The night had been cold. Louis only had the clothes he had been wearing during the accident. A blue T-shirt with a breast pocket that had severed the stitching on one side, old blue jeans with a few tears, the bottoms of the legs frayed and ragged, a lightweight red jacket, zip-up, no hood, a sweat-stained blue ball cap and muddy red sneakers. It was late fall, and the nights got awfully cold. Louis had managed to find a tarp covered car on his way from his burning home. He regretfully stole it and used it as a blanket. He couldn't help but chuckle at the irony that he was running away from warmth. The horizon had a fantastical orange glow about it, but he knew it was because of the fire. He prayed that the fire wouldn't spread. It was just the crack of dawn when Louis's heavy eyes cracked open. The bright sunlight was an unwelcome sight today. he crawled out from underneath his tarp and shivered. The tarp hadn't helped much; Louis was cold to his core. He rubbed his hands together and brought them together at his lips, exhaling into them. His hands seemed to be instantly warm... No, they were hot. Insanely so. Louis cried out in pain as he fell backwards onto his tarp. He racked his brain to explain what had just occured.
The airspace between his hands had somehow.... burst? Popped, like a firecracker. Louis looked down at his ravaged hands, skin red and irritated. That's when he noticed the smoke. Louis, in a panic, ripped off his jacket. He inspected the sleeves for burns, but found no trace of fire. He looked back at his hands to discover that it had been his palms that were smoking. They were still smoking, without a fire. Louis looked around, his head spinning as he searched for a fix. There!, he thought, there's a birdbath.
He ran straight through someone's freshly cut lawn, not caring slightly about the sign telling him to keep off the grass. He plunged both hands into the cool water of the birdbath and sighed as the water calmed his pain and nerves. He cocked his head to the front of the house as he heard its door open. "What the hell are you doing?!" The homeowner had come outside, still in their bathrobe, with a revolver in hand.
"Oh, no, I--" Louis searched for and failed to find an answer to what the hell he was doing. However, it didn't seem as if this lady cared to hear anything Louis had to say as she raised the revolver. "Wait!" The shot echoed off the trees and buildings. Louis closed his eyes at the sound, but felt no pain. There was a few sharp sensations on his face and his shirt felt wet. Louis opened his eyes as he fell onto his back. She had shot the birdbath. He held his hand out, trying to plead the woman to cease fire. Instead, she fired again. This time, Louis did feel pain. She had managed to graze his shoulder. Louis tensed at the burning, and heard a third shot. He looked back at the lady in wonder, amazed she had missed again, but she wasn't there. Well, she was there, but she was obscured by a cloud of thick smoke. He could hear her coughing and spatting.
Did the gun explode? He wondered for but a moment before realizing he should probably get moving. He winced as his shoulder moved, aggravating the flesh wound. He looked back again at the smoke, apologized, and ran. Louis ran until he couldn't, then he forced himself to jog. When that was no longer an option, he tried speed walking. Eventually he could only walk. He slowly walked down a sidewalk, tenderly touching the wound on his shoulder. He bumped into an old man, excused himself, and realized he had no clue where he was anymore. Looking around, he saw several buildings, store fronts and food chains. He checked a street sign, "College Ave".
Louis walked a little further before deciding he couldn't any longer. He sat down against a building to rest. Checking out his hands, Louis was pleased to see the birdhouse had done the trick. The burning had stopped and the redness was receding. An argument across the street made Louis look up. There were two guys talking loudly. One had a backpack and was taunting the other. Isn't he a little old to be bullying? Louis stood up to go do something about it when the bully across the street dropped the bag and bolted. Louis felt an odd sensation, something akin to a headache, but it passed quickly.
"MATT!" The kid across the street was grabbing at his face.
Did something happen? Is he hurt? Louis went to help him, but suddenly found himself unable to move. Was he really that exhausted from a run? Then he heard a voice.
"What's wrong with my eyes?
Is that.... Am I hearing that guy? Louis put everything he had into moving. That man needed help and no one else would care enough. No one ever cared enough. Louis's legs began moving slowly but soon he was sprinting across the street. Louis looked to the right as he crossed and saw a car speeding his way and he panicked. The guy wasn't even looking where he was going. Louis heart sank as the driver began to swerve onto the sidewalk. He dove, tackling the guy with the backpack. Together they slid underneath the guardrail as the car scraped against it. They rolled down the hill, entangled together. Louis's shoulder was searing as he picked himself up.
"Jesus. Are you alright?"
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