid back. Abruptly, a semi truck careened past me, startling me out of my thoughts and to the point where I desperately dove into the corn field, pleading that the driver didn't see me. The stalks crumpled beneath me leaving an indent as I stood up. If I am going to survive, I have to be less wary and more alert for things like that I rebuke myself.
A gnawing sensation clawed at my stomach, demanding food about four hours later. Even that bland mush served at the foster home sounded okay now, but no way was I heading back. I had traveled out of sight between endless rows of corn and had just broken out if it, prepared to go around another barn and into the next field. Instead, a carnival awaited me. Cars straddled the ditch and highway. Bright flags and signs advertised the sale in front of me. The ten dollars in my bag tickled me to search for any thing useful.
I forced myself to casually walk along the musty dark rows int the back of the large old shed, where there was fewer people, only a few rays of sun broke in through the windows up above giving off just enough light for me to see the Flimsy and faded cardboard boxes spilling into the isle, displaying their contents. Some held old china plates, others contained glass figurines. Nothing in them was useful. Time to try the front of the shed.
Only a slight ruffling did I make as I pulled my hoodie over my head and walk into the crowd. Scanning the room quickly, I nearly passed up a small glint in the very corner. A knife. I surged forward and nearly barreled into a little girl “Hey!” She yelped in surprise. “I am so sorry!” I exclaimed in concern. “Fine.” She traced her toe in the concrete shyly, but then suddenly pulled her chin up and set it straight “It's... Fine.” she mustered. I Smiled as silent thank you as I slipped past her and towards the knife.
It wasn't just a knife in that box. It was a whole knife box basically. Searching carefully, I pulled out an almost brand new knife. A beautiful tooled tan leather case held it's silvery gleam. The handle on it held an intricate design of swirls and lines. It's blade tingled when I lightly touched it, and a small droplet of blood swelled up from its sharpness. The yellow sticker on it declared the item to be only 50 cents. I rummaged around a bit and next to the box, laying underneath a stack of books on a bench was a flint and steel. Might need that to cook food, and heck, 20 cents isn't going to kill me. I picked up both items and brought them to a table up front where and old man sat in an old chair. There was a bake sale to one side of him. The radio was playing and He had his work boots up on the table and leaned far back in that chair as he read the paper. I cleared my throat. “Sir, I would like to buy these two items.” He glanced up over the top of his paper, grunted, then looked back down. I tried again. “Here, the knife is only 50 cents, the flint and steel only 20. Seventy cents total” I laid the knife and the flint and steel down in front of him, Four dimes, a quarter, and a nickel followed shortly. He sighed and put his paper down. “Just take them. No cost. None of the tourists are going to buy 'em anyway. They're more interested in the trinkets and cutesy stuff,” He gestured towards a herd of old ladies fingering through the jewelry “those things been sitting back there collectin' dust. Take them. You'll be doing me a favor. Now you best get going.” With that, he snatched up his paper and resumed like nothing had happened. I slowly backed out with the money, knife, and flint and steel in hand “Thank you. And I mean it Sir.”
“Wait, one quick thing miss,”
I reluctantly spun around. I had to get going. Last time I checked, GSGL was going to come and search this area for me.
“You look familiar, you from that... er...” He waved his hand in the air “Pickleberry Foster Home?”
“It's Dinkleberry, and yes.” I impatiently responded as I glanced at the door
“Run away?”
I didn't respond.
“Here, lemme get you some food before you hit the road.” He reached over to the table that had a bake sale on it and grabbed me two muffins, three cookies, and a glass of lemonade. I devoured it.
“You're going to need it. One thing I learned from being a run away is that food is a big concern.”
“You... You were a run away?” I stared, muffin crumbs falling out of my mouth
“Ran to this farm, got a good life as a hired hand, eventually took over.” He looked real proud
“I wish that could be my case.” My wistful voice sounded
“You could work here,” He offered, eagerly, immediately straightening up in his chair, eyes brightening “I always need help.”
“I really wish I could, but... I can't.”
“Why?”
“It's... Complicated. Really, I probably should ...”
Suddenly the radio was interrupted and that same masculine voice that Ms. Dinkleberry was talking to over the phone blared out
“We are very sorry to interrupt this program, but we bring you a very important message. At 4:36 Am Tuesday morning a 14 year old girl named Bailey Brinkman went missing after she attacked her foster home keeper. She is 5' 1”. Hazel eyes and brown hair. Lean build. Please report her to authorities for any clues to her whereabouts. Ten thousand dollar reward for her. Bring her to your nearest government official. Thank you.”
Suddenly, a chorus of text message alerts sounded and people looked at their phones
“14 year old girl committing such a terrible crime... ” one of the old ladies shook her head in dismay
“Bailey Brinkman, $100,000,000 reward?” another drooled over
“In this area?” an eyebrow raised
every body began to look like hungry heyenas, and I was their next meal.
“Bye,” I chocked out.

Slinking past outdoor for sale items, I hoped that nobody would notice me. Glancing around catiously, I picked my way through items. A cold hard hand grasped my shoulder and yanked back my hood. I spun around and pulled free, only to find myself surrounded by a group of people in their mid twenties. They resembled modern hippies with their long hair and flamboyant clothes. “You,” the one that had yanked my hood down studied me “are coming with us. Our ticket to Ten thousand Dollars.” A sea of hands reach out and restrain me, not doing such a good job as I savagely kicked and bit in fear, like a rabbit cornered by coyotes.
“Ya'all stop that! Let her go!” The old man from the store came out
“Why should we listen to you old nag?!” a hippie retorted over his shoulder, still wrestling with me
“Because... I'll let you have anything one item in the shop you want!” He planted his foot, crossed his arms over his chest, and lifted his chin
The clenching hands dropped me to the ground as their feet stampeded towards the shed. I pulled myself up “Thank you. Again. Thank you so so much.” the dirt on my jeans were swiftly dusted off by my hands
“No problem. Like they think any item in my shed is worth ten thousand dollars.” He laughed “heck, I doubt any of it is worth a hundred.” He turned around, and I headed off. Towards a different route, any route but the one I was on.
Whispering leaves filled the air as the sky turned into a watercolor painting, casting pinks and oranges across the lake. Sitting cross legged, I watch the waves tower and then fall like an proud empire, only to be destroyed by a foreign matter that they couldn't defeat when they reached the shore. My gaze fell across the lake, taking it in and memorizing it. To my left was a ratty old fishing dock, but besides that the lake was barren. If only I could stay in this position forever, no hiding, no running, no worries. The sun was now a mere crescent in the distance. It was time to settle down for the night. Sand falls from my legs as I push myself up. I roll my pants to my knees, grab my knife, and wade in. The water is like a cold electric shock at first, sending my hair on end. Silt sifts between my toes as I walk in slowly, scanning for fish with my knife poised and ready to strike. I kick a patch of seaweed and A fish darts between my legs. I lurch at it, losing my balance and missing, I fall over. Sputtering, I come out drenched. My clothes stick to me like a second skin. I try again. And again. And again. Finally my knife slices into a fish and I bring it out of the water. It flops a little, then goes limp. Triumphant, I wade up to the shore and finally got a spark out of the flint and steel. Flames flicker in the dark night, illuminating my small space. “Sorry Mr. Fish, but Dinner is served.”
That night, I had a dream. I dreamed that I was swimming in the lake. The water felt like silk against my tan skin as I glided under the moons aura. Then something grabbed my foot in a intertwining grasp. Panicking, I kicked fiercely but it's cold, harsh grip tightened, pulling me under. Straining, I took a breath and clenched my eyes just before my head disappeared beneath the glass suface.

My heart pounds noisily.
My head was now submerged.
I writhed and squirmed under its pull and my precious air was now a sand glass.
Trapped.

Gasping, I sat up on the beach “It's just a dream. Just a dream...”
“Just a dream.” there sat a boy not much older than me whittling a stick near the waters edge. Wind from the waves fingered through his brown hair and his eyes glowed green in the dim light. A moist concoction of sand, twigs, rocks, leaves, and dirt cling to my hands as I claw away, startled. Grabbing my items and stuffing them clumsily in my bag, I sprint into the woods.
Then I see lights.
I hear voices on radios and voices shouting.
I feel GSGL.
Before I can turn around and run, a hand grasps my shoulder and covers my mouth as I am swept onto an overgrown path “come, this way.” the boy on the beach is there, pulling me by the hand. Of coarse, he leaps movie style across the fallen logs while I, still trying to wake up, stumble blindly with my duffel bag banging against my back. Soon, I am overcoming him. Now boldly taking strides and pulling away. He lags behind, fighting to keep up. His grip slowly loosens on my hand and he lets go but yells out as I sprint away, taking this chance to be free, even though he helped me. I don't trust him. “Hey! Come back!”
Yeah right I roll my eyes
“I helped you escape!” He pleads
Or you wanted to take me away from the GSGL search crew so you could just cash me in later for that $1,000,000.
I run farther away. The trail takes a turn into the brush up ahead. If I just keep running this trail, He'll know where to look for me. I feign taking it, but then slide into the thick brambles last minute when I am out of his sight. Thorns claw at my hair and snag My jeans as I lay down on the forest floor hoping he goes past.
I close My eyes and strain my ears
Crickets
an owl
but no boy
then I hear him
slowly walking
twigs and leaves crunching
My heart throbs noisily
“Come on, you know I won't turn you into the government.” He calls in a soft voice as he drifts through the woods
Hatred boils in my heart. How dare he try to console me.
HE wasn't the one running for their freedom, their life.
HE Never would understand the conditions I had to endure in some of the foster homes.
HE didn't have ONE MILLION DOLLARS dangling over his head
and if HE was caught by authorities, there would be no glass tube just waiting to entrap HIM.
It felt like eternity until he finally wandered away like a vagrant. And during that eternity, my hatred turned into a twisted combination of anger and determination.


Ch. 2

Coyotes howled in the distance as I reached the edge of town. Dark windows and empty stores give me the feeling that I am intruding on something. A ghost town? It certainly feels like it. Nobody stirs. Not even the wind. My sneakers don't make a sound as I tread on the overgrown sidewalk. Everything seems to be black and white. Pausing to look at the newspaper box near the grocery store, an article catches my eye. The moonlight glints off the paper, giving me just enough light to read the front page.

Tuesday, August 20th
On August 18th, a 14 year old girl by the name of Bailey Brimstone went missing after she savagely attacked her foster home keeper, Ms. K. Dinkleberry. We questioned Ms. Dinkleberry about what happened the night Bailey went missing. “Well, I went out to get a drink of water when I saw her vandalizing the house. She was smashing glass against the floor and tipping over chairs. Then I calmly walked up to her and said “are you okay hon?” that's when she started to attack me. I barely escaped to the bathroom before she went even crazier and busted out of the house.” Bailey Brimstone is 5' 1”. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. Lean build. If you see her please report her to the local authorities.

Continued on page 3A

Then there was a picture of me at the annual foster home picnic doing a relay race. Underneath the picture it said in a small caption

Bailey Brimstone doing a relay race at the annual foster home picnic.

I LOVE YOUR STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is so good!!!!!!

That is so good!!!!!!

thanks!  it took for ever to think up the ideas!!!

I think she should be captured, then (Her parents were amazing Olympians, but no body knows what happened to them. They could have gone to the Olympics for anything, but they each excelled in one thing) they test her, try and find the gene, conclude that she doesn't have it and then she fights her way out, her talent in fighting.

I added some of the plot on  
14 years old
Bailey Brimstone
Brown hair 14 year old girl named Bailey Brinkman went missing after she attacked her foster home keeper. She is 5' 1”. Hazel eyes and brown hair. Lean build.

Travis Brown hair Green eyes
two years older than bb


Book 1

Foster home escape. Falls for Travis, ends up in GSGL. Agency rescues her and gets her health up.
Trains with agency and does missions with them

Book 2

On a mission to stop GSGL (Now not only a lab but also about to rule the country, about to attack the US government and nobody knows it) ends up in intense battle at the head quarters of GSGL. Ends with no side winning. Head back to quarters.

Go back for the night, plan. Sneak in head quarters.

Gets sidetracked by files that say who she is, why they want her, her parents, where she was born, etc.

Eran comes in trying to get her out, but to late as he pulls her from the files. Seriously hurt. She escapes with minor injuries.

Devastated. Goes on more missions away from the lab. Ends up doing a mission in the real GSGL lab and comes back with two more kids and some information.

Camp is attacked. Biggest battle yet. Travis is one of the soldiers for GSGL. Battles Travis until sidetracked by another task. Eran takes over Travis. All GSGL flee except for Travis still battling Eran, who are now deep in the woods. Goes to find Eran only to find him and Travis battling. Bleeding and finally gives out. She rushes over much to Erans surprise. Doesn't want him to die.





































Fervently, my nimble, yet calloused hands grab anything that I have and shove it in my small and green, ratty old duffel bag. The moon peaks in through my partially closed curtains. It is late. Very late. Why exactly am I up when everybody else has ceased activity you may ask? Well, I had heard the negotiations earlier in the night at about 10:30, when they thought me and the other kids were fast asleep in the our scratchy and stained cotton sheets, worn from many years of use. The runner of the foster home, Ms. Dinkleberry (don't let the innocent “plump fairy gnome thing” name fool you. She is very vicious despite her plump body and rosy cheeks. I advise you to stay away from her at all costs.) was talking on the phone. To a research company. The conversation went like this:

RING!
I could only imagine Ms. Dinkleberry swiveling away from her desks computer screen, picking up the old rustic phone with her bright red nails and pudgy fingers, and in her bored, robotic voice recite just as she had so many times before:
“Hello, this is Dinkleberry foster home for children and teens, what may I do for you?”
Now, the only reason why I could hear the other side of the phone was because, out of curiosity and habit to see if anyone was interested in adopting me or any of the other children, me and another kid set up the system from a phone we found in a dumpster to a land line. The kids name was Travis, he was a whiz with mechanics, quick to react, athletic, smart, and most of all, an older brother to me. When I was first transferred to Dinkleberry foster home, I was 10. Small and scared after so many transfers from foster home to foster home, I was basically a vagrant. He took me under his wing and nurtured my weak and famished soul into something strong and independent. Only a few years apart, We became impossible to separate. One day I woke up and he was gone. He just disappeared, leaving me devastated. Later, I finally got up the courage to confront ms. Dinkleberry. I was then 12, tall and lean. I towered over her and demanded “Where did he go?”.
She plastered on a fake smile, assuming this burst of confidence was just a faze “Hon, he was taken by the government. For... Reasons.”
“what reasons?” I stood my ground
She became bewildered at my solidness and panicked, but quickly recovered and shouted furiously with raw anger in her eyes “BAILEY! Kitchen duty for two months! And house cleaning! AND laundry!” A smirk crawled across her face just as she turned away. She thought she had won, but instead she just signed a declaration of war without knowing it. I silently vowed to do everything within my power to make that woman sorry, and I did a pretty good job of it.
So anyway, back to the main point, I slid the brown plastic phone out from under my creaky metal bed and silently eavesdropped.
The person on the other line spoke cleanly with perfect grammar, in a deep masculine, professional voice like a radio announcer or news broadcaster
“Ms. Dinkleberry, It is our greatest wish that we may take in miss Bailey Brimstone.”
I nearly dropped the phone back onto the cold splintered floor and bit back a yell of joy. For years I had wanted a family! Someplace to call home! An anchor to fall back on!
Then Ms. Dinkleberry's voice got suspicious“May I ask who this is?”
“This is GSGL research labs.”
Okay, so maybe they weren't exactly a family.
I could hear her exasperated sigh“I've told you before guys, as much as I despise that headstrong brat, I won't sell her over for research unless its a good price. The risk of being caught by the public is too high.” The Dinkleberry sneered.
Huh. Somehow their phone call slipped by before me. And selling me? To a research lab? I never liked Ms. Dinkleberry, I always though of her as mean, but not sinisterly evil and the type of person who would sell a kid to a scientist for research. This was getting interesting. And not in a good way.
The voice cleared his throat and stated
“We are offering $1 million.”
“DEAL!” She her wooden chair clattered noisily against the stained wooden floors, sending a noisy echo into the hallway. I could almost feel the floor groaning beneath her weight as she jumped and shrieked, all while clutching the phone tightly. You would have thought she had just won the lottery.
“But before we conclude this decision, we must ask you some mandatory questions.”
“Fire away!” she giggled gleefully
“Is Miss. Bailey in decent physical condition?”
“yes, why?”
“well, she will be going through some physically taxing testing. Now to the next. Is she claustrophobic”
“No, why?”
“She will be living in a re-enforced glass capsule for the next ten years. Thank you. We will pick her up tomorrow at noon.”
Great. My new “family” wants to do testing on me and keep me in a glass tube for the next ten years. Not going to happen.
So anyway, I'm packing my duffel back right now, its got barely anything in it. Lightweight blanket, water bottle I pilfered from the kitchen, spare change of clothes, $20 dollars, and that's about it. I sit down gently on the squeaky springs of my bed and sigh. Maybe I am being a little impulsive. I mean, maybe the police are on the case and I won't be picked up by these GSGL people. Maybe The Dinkleberry will have an astounding change of heart and pity me and not sell me. But whats the chance of any of those events?
My worn tennis shoes lightly tap the wood floor as I stand up fifteen minutes later. Padding out to the hallway, I press my head against the faded wooden door and listen for any sign of Ms. Dinkleberry. I strain my ears for soft footsteps of the occasional adventurer who sneaks out on a dare, and all I hear is the old house moaning as it shifts, almost as if the weight of so many kids over so many years is finally beginning to take a toll on it. My slender fingers grasp the cold metalic doorknob and slowly twist it towards the right. I flinch when I can turn it no more. I almost hoped that it would begin to turn endlessly as foolish as that sounds, and that I would have all the time in the world to escape. But time is running out. I sneak a glance at my blue digital watch. The moon peaking in from my curtains give me just enough numbers to read what it says. Black numbers don't lie. It's 4:30 am. I inhale shakily and collect myself. Why am I so nervous? I mean, hundreds of times I have crept out of my barren room and headed outside to hear the crickets chirp and the birds voice a song of comfort, why should this be any different? I swiftly swing the door open and creep onto the worn wooden planks, then gain speed as I slide by other kids doors. I move swiftly, a shadow. The gaping hole at the end of the hallway yawns into the kitchen and dining room, beckoning me forward. Suddenly the lights flood on “Oh, you think you are gonna escape miss? Not happening” I look back, Ms. Dinkleberry is there, breaking into a lumbering jog. How did she sneak up on me? That has never happened before! I blamed Murphy's law. Feeling panicked and trapped, I break into a sprint for the main door and jostle its lock forcefully. She is gaining on me. The lock clicks and I explode out into the night and glance over my shoulder as I race along the grass, past the swing set, and towards the forest and fields, Ms. Dinkleberry is there in the doorway, her dark figure silhouetted by lights as she raises her plump fist and shrieks “You may be faster than me, but I'm calling them and they will get you! Oh, don't you worry! They won't stop at anything and...” Her voice grows fainter into the night as I pull away like a racehorse from the starting gates.
Mist blankets the golden corn fields and dew drops scrape against my jeans. I hug my green sweat shirt tightly as my drenched tennis shoes squelch along. Walking along the highway, I begin to devise a plan. My main priority is avoid this GSGL and survive. Second priority is to find out why GSGL wanted me so bad. Third priority is live happily ever after. Scratch that. Like I'll ever live happily ever after. My third priority is to live a comfortable life. So back to the first priority, Avoid GSGL and survive.
In large cities, nobody will notice me that much, but there is much more law enforcement and that's where they will look first. Small towns notice change in an instant and alert authorities. Medium sized towns, well, the change won't be noticed as fast and the law enforcement is much more laid back. Abruptly, a semi truck careened past me, startling me out of my thoughts and to the point where I desperately dove into the corn field, pleading that the driver didn't see me. The stalks crumpled beneath me leaving an indent as I stood up. If I am going to survive, I have to be less wary and more alert for things like that I rebuke myself.
A gnawing sensation clawed at my stomach, demanding food about four hours later. Even that bland mush served at the foster home sounded okay now, but no way was I heading back. I had traveled out of sight between endless rows of corn and had just broken out if it, prepared to go around another barn and into the next field. Instead, a carnival awaited me. Cars straddled the ditch and highway. Bright flags and signs advertised the sale in front of me. The ten dollars in my bag tickled me to search for any thing useful.
I forced myself to casually walk along the musty dark rows int the back of the large old shed, where there was fewer people, only a few rays of sun broke in through the windows up above giving off just enough light for me to see the Flimsy and faded cardboard boxes spilling into the isle, displaying their contents. Some held old china plates, others contained glass figurines. Nothing in them was useful unless they were actually secret spy tools that I could smash over somebody's head. Time to try the front of the shed.
Only a slight ruffling did I make as I pulled my hoodie over my head and walk into the crowd. Scanning the room quickly, I nearly passed up a small glint in the very corner. Finally something useful! A knife. I surged forward and nearly barreled into a little girl “Hey!” She yelped in surprise. “I am so sorry!” I exclaimed in concern. “Fine.” She traced her toe in the concrete shyly, but then suddenly pulled her chin up and set it straight “It's... Fine.” she mustered. I Smiled as silent thank you as I slipped past her and towards the knife.
It wasn't just a knife in that box. It was a whole knife box basically. Searching carefully, I pulled out an almost brand new knife. A beautiful tooled tan leather case held it's silvery gleam. The handle on it held an intricate design of swirls and lines. It's blade tingled when I lightly touched it, and a small droplet of blood swelled up on my finger from its sharpness. The yellow sticker on it declared the item to be only 50 cents. I rummaged around a bit and next to the box, laying underneath a stack of books on a bench was a flint and steel. Might need that to cook food, and heck, 20 cents isn't going to kill me. I picked up both items and brought them to a table up front where and old man sat in an even older looking chair. There was a bake sale to one side of him. The radio was playing and He had his work boots up on the table and leaned far back in that chair as he read the paper. I cleared my throat. “Sir, I would like to buy these two items.” He glanced up over the top of his paper, grunted, then looked back down. Great sales pitch on my part. I tried again. “Here, the knife is only 50 cents, the flint and steel only 20. Seventy cents total.” I laid the knife and the flint and steel down in front of him, Four dimes, a quarter, and a nickel followed shortly. He sighed and put his paper down, revealing a wrinkled, leathery face. “Just take them. No cost. None of the tourists are going to buy 'em anyway. They're more interested in the trinkets and cutesy stuff,” He gestured towards a herd of old ladies fingering through the jewelry “those things been sitting back there collectin' dust. Take them. You'll be doing me a favor. Now you best get going.” With that, he snatched up his paper and resumed like nothing had happened. I slowly backed out with the money, knife, and flint and steel in hand “Thank you. And I mean it Sir.”
“Wait, one quick thing miss,”
I reluctantly spun around. I had to get going. Last time I checked, GSGL was going to come and search this area for me.
“You look familiar, you from that... er...” He waved his hand in the air “Pickleberry Foster Home?”
“It's Dinkleberry, and yes.” I impatiently responded as I glanced at the door
“Run away?”
I didn't respond.
“Here, lemme get you some food before you hit the road.” He reached over to the table that had a bake sale on it and grabbed me two muffins, three cookies, and a glass of lemonade. I immediately began to devour it.
“You're going to need it. One thing I learned from being a run away is that food is a big concern.”
“You... You were a run away?” I stared, muffin crumbs falling out of my mouth
“Ran to this farm, got a good life as a hired hand, eventually took over.” He looked real proud
“I wish that could be my case.” My wistful voice sounded
“You could work here,” He offered, eagerly, immediately straightening up in his chair, eyes brightening “I always need help.”
“I really wish I could, but... I can't.”
“Why?”
“It's... Complicated. Really, I probably should ...”
Suddenly the radio was interrupted and that same masculine voice that Ms. Dinkleberry was talking to over the phone blared out
“We are very sorry to interrupt this program, but we bring you a very important message. At 4:36 Am Tuesday morning a 14 year old girl named Bailey Brinkman went missing after she attacked her foster home keeper. She is 5' 1”. Hazel eyes and brown hair. Lean build. Please report her to authorities for any clues to her whereabouts. One million dollar reward for her. Bring her to your nearest government official. Thank you.”
Suddenly, a chorus of text message alerts sounded and people looked at their phones
“14 year old girl committing such a terrible crime... ” one of the old ladies shook her head in dismay
“Bailey Brinkman, $100,000,000 reward?” another drooled over
“In this area?” an eyebrow raised
every body began to look like hungry heyenas, and I was their next meal.
“Bye,” I chocked out.

Slinking past outdoor for sale items, I hoped that nobody would notice me. Glancing around catiously, I picked my way through items. A cold hard hand grasped my shoulder and yanked back my hood. I spun around and pulled free, only to find myself surrounded by a group of people in their mid twenties. They resembled modern hippies with their long hair and flamboyant clothes. One had a guitar strapped around his shoulder and I was pretty sure he could use it for more than just playing music. Hitting runaway's on the head maybe? “You,” the one that had yanked my hood down studied me “are coming with us. Our ticket to...” He did a dramatic pause and then in a very off pitch falsetto voice sang “one million Dollars!” A sea of hands reach out and restrain me, not doing such a good job as I savagely kicked and bit in fear, like a rabbit cornered by coyotes.
“Ya'all stop that! Let her go!” The old man from the store came out
“Why should we listen to you old nag?!” a hippie retorted over his shoulder, still wrestling with me
“Because... I'll let you have anything one item in the shop you want!” He planted his foot, crossed his arms over his chest, and lifted his chin
The clenching hands dropped me to the ground and I had to roll in order not to get smashed as their feet stampeded towards the shed. I pulled myself up “Thank you. Again. Thank you so so much.” the dirt on my jeans were swiftly dusted off by my hands
“No problem. Like they think any item in my shed is worth ten thousand dollars.” He laughed “heck, I doubt any of it is worth a hundred.” He turned around, and I headed off. Towards a different route, any route but the one I was on.
Whispering leaves filled the air as the sky turned into a watercolor painting, casting pinks and oranges across the lake. Sitting cross legged, I watch the waves tower and then fall like an proud empire, only to be destroyed by a foreign matter that they couldn't defeat when they reached the shore. My gaze fell across the lake, taking it in and memorizing it. To my left was a ratty old fishing dock, but besides that the lake was barren. If only I could stay in this position forever, no hiding, no running, no worries. The sun was now a mere crescent in the distance. It was time to settle down for the night. Sand falls from my legs as I push myself up. I roll my pants to my knees, grab my knife, and wade in. The water is like a cold electric shock at first, sending my hair on end. Silt sifts between my toes as I walk in slowly, scanning for fish with my knife poised and ready to strike. I kick a patch of seaweed and A fish darts between my legs. I lurch at it, losing my balance and missing, I fall over. Sputtering, I come out drenched. My clothes stick to me like a second skin. I try again. And again. And again. Finally my knife slices into a fish and I bring it out of the water. It flops a little, then goes limp. Triumphant, I wade up to the shore and finally got a spark out of the flint and steel. Flames flicker in the dark night, illuminating my small space. “Sorry Mr. Fish, but Dinner is served.”
That night, I had a dream. I dreamed that I was swimming in the lake. The water felt like silk against my tan skin as I glided under the moons aura. Then something grabbed my foot in a intertwining grasp. Panicking, I kicked fiercely but it's cold, harsh grip tightened, pulling me under. Straining, I took a breath and clenched my eyes just before my head disappeared beneath the glass suface.

My heart pounds noisily.
My head was now submerged.
I writhed and squirmed under its pull and my precious air was now a sand glass.
Trapped.

Gasping, I sat up on the beach “It's just a dream. Just a dream...”
“Just a dream.” there sat a boy not much older than me whittling a stick near the waters edge. Wind from the waves fingered through his brown hair and his hauntingly familiar green eyes glowed in the dim light. A moist concoction of sand, twigs, rocks, leaves, and dirt cling to my hands as I claw away, startled. Grabbing my items and stuffing them clumsily in my bag, I sprint into the woods.
Then I see lights.
I hear voices on radios and voices shouting.
I feel GSGL.
Before I can turn around and run, a hand grasps my shoulder and covers my mouth as I am swept onto an overgrown path “come, this way.” the boy on the beach is there, pulling me by the hand. Of coarse, he leaps movie style across the fallen logs while I, still trying to wake up, stumble blindly with my duffel bag banging against my back. Soon, I am overcoming him. Now boldly taking strides and pulling away. He lags behind, fighting to keep up. His grip slowly loosens on my hand and he lets go but yells out as I sprint away, taking this chance to be free, even though he helped me. I don't trust him. “Hey! Come back!”
Yeah right I roll my eyes
“I helped you escape!” He pleads
Or you wanted to take me away from the GSGL search crew so you could just cash me in later for that $1,000,000.
I run farther away. The trail takes a turn into the brush up ahead. If I just keep running this trail, He'll know where to look for me. I feign taking it, but then slide into the thick brambles last minute when I am out of his sight. Thorns claw at my hair and snag My jeans as I lay down on the forest floor hoping he goes past.
I close My eyes and strain my ears
Crickets
an owl
but no boy
then I hear him
slowly walking
twigs and leaves crunching
My heart throbs noisily
“Come on, you know I won't turn you into the government.” He calls in a soft voice as he drifts through the woods
Hatred boils in my heart. How dare he try to console me.
HE wasn't the one running for their freedom, their life.
HE Never would understand the conditions I had to endure in some of the foster homes.
HE didn't have ONE MILLION DOLLARS dangling over his head
and if HE was caught by authorities, there would be no glass tube just waiting to entrap HIM.
It felt like eternity until he finally wandered away like a vagrant. And during that eternity, my hatred turned into a twisted combination of anger and determination.


Ch. 2

Coyotes howled in the distance as I reached the edge of a town called Roven, which to be honest, really only consisted of a main street except for clusters of houses on the right side of it. The left side was just fields. Dark windows and empty stores bore their eyes into me. Cautiously, as if I am on glass I stalk through the shadows. I am intruding on something. A ghost town? It certainly feels like it. Nothing stirs. Not even the wind. My sneakers don't make a sound as I tread on the overgrown sidewalk. Everything seems to be a shade of black and white. Pausing to look at the newspaper box near the grocery store, an article catches my eye. The moonlight glints off the paper, giving me just enough light to read the big bold letters on the front page.

Tuesday, August 20th
On August 18th, a 14 year old girl by the name of Bailey Brimstone went missing after she savagely attacked her foster home keeper, Ms. K. Dinkleberry. We questioned Ms. Dinkleberry about what happened the night Bailey attacked her and went missing. “This was a very emotional topic for Ms. Dinkleberry “Well, I went out to get a drink of water when I saw her vandalizing the house. She was smashing glass against the floor and tipping over chairs. Then I calmly walked up to her and said “are you okay hon?” that's when she started to attack me. She began to chase me with a knife she had pulled out of her pocket. I barely escaped to the bathroom before she went even crazier and busted out of the house. You know, now that I come to think of it, Bailey always was a troubled child. She always was quite uncooperative. Sometimes she would hit me or threaten me. It would mean the world to me if someone would find this little terror before she harms the public. ” Ms. Dinkleberry finished, near tears. Bailey Brimstone is 5' 1”. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. Lean build. If you see her please report her to the local authorities. There is a $1,000,000 dollar reward for her return. The children at the foster home say that...

Continued on page 3A

Then there was a picture of me at the annual foster home picnic doing a relay race. I was in mid stride and the world behind me was blurred. There, I looked carefree and young. Underneath the picture it said in a small caption

Bailey Brimstone doing a relay race at the annual foster home picnic.

I never liked those “Picnics”.
I pulled up my hood,looked around, and rolled my eyes.
So I apparently attacked Ms. Dinkleberry.
Not.
I was running from her.
I also apparently destroyed the house.
Ha.
I barely even touched the floor on my way out.
And hitting her? Threatening her? She threatened and hit me!
Funny, I must have forgotten some of the details of that night.
Like chasing Ms. Dinkleberry into the bathroom.
Or Ms. Dinkleberry walking up to me in a calm, cool manner instead of chasing me through the house like a lunatic.
I am not a little terror. I am not the bad guy here either.
Fury courses through me. I had done a good job of making Ms. Dinkleberry's life miserable, but not torturous enough. I thought the multitude of snakes in her shower was a good prank. Or the mouse in the refrigerator. Or the bucket of mud above her door was good. But not good enough.
The sun now lifts a blanket of sharp, cold morning air as I quietly into a diner called Tootles . The Wooden floors are spotless and the walls are a tinted hue of white with a border of grapevines. “Would you like to be seated?” and extremely friendly waitress smiled eagerly, but as I turned around, her smile dissolved “You... may want to um, wash up a bit before you eat.” she stammered. For the first time I look down and realize what a state I'm in. Tattered dirt filled sneakers, stained jeans and shirt. My Duffel bag had a few slight holes in it. This had to be quite suspicious to her.“Sure, I, Uh, forgot to take a shower this morning.” She didn't look very convinced but shooed me on to the bathrooms.
I nearly gave myself a heart attack and fell into a toilet when I looked into the bathroom mirror. Instead of seeing me, I saw a frizzy headed, war paint looking face. “Eesh. Man, that was bad!” I pulled on the faucet and started to wash my face. How in the world had she not noticed it was me. The supposed criminal and wacko that was desperately wanted. Dirt streamed off of my cheeks and down the snow white sink, leaving streaks. My arms weren't any better. Using a damp paper towel, I wiped off a surprising amount of silt and dust. Basketball style, I threw the towel into the trash can, picked up my duffel bag, and left the bathrooms.
Being seated was even more awkward than giving yourself a bath in a restaurant. People kept whispering about me, and I was positive that they knew who I was, but it was the old man who gave away their thoughts. He whispered a little loudly to his wife “That girl must be homeless.” The wife looked at me and snorted “Hm. She could at least keep some decent hygiene.” I bit back from retorting “You know, it's kind of hard to keep every speck of dirt off of you after you have slept on a beach and ran through the woods in the middle of the night, and hygeine isn't exactly on your list of priorities when you are running for your life!” I slouched down a little farther down in the booth, hoping to play it low. “here is your Pancake-o-rama and orange juice! The total will be fifteen dollars and forty-five cents cents.” A look of confusion crossed my face, how can three pancakes and a glass of orange juice cost fifteen dollars and forty-five cents?! Maybe their Pancake-o-rama's were extremely high maintenance? Maybe the ingredients went on a strike and demanded a raise, I don't know. Forking over the cash was real painful .Thankfully, the pancakes looked tantalizingly delicious. The fluffy golden delicacy drizzled over with pure maple syrup. The warm aroma wafted around me, putting me into a trance. It almost seems like those commercials where the food looks to good to be true. My mouth starts to water and... I realize I can start eating it.
The little kid at a table to my right is staring at me and probably thinking “You know, it's not everyday you see this sort of thing, and to be honest, the pancake-o-rama tastes more like Styrofoam, and judging by how you are inhaling it, you must be quite hungry.” While his parents talk and talk, he stares, either mesmerized by this enchanted inhalation or too shocked to do anything about my scarfing of innocent pancakes. Vaguely, I even am aware of him. I don't care what the world thinks.

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