I stand here today, facing my doom. The only thing separating me from freedom and death is this wall. There is a door nearby . Do I dare open it? No. Then why am I standing here? A boy of twelve, only 5 feet, 4 four inches in height. The wall has many plants growing on it. I’d expect it to be heavily laden with graffiti that all spelled FREEDOM ! and WAR !. They would never do that I thought. Cowards. But what am I to be calling others cowards? I am standing here, with a door nearby and not moving. Am I facing a wall, or facing death? Am I standing here, or am I only hanging myself because of my cowardice? At that moment, I ran towards the door. I threw my hand onto the handle. Almost! I thought. I was about to wrench open the door but then I heard the ominously familiar sound of a shotgun cocking, the muzzle against the back of my neck. CHK , CHK
I heard a raspy voice. I voice that only could be obtained if your very heart freezes over.
“We don’t tolerate runners.” The voice rasped.
Shit!
BANG !