RUNNING OUT OF TIME

I should have mentioned to Peter that I am dyslexic before he left me in charge of disarming the bomb. It doesn’t make it any better that my anxiety is going through the roof right now, my hands feel like their only purpose is to produce sweat once I touch the wires. When I awoke in the morning the sky was bright and blue. Birds wear chirping happily; the day was set up to be perfect. But boy was I wrong. Please take me back to that morning.

When I moved into the city it was a shock to me, Iron trains screeching along and the smell of urine everywhere, I thought that was something only unique to the farm back home. My friend Peter thankfully got me a job with him at a liquor store. I remember Peter talking about this homeless guy who would call himself the Goblin at the shopping plaza where we worked, the guy would throw stink bombs at him, with green smoke that would dye Peter’s clothes if it touched him. The guy would ramble on that he was some sort of tech genius and all of you would pay one day for what society had done to him. “Dude, I’m just a liquor store clerk,” I would think in my head when he would scream that as he would push his cart.

“Why don’t you just quit that place and move back with me to my dad’s farm? Is all this worth delivering pizzas and working at this liquor store?” I would tell him. He wouldn’t say anything but stare at the mountain high skyscrapers. Peter had picked up a parkour hobby and all he would do is think about things to climb, looking back that should have been my first clue that Peter was unique. Peter told me the job was chill, but he didn’t tell me the liquor store was in a shady neighborhood across some train tracks. At night, the fog would roll through and every day walking home felt like the beginning of a 90’s horror flick.

Our friend Harry came in one night and his face scared me. He looked as pale as a ghost, with sweat slowly sliding of his face like a cold soda being taking out if the fridge. “What’s up with you?” I said, concerned. “The homeless guy has now been calling himself a goblin and is scaring anyone who approaches him and his shopping cart,” Harry said frantically. “The guy is mentally ill and homeless. What do you expect?” I said. I am not gonna lie, the homeless here have been slowly pushing me to move back to the farm. Peter came into work in all red gear from head to toe, again. I always wondered if the guy was allergic to different colors or if he just preferred to look like a bloody tissue.

Peter looked a bit angered and concerned. The homeless guy was not just homeless, his backstory wasn’t bullshit. The guy who called himself goblin had just got out of prison and really used to work for the cities Tech Research Companies. And he has not been happy since he got out of prison. Goblin broke into the the cities police evidence locker and took a time bomb from its security vault. He planted it right in the middle of the plaza and cackled like an old witch as he ran off. This never happens on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Peter came running with me as we tried to chase after him, but he dipped into the subway crowd with no sign of where he ran off to. As we ran back to the bomb, we saw the timer had five minutes left and counting. Peter than did something that no one would believe. He suddenly jumped into the subway station and started to climb up the ceiling like a spider.

While I stood there with amazement of Peters grip strength as he climbed, I had completely forgot about the bomb. My face completely changed in the blink of an eye. My body started to rattle as if my whole body were on vibrate. My hands had suddenly become drenched in a matter of seconds. I had watched some Thriller movies in the past, but I don’t think they prepare me for this. I crouched down and tried to grab a wire, but they slipped out of my hand every time. Helicopters started to engulf the sky of the city, leaving very little sunlight down on us. Within seconds, sirens and police officers swarmed the plaza like a group a group of ants swarming a fallen ice cream drop. Relief rushed over my body like a warm blanket telling me that I’m safe.

Peter came back up the stairs and looked tired and defeated, the Goblin had escaped. The police combed the subway as if they were searching for lice. No luck. When we all met up at the liquor, after speaking to the police about the incident, we started to watch the news. The local news shoved his picture and information before every commercial brake. In that moment, I thought, “If this is how homeless people are, then the city life ain’t for me.”

"My name is Christian Otero, I’m from the San Fernando Valley and I’ve always wanted to be a part of the entertainment in some fashion. My dreams are changing with time as I land wherever these winds are taking me. I wanted to do something in cinematography since the idea of being in front of the camera would make my anxiety shoot up just thinking about it, and now the winds seem to be leading me to writing. I’ve come to realize I enjoy writing about fantasy, who knows where the winds take me next but I’m enjoying the ride so far."