We are The Birds

We are The Birds

this is a story for wc43.
i would love it if you would rate and comment it. Please, this is must. Coz it is a problem around here that people dont rate or comment.
secondly i wanted to make my story title '' The Birds '', but to attract attention i had to make it We are The Birds.
total 600 words.

Chapter 1

Chapter one

“We are The Birds”, I gazed at a cut on my hand and started to float in a flashback…

There is a kidnapping team in our city who kidnaps small kids, torture them, train them how to rob and when they are of age, make them go and steal jewelry, money or precious things for them. What was their reward; Sleepless nights, less meals, slavery and pain.

I was kidnapped when I was only six, my parents must have searched for me, but they failed. I was treated like others. When I turned sixteen, my turn for stealing started, too. There were eleven other kidnapped teens with me. Every week, three or four teens would together go to rob a bank, museum or any house, on their specified bikes with guns and pistols.

It was told that before our time, many tried to escape but met death. So now, my partners had no choice but to be slaves.

I had other plans; I was not born to be a slave. I used to encourage my partners, “My friends, we are not born to be slaves, everything is possible for us if we just try. We are The Birds! Birds are born to be free; they fly and do whatever they want. We will fight for freedom too; we will be free one day!”

My words always boiled their blood.

Once, after my return from stealing, I keenly observed the place where our bikes were kept, where they put the pistols, how many people they would have to fight to go out. After it, I sneaked into the room and got hold of all the pistols, rushed back to my place and thanked to all my stealing training. The men from kidnapping team found me fishy.

They grabbed my wrist and gave a cut on my palm, from where blood streamed out, showing that I was in their control. How wrong they were.

I told about my plan to my friends about how to escape; all of them were ready except for three who were scared of death. I got a backpack full of clothes, food, water, and rifles and hung it on back. So nine of us grabbed our pistols and quietly sneaked to bikes’ garage. When we were close, the men caught us and fighting started. Beside the age, we had equal talent.

There were many gun shots, blood, screams, deaths, it was matter of life and death, and we had to win. To our greatest sorrow, two teens died in fight, but we had no choice but to hop on bikes and rush out.

Seven of us teens swiftly rode the bikes as the men followed us. We didn't know where to go, but we took turns blindly. Our life was dearest. All of us were scattered when suddenly a bus came in front us. Many of us took right turn, but it wasn't possible for three others, who got crashed.

Four of us now rode our bikes, with our heart beats as fast as a baby bird’s. Nothing could be done for the lost lives. We thought we had left them behind, started to relax but suddenly their several cars came in front of us and the other of my friends got caught. There were no turns, so my reflex action was to fly my bike over the cars and keep riding, till I went out of the city.

It was a narrow escape for me, only me. Was I my friends’ killer? I rested under tree, gazed the cut on my palm. “We are The Birds’’

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