Game of Life

Summary – Name? Codi "Codes" Connors. Age? 20. Gender? Female. Hobbies? Complaining about past lives and flipping the bird at the law.

Chapter One – Just Keep Running

…

"Come on! We have to keep running!"

A small, short, dark-skinned girl tugged on the wrist of a pale little boy standing three inches taller than her, making him stumble as he ran. Both their faces were stained with tears, dirt, and blood, wide-eyed and horribly frightened. They had just watched two adults, people they thought were invincible, be killed at the hands of a single man, after all.

That man was now running after them, gun clutched in his hand and teeth bared. "Brats! You can't run forever!" He bellowed. Shots fired from his weapon, bouncing against the ground inches away from the children's bare feet. The little girl yelped when the boy tackled her, sending them both to the ground. A bullet whizzed over their heads, right past where the girl's head had been seconds before.

"Th-thanks." The girl stuttered as the boy helped her to her feet. He nodded and they both turned to run once again. Only to be met with the tall fence of an alley blocking their path. The pair whirled to face the man as he slowly advanced, grinning mercilessly. The boy stepped forward, holding an arm in front of the girl, an uncertain bravery displayed on his face.

"Go away!" His wide eyes glared hatefully. The man barked a laugh. "What're you gonna do, kiddo? Cute me to death?" He asked mockingly, waving the gun. The children shrunk back, though the boy refused to drop the arm in front of the girl. "Lucy, I want you to run." He mumbled over his shoulder. Lucy's own eyes went wider and she furiously shook her head. "No! Just 'cause you're smart doesn't mean you'll live! If you die, then I die too!" She whispered stubbornly.

The boy opened his mouth to argue, though he'd never get the chance. Lucy's vision drifted to the man's gun, which was pointed at her protector, his finger slowly bending the trigger. She let out a scream, shoving the boy by the back of his shoulders, sending him to the ground as bullets flew.

It wasn't long until the man was running, gun in hand, out of the alley, leaving the bloodied body of a small dark-skinned girl and a little boy sitting a few feet away with a horrified, disbelieving expression.

"Lu… Lucy?" He whispered. He slowly got to his knees, crawling toward the broken form of his best friend. "Lucy? Come on… We… We have to go home…" He reached out and gently shook her blood soaked shoulder. No answer. "Lucy? Wake up… Come on Lucy! Wake up!"

Nothing.

Not even a twitch.

"This isn't funny, Lucy! Wake up! P-Please wake up! Wake up!"

…

Y'know, there's an old saying that goes down generations from father to son and mother to daughter and mother to son and father to daughter in the Connors family.

If at first you don't succeed, try again a few times. Just to make sure you truly suck and it wasn't just first-time-bad-luck.

Personally I think eleven times is nine times too many. But hey, at least I got to tell my parents that I'd been killed and reborn eleven times in a row. In the five years before I was shot, killed, and left to move on to yet another life while leaving them behind as nothing but memory.

My first life was boring and disciplined. My parents were rich, so that ultimately meant I was rich. I wore little brown plaid skirts, shiny black shoes, white knee socks, a brown headband, and a white blouse every day of my life, until I was finally hit by a car when I was fourteen. Then the white blouse turned red.

My second life was anything but disciplined. I went around the block getting screwed by guys I didn't even know the age of, drinking, and smoking. I was killed by a mixture of the three at the crisp age of thirty two.

Third life I was a guy. A really retarded guy. I was caught the first time I attempted murder, and rotted away in prison for the rest of that life until I died around fifty seven.

Fourth life was sorta like my first. Only I wasn't as rich, and I played piano. I was blind as a bat, and wore big, purple, thick-rimmed glasses to help me read the note sheets. One time I was cleaning my glasses while crossing the street and then got ran over—again.

In my fifth life I'm pretty sure I was a lesbian, and a very high supporter of gay rights. That—of course—led to a couple 'popular' girls getting their boyfriends to beat both me and some other gays bad enough that two of us died, including me.

Sixth life was effed up. I was a drunk, and a smoker, like in my second life, but I was also in a gang wanted for a quarter of the percentage of murders and rapes happening in New York. After hacking up a lung and puking all the contents of my stomach, I finally slipped off due to untreated lung cancer.

Seventh was pretty depressing. I made it up to twenty six before my husband died in a car crash and I started remembering everything that happened in my past lives, and so I ended up committing suicide on my thirty first birthday after crying and moping for five years straight.

Eighth life I was—yet again—rich as filth. And then assassinated at eight years old because some bozo wanted my family's money.

Ninth was a little more normal. I was a manga artist—and even managed to publish a volume—before I had a heart attack—ironic considering the story I'm about to tell you—at twenty nine due to stress from all the deadlines.

Tenth I was another guy. Only this time I was a part-time pedophilic teacher instead of a retard rotting away in jail. Yeah, I got all the way up to thirty six until I betrayed the 'only look, never touch' rule and was killed by one of the insane supporters of the rule that I now know really helps pedophiles.

Eleventh… I'd prefer not to talk about it.

Twelfth? Wanted African immigrant criminal holding no name or face except for the title "Phantom Thief." That's where we are now.

"Hey! You! Stop right there!" A loud, commanding—pft—voice yelled. About four more repeated the order, and soon I found myself standing in the back of an alley, surrounded by five cops. They were all sweating and panting, but a really tall and lanky one managed to gasp between wheezes, "We—caught—you! There's—no—escape!"

This could prove to be a problem. I let out a curse under my breath, taking a step back. My purple ankle-length skirt swished around as I pulled a light purple cloth from between my breasts. "Oh, no. There's only one of me, and five of you. What's a girl to do?" I started to fake cry, dabbing my eyes and letting out a sob worth an Oscar. The cops exchanged confused looks, before half of them shrugged and advanced. I glanced up, grinning mentally, took a huge breath, and trumpeted into the cloth, dropping a vial which exploded into red smoke—Esmeralda style.

The cops started screaming and yelling about witchcraft. I jumped onto a crate and grabbed the clothes line hanging above me, swinging over their heads and landing with a small stumble behind them. I bounded out of the alley, skidding around the corner and running through the crowd of pedestrians who shouted profanities and parted so they didn't get knocked to the ground.

I grabbed my skirt and held it up as I ran, glancing over my shoulder. An evil laugh escaped my throat. Ha! Take that Asians! You ain't getting this chick! My bare feet slapped against the concrete as I ran, splashing puddles and jumping car hoods. The golden hoops attached to my ears bounced around with my short black hair. The cops yelled and shouted and ran hot on my heels, but nope, I would not have that.

Just when one of them reached out to grab my shoulder, I swung and skidded around a corner, sending him face first into the concrete. "Suckers!" I laughed, as two of them stayed back to see if he was alright. Three down, two to go!

The fourth wasn't hard to loose, since he was short and pudgy. He just gave up, hands over his knees, huffing and wheezing for breath. The fifth was the tall and lanky one, however. This is gonna get interesting.

Lanky followed me around corners, over cars, through crowds, and even climbed a fence since the hole I crawled through wasn't big enough for him. One dedicated cop, I'll give him that, but he couldn't last forever.

"Hey! Sir!" I grabbed a passing man's shoulder. He was young, maybe around twenty three, with black hair and big brown eyes and a stupid little grin, wearing a crisp business suit. "Y-Yes?" He yelped, slightly shocked some random lady in practical rags stopped him on the street. "See that man? He's my ex-boyfriend, and he's trying to catch me! Please, hold him off!" I put on my best 'abused-girlfriend-desperate-to-get-away' face, and instantly the guy's chest puffed up in bravery. "Of course!" He nodded quickly and gently shoved me forward. "Run, before he catches up!" I gave a frantic nod and started running again, glancing over my shoulder to see the guy blocking the cop and deep in a heated argument with him.

Pretty soon I was being chased by both the cop and the guy, who also turned out to be a cop. Shit. Brown eyes wide, I dived into the street, making a sleek black car with tinted window screech to a stop. I jumped forward and belly-slid across the hood, somersaulting to the ground and bouncing to my feet again.

I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of a hunched form through the windshield.

BAM!

Credit to Wednesday101 for the plot. Lucy/Codi belongs to me. And OHMAIGAWD WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME *cries*

Review and stay tuned!

~ Bookworm210