I ran back up the street then, because I’ve seen my Dad.
“Dad!” I yell, trying to catch up with him.
But when the man turns around, it’s not my Dad, but it is someone that fits the description.
“May I ask you some questions?” I ask the man, who looks puzzled and frightened, but for all I know, he could be acting, and wearing a disguise.
The man nods, and I question him, but there is no way that he could possibly be the man that I am looking for.
The man that I’m looking for would run if someone asked him if they could ask him some questions. The man that I’m looking for would easily turn a gun on someone. The man that I’m looking for would love to shoot every single person that wears the government badge on their rucksack, or on any other part of clothing to be quite honest.
I run dementedly through the streets (only an idiot would run), kicking at the dirt, and then dejectedly flop down on a bench, just outside the park, where I can smell daisies and buttercups, and can hear little children playing excitedly, and dogs barking; it is a scene of serenity, which instantly makes me nervous. I had always been taught that there is no such thing as perfection – anything that seems like perfection is bad news.
That’s when I saw him staring at me from across the street, arms folded, slouching… Just like in my dreams… Dreams that are more like nightmares than dreams… He sees that I’m staring back at him now, and he’s beckoning to me. This is different to how I’d imagined the meeting to forego. I imagined having to chase him all over London… I imagined it to be a lot more difficult than this.
I cross the street, and he greets me like a friend would greet another friend. I turn on the secret spy-cam that looks like a freckle on my face, just where a beauty spot should be. It’s perfect, and so tiny that you couldn’t possibly notice it.
“Clementeen, how are you?!” He greets me.
“It’s Clementine.” I say through gritted teeth – people miss pronouncing my name really bugs me, and it bugs me even more when they know how to pronounce my name.
“Sorry, how are you?” He asks, undeterred from my annoyance.
“I’m fine thank you – can we just get this over and done with?” I ask, slightly sarcastic.
“We could… That is, if you can catch me!” And he ran off like a little child.
“Stupid man…” I muttered under my breath, laughing slightly, and started sprinting up the pavement to where he was running.