The Pyle Inside

Sage ran down the unlit street, going as fast as she could. She never looked back, not once, not twice, not three times. She just stared at the last fading rays of sun behind the horizon as darkness started to descend upon the city.  Once she got close to the town square, Sage’s breath ran out, and she stopped. Should she run through the masses of crowded people, or stay hidden within the shadows? Her tattered rags, drenched in sweat and grimy hands were sure to be a sight. But what would really draw attention was the sword she was holding. Sage decided it wouldn’t be worth it to make a break for it in the busy town square. Then, she heard some sort of noise behind her—and she recognized it immediately. Her legs seemed to gain a mind of their own and dashed through the towns square, exactly where she didn’t want to go. As she ran, Sage smelled the aroma of fresh, warm food and her mouth watered. She felt a rumble of hunger in her stomach, and stumbled. She dug her fingers into her palms, and kept running. The pain kept her focused. Then, Sage turned a corner of the market place, and then she saw a darkly clothed man, who was outlined in soft streaks of the faded sun. A dark shadow came down from above her, and she darted to the side. She saw the great club strike right where she was standing a moment ago. “Seriously! You aren’t supposed to kill me!” Sage yelled.

“Sorry!” The man sarcastically said with a great big fat grin, as he scratched the back of his neck innocently.

Sage sighed, and then launched an attack of her own. Quickly pulling her sword out of its scabbard, she ran toward him. Immediately, he blocked using his bare hands to hold her wrists.

“Ah, this should hurt!” He smiled, and aimed a kick at her face, which she couldn’t block. She fell to the ground, unconscious.