An expression of absolute horror squelched across his face. He woke up. He found himself in darkness. Where was he? He felt the air draining from his body. There was no air here. Where was here? He started to blackout. The blackness was swallowing him up. Then it hit him. There was no way out. No-where to go. He was going to die.

A light flickered on. For a split second he was blinded. But suddenly the world came back to him. Slowly but surely he saw a figure. Standing in front of him. It was staring at him. A shiver ran down his spine. He was scared. Scared out of his wits. The figure was a man. Another shiver ran down his spine. His whole body started shivering. Goosebumps rose to the top of his skin. He was cold. Really cold. Who was this man? The man started walking towards him. His breathing shallow. He laughed and grinned. The lights flickered out.

The screams could be heard a mile away. The deafening roar screeched across the desert floor. When the screams flowed into your ear you immediately look at the attic. You quivered at the thought of what might be happening up there. The screams told the story. Pain and torture. It must be horrible. Just thinking about it makes you cringe all over.

The screams faded. He woke up again. But this time something was different. The bruises were black and the cuts were long. The pain was horrendous. He had not experienced anything like this before. No one should have experience this before.

A few hours later once the strength was within him again he went over to the door. As he thought he came to the conclusion that he was in some part of a house. When he looked through the window above him he saw the sky which brought him to the conclusion that he was in the attic of this place. He reached the door. The handle was cold. Really cold. He twisted. He knew that it would be locked. But something miraculous happened. The door swung open. Outside the door was a corridor. It was long, illuminated by the sunlight. The bright rays blinded him. He walked out. The floorboards creaked. He stopped. No-one was to be seen. He continued forward. He was 5 metres from the stairs. He took the hallway one step at a time. He prayed no-one saw him. He continued down the stairs. He peered around the corner. There was no-one. He kept walking onwards. Then he froze. He heard voices. His head span around trying to find somewhere to run. Somewhere to hide. But there was nothing. No-where to go. His heart was pumping three times faster than usual. But no-one came. Still the voices continued. He wasn’t going to hang around to find out what they were saying. That was the last thing on his mind.

So he ran. This was a major mistake. But he needed to run. He needed to get out of there. He needed to find somewhere to hide. But the voices had heard some one running and looked out the door to see the prisoner running away. They ran after him. He kept on running. He ran through a door. Throwing it open. He froze. There were men in front of him. They were holding guns. And those guns were pointed at him.

There was nothing to do. No-where to go. No-where to hide. No-one could help him. No-one would help him. He was a goner. The men with guns closed around him. One of them grabbed him around the throat and squeezed tight. The air was being sucked out of his lungs. That precious air, suddenly disappearing. He was clinging on. Not giving up till his last moment. He tried to think about something happy. He didn’t want to die full of hatred and regret. But nothing came up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t remember anything that made him smile or made him laugh. It was like this place sucked all happy memories away. Never to be seen again.

The hand released. He fell to the ground. Air filled into his lungs. His life was spared. He heard laughter but couldn’t comprehend where it was coming from. The world started to spin. Around and around, like he was on a carousel. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t look any longer. He started to feel sick. His brain about to overheat. Unable to cope with all the events that were happening around him. The laughter continued. And still he felt like he was spinning. Even though his eyes were closed. Around and around it went. For some strange reason it felt like he was spinning faster. Around and around. He heard a click noise. The world stopped. Then suddenly it went quiet.

His legs were screaming out in agony. He was being dragged along the ground. He felt the rocks slashing violently into his skin. The blood was running down his leg. He was suddenly jolted upwards. He opened his eyes. He looked left and right but there were only people with guns staring at him. These men were so intent. All staring at him. Not taking their sight off him, not even for a split second. Someone sneezed. He looked for the source of the noise. It was a teenager. Around the age of 17 or 18. He looked scared. But why? That question was suddenly answered by 2 rounds of bullets that were being pounded into the kids body. He looked away and still all the other men were staring at him. Not worried by what had just happened to the kid standing 2 metres away. But he couldn’t look any longer. For he was suddenly thrusted onto his knees.

He could see it. The door at the end of the tunnel. And the room behind it. Awaiting his entrance. Thoughts floated through his mind of his son taking his first steps. And his first word “Daddy”. He embraced these thoughts. Happy that they were back. Something pushed against his neck. But he ignored it. He was thinking of his son. And nothing was going to disturb that. He was hoping that this poking feeling would just go away. But he realised what that feeling was. It was a gun. And it was pointed at him.

He woke up. Lying on the floor he was sweating from head to toe. It was just a dream. All a dream, none of it true. He started to take in his surroundings. The whole room was dusty and cob webs filled the wall from top to bottom. He had seen this place before. But where? It was all so familiar to something that he had seen. That window above him letting in rays and rays of sunlight. Its all familiar. That door. The door handle cold and bitter. He swallowed. His heart pounding rapidly. He stood back. This was the room. This was the attic. The attic that was in his dream. His nightmare, now a reality. He turned around. The door handle starting to turn. Slowly and surely. Like it was taunting him. For as he knew what was behind that door. But he couldn’t comprehend the thought. The door flung open. His heart stopped. He was right.

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