The Secret Twin: Chapter 2

I walked for miles on end until my feet couldn’t walk anymore. I groaned, wishing I had my broomstick with me. Then I could just fly away. But I didn’t have my broomstick and was probably never going to see it again. Sighing, I realised that I was going to have to face the facts. I was exhausted, didn’t have a lot of supplies and had nowhere to spend the night. “What was I thinking,” I said under my breath. “I can’t do this. I should have just stayed at home. Running away was a horrible idea,”. I was about to give up and turn back when I noticed a narrow alleyway leading into the darkness. Curious, I edged closer and poked my head around the wall. It was lit by the glow of a nearby streetlamp and looked comfy enough. I crept down the ally and set up camp with the little supplies I had in a corner next to some dustbins. Yawning, I lay down on the makeshift bed I had created out of newspapers and some bubble rap (it had already popped, otherwise it would have woken up the whole street when I lay on it). As soon as I fell asleep, there was a noise and I my eyes shot open. I looked around, fear written all over my face. “W-who’s there,” I asked holding up a bit of pipe for self defence. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows. It wore a leather jacket and a wand poked out of it’s jean pockets. As the figure moved into the light, I saw it was a boy, about fourteen years old, the same age as me. He had floppy, black hair and pale skin. He drew his wand and pointed it at my throat. “Who are you?” he questioned, moving closer. “What are you doing here?”

“I-I mean no harm,” I stammered, backing up against the wall. “Please, let me go,”.

He looked deep into my eyes, searching my soul for any traces of lies. Eventually, he released me and sat down on the cold ground next to the makeshift bed. “Alright, fine, I’ll let you go, but on one condition,” the boy said.

“Go on,” I pressed.

“You have to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here,” he finished.

I sighed. I figured he would say that. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you need promise me not to tell anyone where I am,” I said.

“Deal,” he replied. Then I poured out my story; who I was, why I was here and how cruel my family was. The boy listened intently, sometimes asking questions, but mostly staying quiet. When I had finished he stood up and brushed himself off. “Well, you seem nice enough and I’m feeling kind, so I’ll help you as much as I can,” he declared. “Oh, and I’m Ivan, by the way.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “We had better leave now. “My family is probably searching for me already and I don’t want to get caught. Ivan nodded and we walked of, sharing stories and secrets of our past. That was the first time I had actually felt happy in a long time.