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Creative Writing

Trapped

I’m trapped and there’s no escape.  I am up high; the fifth floor I think and the windows don’t open.  I can see the door but THEY would notice if I went for it.  If I keep looking at him; he’ll think I’m paying attention.  There are others – next to me and behind me.  I wonder if they feel the same.  I glance at my watch – again.  Why don’t the hands move? Has it stopped?  Why am I even here?  Keep writing, he’ll think I’m paying attention.

The room is not soundproof – I can hear a man’s voice next door.  I wonder if I call out whether he’ll come and rescue me.  The man in charge, by the door is talking about finding violations and taking action.  He has a gun in his hand or is it a pen?  He is becoming agitated or is it animated?  His arms are flapping or is he gesticulating? Give them projected balance as well he is saying. I glance sideways.  The woman next to me is frantically scribbling an SOS message or is it notes?  The woman on my other side is on her iPhone – she’s contacting the emergency services or is it Facebook.

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The man at the door is talking about a corset while waving his gun and I begin to panic. This is terrible, I knew I should have stayed in bed today.  Perhaps he meant core set but I can’t be sure.

My forehead nearly hits the table I’m sitting behind – he must have slipped something into the water jug – soon we’ll all be unconscious and then who knows what will happen – his side-kick will shut the blackout blinds and……

Suddenly there is movement all around me and I struggle to bring my eyes into focus.  Try harder woman, your life could depend on it!  The emergency services must have made it after all and we’ve been saved from this gun-weilding, corset-ripping maniac.  “Fifteen minutes for morning tea folks – back here at eleven for the next session.”

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