Third person

Water hit the ground, splashing hard. The wind was wild, almost blowing the tree leaves clean off. Down the naborhood sidewalk, splashing puddles were heard along with screeching wheels.

A younge boy, age 6, was running for his life. His wet dark brown hair was like a wet mop, swaying with the wind behind him. His teary maroon eyes looking around frantically, looking for a place to hide. His black and purple shoes were soken, running faster than any speed potion made. The boy was panting, tired from hours of running. The younge boy looked behind him to see the black van that was chasing him.

The boy past street lamps, poles, houses, his eyes showing his emotions; fear and exhaustion. The boy was tired, but was determined to run.

The government agency was after him.

The boy suddenly saw the van in the corner of his eye, which only meant one thing. The van was catching up.

Before the pale boy could react, something hit him square in the left eye, the side the van was on. He yelped in pain and covered his wounded eye with both his wet hands. The boy slowed down, his breathes uneven. The boy's good eye became heavy, but he tried to fight it to stay open. But soon enough the boy lost his balance and fell forward, face planting onto the hard wet concrete. The boy lifted his head, his vision becoming blurry.

The world around him began to twist and turn, as he squinted his eye to see better. A group of men huddled around him, picking him up. The only thing the boy could do was look at them.

"Come on Ty. Your coming with us." Said the man holding the boy. Ty's heart was pounding, the sound of each beat echoing in his ears. Ty's breathing became steadier as he closed his eyes, no longer caring what would happen next.