This month, we’re excited to share a thrilling short story, written by a Primavera student! 10th-grade student Leslie Campos is an aspiring novelist, with many other hobbies.

“I write on watt pad and I also enjoy designing clothes and drawing. I want to become either or both an EMT or/and author,” said Leslie.

The first chapter of her story will be split into three parts.  Check it out below!

“Shadow of Wings” by Leslie Campos, Chapter 1, Part 1

Image submitted by Leslie Campos, 10th grade

An alarm to the side of me screams. I dart down another hallway. My breaths are fast and out of pace. My heart thumps in my throat.

I turn another corner and stop short when I see five guards. They stand in the middle of the hallway. Their guns are drawn and aim them at my head. One had black hair had to be 6`1.” He stands next to the right wall and closet to me. A brown-haired man stands behind him about 5`9,” right in the middle of them is a blonde man 6`1.” On the right to me are two black-haired people both 6`2” at the least. I breathe out slowly and stand straight.

“Put your hands up, you are under arrest,” says the blonde one. He nods his gun at me. “Get on your knees, now!” He growls and cocks his gun.

“I`ve done nothing wrong!” I say loudly. The black-haired one on the left chuckles

“You’re a spy and you’re trying to stop us, we will make the world tremble on their knees,” he says. “You have done all kinds of wrongs, you can never be a hero.” He swings his gun as he says it.

“I am at least trying to do something that matters,” I spit at him “I`m not going to be just another pawn in a game that can`t be won.”

“That might be so, but you will get trampled no matter what you do!” Snarls the brown-haired one.

I move my fingers slowly back and forth and they tingle. I grab my knife out of my pocket before they even blink and thrust the knife into the knee of the black-haired one closest to me. He cries out and drops to the floor. The bullets ring out everywhere. I sprint back toward the corner. I feel a sharp pain in my thigh and groan. I keep going and taking a different route.

I stop and look around the ceiling. I spot the air vent at the end of the ceiling. I rush toward it, my thigh screaming with pain. I don`t want to look at it, though, I need to keep going. I stretch as far as I can. I need to hurry. My palm barley touches the vent. That’s all I need. I curl my fingers around the bends in it. I pull down hard and it jolts. I pull again and with all my strength. The hinges snap and the door falls open. I shove my fingers in the bends and pull my weight on the steel.

It creaks under my weight and I extend my arm out toward the inside of the air vent. I shove my hand as far as I can, finding little bumps. I grip the bumps and put my force into pulling myself higher and into the vent. My arm burns. I hop in the air and drag myself further into the vent. I pull harder and slip my stomach into the vent.

I wiggle forward and pull the vent cover up. I take a breath. I look around the vent, the only way out is to go toward the light. I think about the building layout and look to my right. It`s the closest shot I got. I inch my way forward and keep myself stretched out. I keep going straight and come to a stop at the end of the tube. There were two tubes one going right and one going left. I see the vent cover before the bends in front of me. I inch my way forward and look between the gaps and see guards going left and right. They all have the same clothes on, black with stitches of blue and green.

Their  guns are extended out in front of them. If I don’t get out, they will kill me. I look past the guards and see an exit down the hall. I look up; the left tube should take me there. I wiggle forward and go down the left tube. I push myself faster and see a closed air vent opening. I wiggle closer and see the glow around it. I shift the blinds in it and the sun shines in.

Their guns are extended out in front of them. If I don’t get out, they will kill me. I look past the guards and see an exit down the hall. I look up; the left tube should take me there. I wiggle forward and go down the left tube. I push myself faster and see a closed air vent opening. I wiggle closer and see the glow around it. I shift the blinds in it and the sun shines in.

I smile with relief. I can`t slam hit this one or else someone could hear. I see the small screws encircling it. The only way out without drawing attention to myself is to take the safe route. I feel around my leg for my pocket. I graze over the bullet hole and stifle a groan. I press my eyes together and breathe out shakily. I shift my hand over a few inches and feel my pocket lining. I pull the knife out slowly and guide toward the vent. I sigh and stick the top of the knife into the screw.

I twist to the left and the screw starts to become undone. I keep twisting and the screw hangs loosely from the vent. I wrap my fingers around it and take it out. I do the other three screws and push the vent open. It hits the grass with a soft bang. I wait to see if there is a response. I push myself out of the vent grabbing hold of the edge. I drop and hit the ground. My thigh screams with pain like it`s ripping into my muscles. I feel the tears gathering in the edges of my eyes. I hold them back as best as I can. I lean against the building. I try and catch my breath through my gritted teeth. I put my hands against the building. I feel the brittle green paint against my hands.

Who would`ve thought that VY Lewin, the most feared spy in the world, would be running from the company she was spying on. A laugh gurgles in my throat, but I stuff it down.

I sigh and look around the outside of the building. It lies in the stomach of an abandoned sewer line. The walls are covered in graffiti and fowl stenches roamed the walls. The floor grows low grass around the building with cement lining up to the exit of the sewer line. I scan the sides of the building walking fast paced. No vehicles are in sight, only a weapons bunk.

I sigh and run towards the edge of the building. I jog over to the door of the bunker. It has a giant padlock on the handle connecting to steel pole next to the bunker. I catch my reflection in the steel lining of the bunker. I still wear my uniform, tight black pants with blue pocket zippers. My two guns are strapped to the side of my pants with blue lining in them as well. Blood soaked my leg making the pants death grip to my leg. My belt holds three knives on the side and throwing stars on the other side. I carry a clip in a pocket to the back side of my belt. Another gun is strapped in the back of my pants. I wear a black, military-type jacket around the shirt. My black hair stops at my shoulders hanging in the air.

I shake myself out of my daze. I reach for the pocket on my belt and fish out the lock pickers it. I twirl them in my hands and reach for the lock. I put the points of them into the lock and hear a series of clicks. The lock falls open and drops down into the grass. I only have 30 seconds to get this done before they take the building off lock down.

I grab the door handle and pull back. The door creaks open and I walk in. It’s pitch black and a small golden cord hangs by the entrance of the door. I reach up towards it and pull down. A warm light encircles the room. Weapons line the walls, steel tables on the right hold thousands of guns all loaded. To the left are knives lining the walls varying from different sizes. In the middle of the room are bags filled with food and water supplies. It has an extra change of clothes and supplies to help make it through any terrain. They are all green and black. I snatch the backpack and look around inside of it. I walk over to the knives and pick a large one of the wall. Its handle is steel and it`s hard. I grab six medium-sized and 10 small ones of the shelf. I grab six more large knives and I set all of them into the bag. I take four of the guns from the tables and stuff them into the bag as well.

I only have a few more minutes now.


Part two is now live! Read it here

We want to hear from you!

Whether you enjoy writing or painting, we want to feature your work! Send your submission to marketing@primaveratech.org, and include a few sentences about you and your artwork.

  • Students, what do you think of Leslie’s story? Share your positive thoughts in the comments below!