Cold black on the walls, and not a sound but that of heavy breathing and foot steps echoed against the walls. What seemed a small character seemed to be running. Running away from his aggressor. Blood racing, thoughts flying, fear etched upon his face, he ran. “Fuck, a dead end.” He shouted. He turned about, tears in his eyes. He new what was to be done.

"Your money or your life? What'll it be?"

“Please, stop.” Pleaded the boy, “I’ve got nothing you want. Fuck, not even a watch!” He went to turn out his pockets, tears now rolling free.

"Buddy, your holding out on me!"

“I’m not,” But his pockets, they wouldn’t go. Of all the days to have pockets that can’t come out, “Really, i’m not!”

"Whats that then, in your pocket?" 
"NOTHING, MY POCKETS JUST DON'T COME OUT" He was hysterical.

"I'm not playing no fuckin' games kid," he cocked his gun "Last chance!"

“Why the hell would i have anything, i’m only 16!?”