By Leo Wurgaft
The room sank of smoked gum leaf. The heat and humidity was almost too much to bear. It was crowded, and hard to tell one person from another. Near the roof a cloud of smoke was forming and the floor was blanketed in mist. Fast music was playing. The lively, but somehow eerie sound of a trumpet, double-bass, and violin filled the air. And among it all, a cry could be heard.
“My satchel! Where’s my satchel?” The countless people glanced around, nervously.
Suddenly a figure hooded in light, but dirtied grey popped up in the middle of the crowd. It strode toward the exit, skillfully sweeping the crowd out of it’s way as if it were water.
“Stop! Theif!” The figures pace quickened, nearly into a run.
The room became filled with red, the sound of an alarm silencing the music. A rusty steel gate lowered slowly in front of the door. The figure leapt, like lightning, upon a the shoulder of a panicked man, who yelled in alarm above the siren. The figure sprang from shoulder to shoulder, leaping across the sea of people, and sending frightened yelps through the crowd like ripples.
It arrived at the door in seconds, the gate halfway to the ground. Then the figure turned to face the crowd, and pulled off his hood, revealing a young man of about sixteen, with a joyful expression and hazel eyes containing a brilliant, mischievous spark. A faded scar was on his right cheek, and he had unkempt, wild brown hair. He smiled and waved.
“See ya’ blokes on the other side!” He jeered. And with that, he slid through the open door just as the gates met the floor with a satisfying clang.
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