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If There is a Will There's a Way
He strolled across the parking lot, tall and proud. A damp, sprinkling wind blew warmly on his face, smiling as the breeze played with his hair. The moon peaked over the clouds lighting up his sly deep blue eyes. Stepping over the ditch he walked swiftly across the highway toward the under pass of the bridge. The melted slush glistened on the slick road and dewy grass. Walking next to the hill he fallowed it’s decent to normal level then started to jog. The wet air was hard to breath but tasted good at he ran off the road toward the small woods.
The first step into the woods was an immediate slope down into a boggy creek and as the night air warmed a fog fell over the low woods giving it a creepy air. A twig snapped behind him and another in front. Behind him a man holding a bloodhound, for tracking, and a Doberman, for attacking. In front a man seeped from the misty shadows and held a gun in one hand and a CIA badge in the other. Sweat glistened on the CIA man’s forehead, and a slight look of worry twinkled in his eyes as a sly determined smile crept across the fugitive’s face. If there’s a will there’s a way, they say … ironically the fugitive’s name was Will, and he could taste escape once more in the glistening fog.
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