Snippet #2070474

This whole thing was a terrible idea.

I was a bundle of nerves, guilt, and paranoia. What had I been thinking, walking around like I had a right to be there, and snatching people's wallets? Sure, that guy had looked like a jerk, but he had calluses on his hands and work boots on his feet... he'd probably worked hard for that money! Or maybe he was just a nature fanatic who went hiking in his spare time. But who knew? While I had been condemning myself to eternal damnation in my head, I'd also been slipping the guy's credit card into an ATM.

It only let me withdraw two hundred dollars, but there were also three twenties in the wallet. Any normal teenager would've been buying video games and electronics, but I would be buying food. And a change of clothes. I had a better reason for this than just being trendy; kids who walk around looking like homeless people usually drew attention to themselves.

I broke all the credit cards into little pieces and left the wallet at the ATM, hoping someone would turn it into the police once they realized it only had an ID and a dozen discount cards. Satisfied with my work, I sprinted briefly and launched myself into air, working my wings hard in my effort to get as high and far as possible from human sight. I rose until the people below looked like ants and straightened out, soaring quietly. I had plenty of time to go over my actions in the last hour, even as I kept a sharp eye out for trouble.

Seriously, what had I been thinking? Someone would be tracing that card. But it's not like they have any way of knowing who stole it and used it; it could easily have been any other normal, wallet-snatching human thief. Still, I went over the whole incident in my mind, arguing back and forth with myself about the morals of stealing and of course worrying consistently about leaving a trail or being caught.

But the fact of the matter was, I did what I had to do and I did my best not to slip up. If I got chased by a hoard of Vampires, then I would just have to do my best to get away from them. I imagined trying to out-fly a hoard of those things and it didn't make me laugh at all. I glanced around out of pure paranoia in search of any other suspicious winged beings and was relieved to see that the coast was clear. What to do next? I felt a vicious warning of an impending headache, a dull throb at the base of my skull that, in half an hour or an hour, would probably be another migraine.

Having a photographic memory has it's drawbacks. I absorb knowledge like a sponge absorbs water, most of the time without really paying attention. Every memory I've ever had is etched in perfect detail in my mind, every color, every noise, every texture... everything. Without my sense of humor and my unhealthy ability to repress things, I'd probably be a walking (er, flying) nutcase, just like those Vampires.

Just thinking about not thinking about what I'd escaped from was enough to make me search for a distraction. Like... food. Not only is food a distraction, it's also handy for staying alive and not dying a slow painful death of starvation. I'd already passed like, five fast food joints.

I turned sharply and began to fly back in the direction I'd come from, and it seemed like only about ten minutes passed when I glimpsed the last fast food restaurant I'd passed. There were only maybe three cars in the parking lot... bingo. I folded my wings and dove hard and fast through the air until I could count the specks in the asphault of the parking lot, then I threw my wings out fully and swooped into the nearest tree.

And no, it wasn't nearly as graceful as it sounded. I smacked into the tree trunk with my shoulder and landed on a tree branch, which promptly flipped me over and sent me crashing to the ground on my back. I probably knocked half the leaves off the tree with that stunt. It took me a minute to get my breath back, then I shot to my feet and glanced around. No one had seen my embarassing stunt, or more importantly, the giant wings sprouting from my back. I tucked them in and threw the jacket on, the warmth of both spreading through my chilled body.

I seriously had to work on my landings.

I beamed at what appeared to be the last two people in the restaurant as I walked in. They were about my age and dressed nicely. The girl sneered at me like a snob and the guy (her boyfriend probably) choked on his food, no doubt wondering when the place began to allow homeless people. I ignored them after that and went up to the counter, squinting at the menu above the dubious clerk's head.

"I would like..." I paused to stare for a moment more, and to get my order together. "A number 3, 4, and 9, all large... hmm. A bottled water, a piece of chocolate pie, two extra orders of chicken tenders..." I paused again. "And I guess that's all. Oh, and I need it to go." I didn't want these people to think I was screwing with them. In fact... I went ahead and put a twenty on the counter. The clerk had a pinched, sullen look on his face like he wanted to tell me to leave, but couldn't. Probably though I was messing with him.

"I'm serious," I said, giving him my poker face. I have a great poker face. Lady Gaga wrote a song about it.

Apparently deciding I wasn't going to burst into giggles and reveal my stupid prank, the clerk called the order back. I asked where the bathroom was and went in that direction. The mirror showed me that my face and hands were covered in dirt and my black hair, which is kind of long, was a bit tangled. I scrubbed my face, neck, arms, and hands with soap and water and then ran my fingers through my hair to straighten it out. At least my jacket hid my shirt; the torn jeans could easily be a fashion statement. Well, if they didn't have mud all over them.