by Hailey W., Age 13
, Grade 7, Riverstone International School, Boise , IDAHO USA
Teacher: Charrisa Raucsh
14 and Out of luck
Bullets of sweat are dripping down my face from a bad dream. I get up brush my teeth and pretend like nothing happened. This dream was weird it almost felt real. Whatever I say to myself with a shrug. Noticing I smell disgusting from the sweat I quickly take a shower and go downstairs. I have to walk my little brother to his 4th grade classroom and then I can go to school. I drop him off and something feels off. I almost feel like someone or something is watching me. I quickly pick up my pace and get to the building 10 minutes before class actually starts. New record I say to myself. I don't have many girl friends so I tend to hang out with my boyfriend and his friends. The bell rings and its time for math, my first class. I think that math is the worst class of the day. I sit there doodling when the teacher calls on me. “Ms. Royce can you answer this question?” he says sternly. He must have known that I wasn't listening. I guess that the answer was 14 and out of luck I got it correct. Why was this boring me already in the first 18 minutes of class?
I sit there, still doodling when a random lady calls me out of the classroom. I start walking when my boyfriend yells ooh you’re in trouble. I say shut up and leave. I start walking with her when I see a logo on her jacket. It looks like the number 14. I recognize it but I do not remember where it came from. We get to the front office and I ask Where is the front desk lady? I see a quiver in her eye as she ignores the question and says we have to go.” I say no I am not going with you,” as I start to run away something hits me. I look at my arm and see that I was shot with some type of needle. I quickly look at her until everything goes black. I wake up a couple hours later noticing that I am handcuffed to the back of chair. I look up and people with the logo 14 on their army green jackets are staring at me waiting for me to wake up. They all step to the side and lead a path for the commander to walk in. He has broad shoulders and walks in with a limp. He takes a deep breath and says “ You have been recruited to work for a secret organization called A.T.R.U.S, Advanced Technological Research of the United States.” “What am I doing here, why do you need me?” I ask worried. “Oh thats none of your worry.” He whispers to the guy next to him to un cuff me. “Wait you are letting me go?” I ask with a sigh of relief. “No he says giggling You are just getting started.”
He takes me over to a room that has different guns and weapons. “Are you going to kill me”? I ask. “No He says I want you to choose one.” I look at the different options and don't want to pick up one. I pick up one that looks like a handgun. He sneaks up behind me and whispers thats a P320. I think that was a great option.” I look at him nervously and ask “ Am I going to have to kill someone?” I ask. “Yes you will have to kill this man for us.” He says with a painful look as he reaches in his pocket and grabs two tiny pills for the pain. I am guessing those for his leg. “I will do no such thing. This man whoever he is does not deserve to die.” I say begging him not to have me do this. I quickly slap him the face and try to run away but the guards catch me quickly and knock me out. I wake with a giant bruise on my face and I am handcuffed to the table this time instead of the chair. “What do you want from me?” I yell at his face. He says that he wants answers. I did not know what he was talking about until he showed pictures. “This man his name is…” I interrupt him and say “Noah Anderson.” Noah is my boyfriend. “Good you know him you can tell me what I need to know then.” He asks me different questions that I know the answer to but and resisting to say them. He looks at me with a stern look and says “Do you want me to do this the hard way?” he asks. “Do your worst commander.” I say confidently but am actually not. “He brings out a toolbox with pliers and knives. I start to worry but look at him confidently. He blindfolds me and tapes my mouth shut. He whispers in my ear, “ Just so you wont scream.” I take a deep breath in and try not to worry. He asks me a question as I feel something rap around my finger. I don't move. He says “Do it.” I feel the pain piercing threw my finger as I scream threw the duck tape. He rips it off my mouth and says do you want to answer that now. I blurt out the answer not even thinking. “That wasn't so hard was it” he says. He unblind folds me as I look at finger. Blood is dripping as my finger is crooked and the bone is sticking out. I feel the tears drying as one of his guards pops my finger back in place like a soda can top and wraps it up. They bring me to a cell that surrounded by people who have been there for at least 20 years. I think to myself am I ever getting out of here?