Short Prose Piece: Escape

[Messalina]

The night was heavy on the wide, rolling hills. Houses spotted the area, spaced by an acre or two at least. The houses were all dark and quiet, dogs asleep, livestock as well, silent and cold in the winter night.
A car alarm went off in the distance.
Once, twice, three times the horn blared and the lights flashed. Then it stopped.
Windows opened in the houses and dark life forms climbed out. They descended drain pipes, tree limbs and ropes made of bed sheets.
At the ground they rushed across wide backyards then up fences, small hills, trees or rock walls. The figures dashed through the night, silent and low to the ground, keeping an observant eye out for lights in other windows. They ran to prearranged rides, and slid into backseats. First there were two, then three, then four at the truck.
At last everyone had appeared. The cab doors opened, and the tailgate dropped. The figures climbed into the truck, closing doors and the tailgate.
The driver turned on the vehicle, and the engine lived in the heavy night. The truck moved away from the corner, and drove into the fog. First they were silent, but as they continued on the music escalated, growing louder until the thunderous beats and singing were joined by calls and whistles from the four on the bed.
They navigated the rural roads, soon joined by a ‘53 woody, a ‘71 Impala and a rusted old Geo Metro. They continued on, music rushing in a swirl on the slow wind and fog towards the houses they’d evacuated.
Lights turned on.
Footsteps rushed down hallways while bathrobes were haphazardly thrown on.
Doors flew open, more lights turned on.
Curses spat and the lights snapped off again.

The kids escaped.

A beautiful Puerto Rican girl let out a cry of joy. Her truck turned the final corner towards the black painted barn.
Her passenger laughed aloud, an arm out the window to break up the fog. The passenger shook out her blonde hair and cast her eyes to the Puerto Rican.
She looked back and smiled.
The back of the truck bounced as a rider jumped.
Behind them, someone had scaled the Geo Metro and was seated on top, dancing.
The plan was pulled off perfectly and the kids filling the caravan of cars were ecstatic.
They arrived as three other cars did, but behind them, far off through the thinning fog, more headlights approached.
The singer found his stage, his white and magenta Mohawk shining in the dull light.
The band started up.
Kids poured in.

The night was perfect and the sun did not rise for hours. But by then, everything was silent again.


This is a really old piece, from freshman year I think, and I really like it, but I don't think it's quite right. It really needs editing/reworking so anything you can do to help is greatly appreciated!