I'm only posting this because my friend Rachel keep telling me too "post something"!!
Anyways i'm not sure what I want to write on here yet so this is a short story I wrote when I was about 15....
Unnamed
A shiver runs down the back of my neck as I hear the rain splatter onto the roof of the van and watch it trickle down the windowpane. It is cold outside and for a moment I am thankful for the warmth of the van, but only for a moment. I scrunch my eyes up tight and imagine the people rushing up and down the busy street.
I wonder if they suspect that just a few feet away a teenage girl is lying on the floor of a van her hands tied to the seats.
Of course they don’t, they are all too occupied with shopping and thinking about what they are going to have for tea tonight. I shift my body trying, without success, to turn over in the cramped space. One side of me is numb; the other is covered in pins and needles.
There is little air in here, the windows have fogged up and it doesn’t help having this masking tape on either.
I shake my head as if to dispel my thoughts and shift into agent mode.
Its time to do my stuff.
“Ok mental note to self” ‘driver is left handed’.
‘Bald guy can’t handle himself under pressure he’ll probably be using that gun’.
I remember all the training, “never panic” ‘always have a plan B and escape route’. ‘NEVER never let your guard down’.
They will be coming back soon…
Fifteen minutes later and I hear footsteps, the doors open then slam. I lie still, my eyes closed, hoping they will think I’ve passed-out. The engine starts and the van shudders away from the curb. My ear to the floor I can hear to cranking of metal and the noise of rubber as it drags along the tarmac. The car smells musty, like it has been left in the sun with the windows up, dust keeps coming up from the carpet. I can tell that this is a men only vehicle, the smell of sweat mixed with fish and chips assaults my senses with every breath. If I crane my neck I can just see the top of the bald guy’s head. Suddenly the head moves, I close my eyes again and lie perfectly still. He must think I’m still out because a moment later he starts up a conversation with the driver.
“How much do you think we’ll get for this one”?
“How should I know”?
“You mean you didn’t ask”? “Are you stupid”?
“Look you can’t just ask her, she’s not that kind of boss”!
“I would of asked”!
“Oh right and got banged off, good idea!
The bald man swore and muttered something under his breath. The driver starts to speak when the van veers off to the right and I am flung against the seats. My face smacks against something metal and I bite back a scream of pain.
“Watch out, are you trying to kill us”! Shouts the bald man.
“Pedestrian crossing”. Mutterers the driver.
In the back I’m desperately searching for the sharp object that I banged my face on. There it is just above me, I inch slowly towards it and set to work on my hands. Thankfully the rattling of the engine covers the sound of breaking ropes. Once my hands are free its just a matter of seconds before my feet are undone.
With masking tape still on I look around for an escape route. The side door is too risky, they would see me before I could open it. That just leaves the boot!
I pace myself and count to three then with as much force as I can muster, I throw myself over the seat and grab the door handle.
Without a moment hesitation I fling the door open and jump out.
What comes next is like a blur, the sound of screeching tyres, car horns mixed with people yelling, the jolt, I hear as well as feel, as I slam into the tarmac.
For a what seems like an age I am paralysed with pain. My head throbs and my arms and legs aches. Slowly I open my eyes.
The van is gone.
I see people pointing, and talking, cars parked in the middle of the road. I blink. Gently, bit by bit I move, pushing myself up until I stand.
My knees feel wobbly I’m dizzy and cold all over.
People are trying to talk to me. I realise I still have the masking tape on, tears sting my eyes as I rip it off.
I stumble forward someone grabs my arm and guides me into a shop.
I glance around dazed. I spot a phone and pounce upon it.
No one tries to stop me as I dial the number tattooed into my memory. I listen for the tone then half whisper half croak….
“Zero, Seven, Three, Alfa, Zebra, Twelve, Mission Complete”.
