Unmasking the Nightmare

Chapter One: Oversized Emeralds Are Not My Friends

Running for my life down a dark alleyway was not my definition of fun. What made it worse was the fact that my hands were cramping from clutching an impossibly large emerald. On top of that, my long, sweat-soaked hair was flapping in my face, poking my eyes with damp, broken-ends.

A spray of bullets riddled a dilapidated building to my right, pinging to the cracked blacktop. Oh yeah, and being chased by a group of thugs didn't make my mission any more enjoyable.

I fought the urge to look over my shoulder and see how close my pursuers were. Right now, I just needed to train my eyes forward and hope this never-ending alley would end soon. My feet were beginning to hate me from my foolish choice of wearing heeled combat boots rather than the soft-soled moccasins my feet were accustomed to running in. My hands were cramping with every step, my lungs heaved, and my heart pounded like a drum. And of course, good ol' nausea was there to accompany me too.

Lovely.

I guess I got what I deserved, considering I only had one bite of SpaghettiOs for lunch. After ditching the disgusting noodles, I had grossed my best friend out by scarfing down a tub of cake frosting and downing a bottle of French Vanilla creamer.

I would place high bets that you're judging me, even though you barely even know me. Well guess what? We all have our weaknesses and mine just happens to be sugar.

Curse my small, delicate hands! Oh yeah, and my pathetic low level of fitness.

Why did they have to program the emerald to be so huge? It was like the creators of this game said, "Let's program a freakishly huge emerald that's super unrealistic so we can discourage players with tiny hands from playing this game."

Not only was the emerald slowly ripping my fingers apart, it also was keeping me from pinching my nose to block out the pungent smells of rotting fruit peels and spoiled milk that clogged the alley. A tortoiseshell cat was crouched on top of a garbage can, it's jaws locked around an unfortunate rat. When the cat saw me, it dropped the dead rat to give me a hiss, it's muzzle coated in dried dirt and blood.

Just hiss at me again. I dare you. I weighed the emerald in my hand, wondering if I could crack someone's skull with it. Not that I'd ever let go of it, but if I got in a pinch and needed a weapon, the emerald was ready to bash some skulls.

Up ahead, a pure white fence loomed, a stark contrast from the dingy buildings surrounding it. I wondered what idiots would decide to paint a fence white in the middle of a crook-swarming, sketchy, dirty alleyway. Didn't they know white was the color that revealed the most dirt? Duh.

Then it finally hit me. They wanted the fence to stand out. Perhaps it was a checkpoint. Or, even better, maybe the fence was the finish line!

You've almost made it. Just a bit further!

I felt a burst of energy course through my veins and grabbed it greedily, my feet slapping staccato rhythms as my savior drew near. Another volley of bullets pelted a broken-down motel that branched off to my right, but I ignored it. Nothing was distracting me now from fulfilling my mission. I couldn't even remember the last time I passed a mission. Like I've already stated, I'm not really in tip-top shape for dodging bullets, taking out thugs, and stealing emeralds that are bigger than my head.

Agonizing breaths crashed through my lips as I reached out to grasp the fence like I was playing a violent game of tag and the fence was a base. My fingers were springing out, brushing against the splintered wood when a stray bullet managed to find it's mark.

"Augh!" I pitched forward, my head connecting with the fence in a skull-shattering collision that blurred my vision and twisted my stomach in nausea. I could feel sticky wetness soaking through my pant leg but I couldn't stomach the thought of analyzing how deep and deadly the bullet wound was.