Picture Writing - Jamie

I’m sitting on the roof of the building, heart racing in anticipation of what I am about to do. Today I would help make a difference. I grip the shopping cart tightly with my sweaty palms. The eye holes in my gas mask began to fog up, clouding my vision. Despite the sweltering heat, I resist the urge to remove the mask. I know it will help save me from the searing pain of the tear gas if I am caught by the Police. I begin the run up and give the brick laden trolley an almighty shove. It’s back wheel gets caught on the edge of the building sending it’s load of rubble flying off the edge to form a barricade across the road. I climb down, run to the pile and move some bricks in the shape of our sign. CEZA. Retribution. I joined them as soon as I recovered from the shock of losing my family to the police. They welcomed me in, but I had to complete a task for them.

I sit down to catch my breath, my mind racing with the adrenaline of what I have just done.

WEE WOO WEE WOO!!!

The cops are coming. I realise. I can’t get caught. A nearby building provides the perfect hiding spot. I jump through an open window, and hide inside a wardrobe.

Ccrreeeaaccckkkk. The cops have opened the door and are closing in. As their footsteps get closer, my heart pounds faster and faster. My gas mask fills with sweat, and my breathing becomes short and clipped. I can see them through the crack in the wardrobe now, heading towards me. I catch a glimpse of blue and black as a scarred hand reaches for the handle, about to open my hiding place. I am like a rabbit in his hole, slowly being dug out by the hunting dogs.

“I think I saw him!” yells another officer. They turn away and head upstairs. A breath I have not realised I was holding escapes me in the form of a loud sigh. I am safe.

By Jamie