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My lip was still bleeding; it wouldn’t stop. My face was still numb from the beating I had taken and the tattered, bloodstained clothes I wore hung from my bruised body. I ached. It wasn’t so much the pain as the annoyance of what had happened that made me cry. As I sat there with my head in my hands on the cold concrete steps, I began to remember how this has all begun.
It was late last night, they asked me to stay late and work. The told me I would get a bonus for it. It’s hard to say no with a gun to your head. They told me of their special delivery, a shipment of Cocaine from Cuba, I had to unload it from their truck. The men were all in their Armani suits; I felt so out of place in my baggy overalls and dirty boots. It took me hours to take all the crates from the truck to the warehouse; all the while they watched me whilst drinking their champagne.
After what must have been hours, I had finished. I had taken all of the crates from the truck and stacked them in a neat pile in the warehouse. My job was complete, or so I thought. It turns out that nobody was to know about the drugs, it the authorities found out the entire warehouse would be closed down. I was a threat to them, I knew too much.
They called me into the office and before I could ask them what they wanted I was surrounded by gun barrels again. They told me I knew too much, they would have to silence me. Before they could finish I ran faster than I had ever ran before, out of the office chased by 8 white-hot bullets, luckily none of them hit me. I sprint into the warehouse and out of the large loading bay. Their angry screams and shouts echo through my mind. Another few shots rebound from the metal doorframe as I flee away from the men.
I ran until my body was fit to collapse, and then I ran some more. I found myself in the docklands on the old town, alone. The dirty old steps of an abandoned depot looked inviting and I sat there to catch my breath and to thank God for letting me escape with my life. After a few deep breaths my prayer was interrupted by a shout as two men sprinted towards me; they had found me. They must have split up to search the area so at least I didn’t have to face all 8 of them. I jumped to my feet and ran again. I fled into an alleyway hoping to hide in the darkness, but the alley was fenced off and I had nowhere to run.
They paced up the passage and I noticed they were no longer holding their firearms, probably due to the fact if someone saw them then police would be all over the place. Instead of guns the men brandished steel poles, which they swung casually as they moved closed. I remembered hearing somewhere that attack was the best defence and lunged at one of the men, knocking him down. After punching him in the side of the head I felt a heavy blow to the bottom of my spine, making me spasm and yelp in pain. The two men stamped on me and kicked me until I stopped moving. I thought if I stopped moving they would leave me for dead, I was right. After they left I waited on the floor for hours, still scared to move in case they came back. When daylight hit I got to my feet and noticed the pool of blood around where I had been laid.
I clambered out of the alleyway, still being cautious. I found it hard to walk and with each pace I took I had to bite my lip to help from screaming in agony. I found some steps to sit on and wait for daytime to arrive and for someone to come to my aid. I don’t know what time it is now because my watch got smashed by the thugs who beat me. I hope someone comes soon, I feel weak.
It was late last night, they asked me to stay late and work. The told me I would get a bonus for it. It’s hard to say no with a gun to your head. They told me of their special delivery, a shipment of Cocaine from Cuba, I had to unload it from their truck. The men were all in their Armani suits; I felt so out of place in my baggy overalls and dirty boots. It took me hours to take all the crates from the truck to the warehouse; all the while they watched me whilst drinking their champagne.
After what must have been hours, I had finished. I had taken all of the crates from the truck and stacked them in a neat pile in the warehouse. My job was complete, or so I thought. It turns out that nobody was to know about the drugs, it the authorities found out the entire warehouse would be closed down. I was a threat to them, I knew too much.
They called me into the office and before I could ask them what they wanted I was surrounded by gun barrels again. They told me I knew too much, they would have to silence me. Before they could finish I ran faster than I had ever ran before, out of the office chased by 8 white-hot bullets, luckily none of them hit me. I sprint into the warehouse and out of the large loading bay. Their angry screams and shouts echo through my mind. Another few shots rebound from the metal doorframe as I flee away from the men.
I ran until my body was fit to collapse, and then I ran some more. I found myself in the docklands on the old town, alone. The dirty old steps of an abandoned depot looked inviting and I sat there to catch my breath and to thank God for letting me escape with my life. After a few deep breaths my prayer was interrupted by a shout as two men sprinted towards me; they had found me. They must have split up to search the area so at least I didn’t have to face all 8 of them. I jumped to my feet and ran again. I fled into an alleyway hoping to hide in the darkness, but the alley was fenced off and I had nowhere to run.
They paced up the passage and I noticed they were no longer holding their firearms, probably due to the fact if someone saw them then police would be all over the place. Instead of guns the men brandished steel poles, which they swung casually as they moved closed. I remembered hearing somewhere that attack was the best defence and lunged at one of the men, knocking him down. After punching him in the side of the head I felt a heavy blow to the bottom of my spine, making me spasm and yelp in pain. The two men stamped on me and kicked me until I stopped moving. I thought if I stopped moving they would leave me for dead, I was right. After they left I waited on the floor for hours, still scared to move in case they came back. When daylight hit I got to my feet and noticed the pool of blood around where I had been laid.
I clambered out of the alleyway, still being cautious. I found it hard to walk and with each pace I took I had to bite my lip to help from screaming in agony. I found some steps to sit on and wait for daytime to arrive and for someone to come to my aid. I don’t know what time it is now because my watch got smashed by the thugs who beat me. I hope someone comes soon, I feel weak.
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I remember the 'Made from Girders' and i'm 15!
Used a lot of discriptive language, something I need to learn to do without going off the plot.
Indeed.
Nice one Kyle.
Used a lot of discriptive language, something I need to learn to do without going off the plot.
Indeed.
Nice one Kyle.
Azul - it is before our time mate.
Rosalind wrote:
> Y'know...The advert....
>
> Iron Bru
>
> Made from Girders...In Scotland.
>
> *runs*
I can't actually say I remember that.
But indeed.
Irn-Bru rocks.
Yay!
> Y'know...The advert....
>
> Iron Bru
>
> Made from Girders...In Scotland.
>
> *runs*
I can't actually say I remember that.
But indeed.
Irn-Bru rocks.
Yay!
Rosalind wrote:
> Babies
Quiet, grandma :-P
> Babies
Quiet, grandma :-P
Babies
Its true, she showed me a link and everything :-D
Y'know...The advert....
Iron Bru
Made from Girders...In Scotland.
*runs*
Iron Bru
Made from Girders...In Scotland.
*runs*
Yes Ros, that's right.
I'm made from girders.
"Quick, go and fetch the nurse with her medicine"
I'm made from girders.
"Quick, go and fetch the nurse with her medicine"
Azul
'Made in Scotland'
From Girders?
'Made in Scotland'
From Girders?
Good read, nice one.
The descriptive detailing is very good, and it painted a good picture in my head.
Well done.
The descriptive detailing is very good, and it painted a good picture in my head.
Well done.
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