Captured
Anastasia Cullen
(Hereford)
My tummy fluttered as I thought about my mum. My poor mum left in a smelly, miserable infirmary. As I walked out the exit, I noticed a gang of teenage boys sitting on a slightly crumbly brick wall. They all turned to stare at me as I walked past, sending a shiver down my spine. One of the boys was wearing a top that had a picture of a dingo in armour with the initials KB at the bottom. He had blue eyes and an icy stare.
I tried to keep my head held high, but before I knew it, I was being dragged away. I opened my mouth to scream but a firm, gloved hand blocked it. They tied my hands together with a thick piece of rope. They shoved me into a cold, bare room with a small window of a derelict building. They untied the rope from my hands and I examined the red marks left on my wrists.
The rest of the thugs all wore black. Black jeans, black shirts, black leather jackets, black gloves and clunky black doc martins. It was an empty room apart from the company of a hard wooden bench and a stained blue table. They left me alone in the room and as they left, their footsteps faded. I could feel the tears stinging in my eyes and I could feel big fat salty tears streaming down my bright pink cheeks.
I felt scared, lost and lonely. I choked back the fear. I could see the beautiful glow of the gentle, calm moon, lying still in the dark night.
It had been a long day, and my eyes drifted off to sleep. I was woken up by the warm, golden rays of the sun. For a moment I forgot where I was until I rubbed my eyes. I pictured the rough thugs hustling me into the room. I felt angry. The anger kicked its way to life. My face turned red as I felt the blood rush to it. I looked down and noticed my fists were clenched, ready to blow.
I screamed as loud as I could, but gave up as no one came and my throat was dry, my voice hoarse. My fists were still clenched so I banged them as hard as I could; I imagined I was in a boxing ring with my worst enemy. I thumped and banged until I could see the whites of my bones. My knuckles stung but for once I didn’t care. All I wanted was to be at home with dad and my brother Josh.
A key turned in the lock. It was one of the gang. I remember him because he has a big nose and a silver stud in his ear. He had a bowl of sludge, well at least that’s what it looked like. “Mushroom stew” he said with a sly grin. When he bashed the bowl on the table, a cold drop flopped onto my nose.
As he noisily stumbled to the door, I crept behind him and slipped into the hall. I made myself as flat as I could against the wall. He turned to lock the door and I sprinted as fast as I could and bumped into an unexpected Frank Scully. “There’s no escape kiddo,” he sneered and my face fell.