Second Chances
an excerpt

“I’m a fucking idiot!” The irritable voice echoed in the alleyway only to be drowned out by the furious sound of running.

The self-proclaimed idiot raced down the dark, concreted area, his feet slipping on the wet ground. Cursing with each foot fault, he continued to run on, refusing to stop.

After all stopping would mean accepting death.

He turned around the corner and slid to an immediate stop, his hands clutching a brown package in his hands. Skidding on the wet ground, he found himself face to face (or rather nose to wall) against a wet, moss infested, brick wall.

A dead end.

His fist hit the cold brick as he swore. How freaking cliché, he thought bitterly.

This couldn’t happen. There was no way he could go back and manage to slip from their grasps again. It was amazing he had even done it the first time.
“Great,” he said weakly as he turned around, back resting against the moist wall, “I’m going to die.”

Chancer Matthews, age 16, his head filled with envisions of his death, looked up into the sky, ready to curse God and fate, and instead saw hope. Hope in the shape of an air vent.