I'm currently thinking about re-writing my first book because of the number of plot holes I left from when I first started writing, and I think the opening to the series needs to be changed because it's basically the exact same to Naruto's opening. I would just like to get some opinions on what you guys think of the new opening.
"Chris, get back here!" a policeman yelled as he chased with another cop at his side.
"No way! You'll have to catch me first!" Chris yelled as he ran across the street, cutting through traffic.
"Chris, we're not joking! Get back here now!" the other police officer yelled.
Chris smirked and ran into a crowd of pedestrians. "Excuse me, pardon me . . . comin' through kinda running for my life here," Chris shouted as he cut through the crowd. He turned around to see the policemen had gone a completely different direction. He chuckled as he said, "Man that was almost too easy. Ha-ha!"
"Oh yeah, Chris?!" A voice shouted in Chris's ear, causing him to rocket sky-high.
Chris turned to see the sheriff of the Washington Police Department and yelled, "What are you trying to do ya, jerk?! Send me to the moon?!"
"As much as I'd love to do that, Chris!" the sheriff yelled." I have orders from the president to bring you back to the monument to clean up the mess you made."
"What?" Chris asked with a laugh in his voice. "All I did was give the WashingtonMonument a new look."
"Yeah, you drew a clown face on it and gave it a rainbow design!" the sheriff yelled.
Chris rubbed the back of his head as he said, "Y-you noticed that huh?"
The sheriff grabbed Chris's shirt and dragged him along the sidewalk saying, "Difficult not to. It was on all the nationwide news channels."
Chris waved his hand in front of him as he said, "Breaking news. It turns out the president has a soft spot for rainbows. You got to love a girly boy president, don't ya?"
The sheriff pulled Chris to his eyes and said, "You idiot! You turned our nation's monument into a rainbow and drew a clown's face on it! It's going to take weeks to get that cleaned up! Don't you know what the monument symbolizes?!
"No, but I know why they call the White House the white house," Chris replied.
"Oh really?" the sheriff asked in a surprised voice. "Why is it called the White House?"
"Because the builders couldn't come up with a better name and went with the obvious," Chris replied with his arms crossed.
The sheriff face palmed and said in annoyance, "No, the White House is called that because . . . because . . . hmm, I forget that part. But never mind that! You are in some serious trouble, Chris."
Chris smirked as he whispered to himself, "When have I not been?"
The sheriff hung his head down as a news helicopter flew overhead. I suppose they're going to want an interview, damn it, Chris, he thought to himself.
In the courtyard of the WashingtonMonument, one of the security guards was ordered to keep an eye on Chris, but the sheriff volunteered instead. Chris was given a bucket of water and a small brush and then was told to clean the paint off the monument. As Chris cleaned off the paint of the monument, he looked up at the sheriff and said, "Don't you have officer class or something? You know, teaching the newbies?"
The sheriff laughed silently to himself then said, "Nope. Thanks to you, I'm off work as of thirty minutes ago."
Chris's face suddenly fell in disappointment. "Oh, I see. Well, that sucks! Now I have to stay here!" He yelled in anger.
The sheriff nodded and looked down at Chris with a serious face and said, "And you're not leaving until this building is spotless. Got it?!"
The anger in the sheriff's voice sent chills down Chris's back. He puffed his chest out and saluted, "Yes, sir! Aye!"
The sheriff hung his head for a moment and said, "Get back to work!"
"Aye, sir!" Chris replied.
"Uggghhhh!" the sheriff moaned as he face-palmed. He then looked at Chris and said, "You're not getting anywhere with that attitude, buddy."
"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" Chris replied.
The sheriff put his head between his knees, trying to hide the small grin appearing on his face. He then looked at Chris and said, "When you're done messing around and actually get some of this paint off. What say we go to the new McDonald's restaurant that just opened a few days ago? I've heard they've gotten a pretty good-sized menu selection in the past few years."
A ding echoed through Chris's mind. He started scrubbing harder and faster while yelling excitedly, "You're kidding me! The new McDonald's restaurant that just opened a week ago?! You stay right there and don't move! This won't take long!"
"I'll take a number 2!" Chris said with cheer in his voice.
"And I'll take a number 3, hold the onions," the sheriff said as he pulled out his wallet.
"That'll be $14.79," the clerk replied.
While the sheriff paid for their food, Chris went to the back of the restaurant to claim their seats. However, when he took his seat, he noticed almost everyone in the building was giving him looks of disgust.
"Oh no, not now!" Chris whispered to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone reaching their hand out to him. "Hey! What are you doing?! Get your hands off me!" He shouted with fear in his voice.
Suddenly a loud whistle echoed through the building and everyone turned to face the sheriff who had a serious look on his face.
"Either go back to your seats . . . or park it in the backseat of my cruiser!" the sheriff said with anger in his voice.
The man holding Chris growled angrily and shoved Chris into the wall as hard as he could before letting go of his shirt.
The sheriff walked over to the man and said, "You have fifteen seconds to walk out that door and get out of my sight. Fail to do this, and I will place you under arrest! Is that clear?!"
The man growled and then walked out the door, sending one more evil glare to Chris. Chris let out a sigh of relief and then took his seat across from the sheriff.
After finishing his meal, Chris looked at the sheriff and asked, "Why am I treated like this? What did I ever do to these people? All my life I've been treated like this. No respect, no friends . . . and no family. Why am I so separated from everyone else? I don't even remember half of my life."
The sheriff gave Chris a sad look and then said, "There's a law that keeps people from talking about it."
Chris's eyes widened as he asked, "Wait! A law?! Why is my past such a secret from me? I'm human, am I not?"
The sheriff looked down at the floor as he said, "I want to tell you, Chris, but I can't. There are some things that are better off not being discovered . . . even your own past. You'll know one day, but that might be a long time from now."
Chris didn’t look back and used the crowd to his advantage. At only the age of fourteen, he was able to nimbly dart and squeeze through the thick crowd, and his shorter height made it harder for the officers behind to keep track of him. However, his dirty and torn clothes would make him stand out like a sore thumb if they managed to catch up with him, and trouble was coming. Ahead was a vast opening with no crowd to hide in, and he wouldn’t be able to outrun the cops in a full-on sprint. Luckily, however, Chris knew the city like he knew the back of his hand and knew of an alley he could duck into and hide. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to see where the cops were and saw they were still a good distance behind him. He slipped into the alley without anyone noticing, and hid behind a large green dumpster, and curled up inside a half-empty black trash sack he kept just open enough to see the sidewalk. A few seconds passed, and the police officers went running by. One of them stopped at the entrance and skimmed the walls before walking a little further in.
Chris closed the sack’s opening but left a small enough hole for one eye to see through. The cop searched behind several trash cans and lifted the lids to see inside. He then searched around the big green dumpster for a moment, then lifted the lid to look inside. The smell must have been terrible, because the officer covered his mouth and took a step back, slamming the lid shut. He then skimmed the alley one more time, before shaking his head and running in the direction the other officers went.
Chris waited a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear, and to make sure no other cops came by. When he decided enough time had passed, he climbed out of the sack and cleaned himself off. His clothes were stained to no end, and he smelled horrible. But it was nothing new. This was how life had been for as long as he could remember. He was only fourteen years of age, yet he had a reputation for being Washington’s worst criminal. The law had been chasing him for years, but they were rarely able to catch him. The last time he had been cuffed was two years ago; since then, no officer had been able to touch him.
The growling of his stomach was loud, and he could feel it practically eating itself. He covered his belly with one hand, then looked at the reason he had been chased through the streets. In his left hand, he held a single stolen loaf of bread with an orange and an apple crammed into his pockets. Some basic food products sold by the millions – if not billions each year was enough to have a small army of cops chasing him through the streets.
He sat against the wall and opened the loaf of bread; Honey bread tended to be his primary target. It seemed to fill him up decently enough, but it also tasted sweeter than most other kinds. The last time he had eaten had been several days ago, so he scoffed each slice of bread down in only one or two bites. In only a matter of seconds, half the loaf was gone. By law, it was required for the orphanage he “lived at” to feed him food on a daily basis, which they did, but it was usually something that was barely edible. Chris was by no means a picky eater, but it seemed the minister at the orphanage hated his guts for some unexplained reason, which was why Chris dreaded the thought of even touching the food served to him there. One night the minister snuck into his room while he was asleep and savagely beat him with a thick wooden staff for seemingly no reason. When the minister finally stopped, Chris was drenched in his own blood, and the scars from that incident were still visible on his skin. Chris reported the incident to the local police, but he was chased out of the station; ever since, Chris has slept with one eye open and barricaded the door to his room every night. He wouldn’t put it above the minister to poison his food and call it an accident, either.
When he was finished eating, he wrapped the remaining bread in the sack and hid it behind the dumpster to return to later and threw what remained of the fruits in the trash. He put his hands into his pockets and walked out of the alley where he looked around. No law enforcement was in sight, and he knew how to scan for them. After being chased for years, he knew all the hiding spots and what to look for. However, there was one person in law enforcement who knew him too well. Well enough to make Chris uncomfortable.
As Chris walked around the corner of a building, a Captain of the city police stepped outside of a black unmarked SUV. Chris’ first reaction to seeing the uniform was to bolt, but after seeing who it was, he remained calm and stayed where he was. The Captain had a mildly unpleased, but understanding look on his face, and with a heavy sigh, he approached the young boy, “Causing trouble again, Chris? I thought we talked about this before.”
Chris didn’t say anything but stood in place with his hands still jammed in his pockets. The Captain was by far the only person who seemed to care for him, but Chris had always been a little suspicious of the Captain. They first met when he was a Lieutenant, and he had caught him several times, but it was like the now Captain knew something Chris didn’t about himself, which was why he didn’t fully trust the Captain. That being said, however, the Captain was the closest thing to a friend Chris had, and in a very twisted kind of way, he almost seemed like a father. Often, the Captain would scold Chris, yet he seemed to know what he was doing was never his fault to begin with. Most never bothered to look, but the Captain saw nothing but innocence and confusion in Chris’ blue eyes. He was innocent. Regardless of how many “crimes” he committed, though the crimes never hurt anyone. Chris never had a mother or a father to look after him, and his supposed family turned their backs on him long ago. Of course, the truth was more complicated, and the Captain knew it, but that was only because he had served in the Air Force for several years prior to becoming law enforcement. He would never admit or reveal it, and Chris was completely oblivious to it, but he and the boy had a history.
Chris looked at the Captain with a featureless face. He knew he had done wrong, and that they had talked about this on a number of occasions, but what choice did he have? Was the Captain really going to buy every single meal for him to keep him from stealing? Highly doubtful.
The Captain approached Chris and gave him a silent stare. It was meant to be an intimidation, but it didn’t really phase Chris now, especially dealing with what he has to deal with a daily basis every single day of the year. However, that didn’t change the fact that he understood what the Captain wants him to do. He sighed heavily and turned around to walk the way he came. He walked back to the alley and grabbed what’s left of the bread loaf from behind the dumpster, then walked back to the Captain.
“Here.” Chris said as he tossed the remnants of his food at the Captain. His voice was uncaring, and his actions were about the same.
The Captain caught the bread loaf against his chest and showed a hint of displeasure when he noticed half of the bread missing, though Chris didn’t know what else he could have been expecting. The Captain exhaled another heavy sigh and walked back to his SUV. “Well, come on. If you return this to the store, I’ll take you to get something to eat.”
Chris raised an eyebrow in confusion, “You really want me to return a half-eaten loaf of bread?”
The Captain turned to look at Chris as he opened the door to his SUV, “I don’t care if they take it back or not, and I’ll be surprised if they do. I just want you to see how it feels to return something.”
Chris stared at the Captain with a dumbstruck look, “You want me to know how it feels to return something?! I do return something! Every single day of my life I return something! I return the respect this city and the people in it give me, which is nothing!”
The Captain just stared at Chris with a look of understanding. He knew this was hard for Chris to take in. How could it not be? He had been treated worse than dirt for as long as he could remember, yet no one ever told him why. All he had was himself, so all he had a right to care for was himself. Unlike most people, the Captain often tried to picture himself in Chris’ shoes to understand why he does the things he does, and there was always a legitimate reason. He understood the “crimes” that Chris kept committing were simply to survive. He never stole anything more than loaves of bread, some fruit and the occasional cereal box or bottle of water. Everyday items no one would even know were gone if they weren’t paying attention. And he couldn’t deny that Chris had tried to do the right thing time and time again. In the past, Chris would spend hours looking for dropped coins on the street to pay for something to eat, but the store owners would chase him out, or in extreme case, beat him multiple times before finally throwing him back outside. After witnessing such actions over the years, the Captain didn’t have to think very hard to understand why Chris stooped to petty thievery. He never hurt anyone, and he never stole anything of personal value. He never resulted to pickpocketing or digging around in women’s purses when they weren’t looking. He would simply run into a store, grab the first thing in arm’s reach, then rush out. The store owner would freak out, and Chris would suddenly have the police department all over him again. It was hard for the Captain not to pity him. And getting caught by law enforcement was not something Chris could afford. Even officers have beaten him and even went to the extreme of shooting him with a taser multiple times.
The Captain exhaled another sigh and sat in the driver seat of his SUV. He wasn’t going to argue with the boy for things he really had no place to fault him for, “Just get in, Chris.”
Chris was reluctant but climbed in the passenger side of the SUV. He was still hungry and wasn’t going to turn away a meal the Captain was offering to pay for.
And I should probably point out, I wrote the original when I was still in high school and had just started writing. So, don't be too judgemental with it.