I wrote this extract for my Publishing unit at University. I love the idea of creative writing and would someday love to work in publishing and be a successful fictional author. Feel free to leave comments / advice.
Electric.
A feeling of pounding slowly creeps into my head as I open my eyes to the horrific florescent lights that buzz above me. I try to make sense of where I am but all I can do is think of how dry my throat is, how each breath scrapes along my windpipe. I need water.
I look around me and all I can see is dark shadows and my nostrils are filled with what can only be described as a rotten metallic smell. As I slowly sit up I see a barred window and a heavy metal door that appears to be bolting me in. The pounding in my head increases and the walls get closer and closer in around me. I need to get out.
“Help me! Please, I need water. I don’t feel right, I’m dizzy,” I stuttered to whomever maybe on the other side of the door. My knees could barely support my weight and I could feel a tremble throughout my body. I couldn’t hear anything. I tried again, louder straining my already scratched throat, “Hello? I need some water! Please I don’t know where I am.”
It is at this point with my ear stuck to the cold metal of the door that I hear mumbles and what sounds like a laughing noise. The walls are getting closer; the shadows seem to be moving in on me. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. All I can do is try to plead with the laughter outside, but now even that seems to be impossible. My eyes start to sting, my cheeks start to smoulder and before I know what to do next, I am on the floor, crying loud and hard. It’s a struggle to get air and I start to gasp as new waves of teas stream down my face. I can’t control the shaking in my hands. I’ve never felt this helpless.
“Judith, this one’s crying, think she’s come round,” a deep voice booms from the other side of the door. The voice is so loud that it startles me and I choke on my own tears. I fall silent in case the voice shouts again. But it is a soft, firm voice that comes next, “Smith will want to see her in his office so get her out of there and keep her quiet.” Keep me quiet? Who on earth is Smith? The fear that I’ve been trying to keep suddenly bursts out as I scream and demand to know what is going on.
My shouts were met with a burly man striding into the room. He wasn’t tall but whatever he lacked in height he made up for in width. His ginger hair was lank and scraped back. His entrance was so shocking that I merely froze in his presence; I could hear my loud cries simmer down into whimpers. He appeared to scoop me up in one swift movement and before I knew what was happening I was on my feet. His breath smelt stale with a faint waft of cigarette smoke. His hands were tightly grasped on my arms, so much so that I’ll probably be bruised.
I think somewhere in me had already come to the conclusion that I was either going to wake up from this nightmare or I was going to die. I had a strong feeling that it was going to be the latter. I wasn’t ready for that. I kicked out hard against the brute but it didn’t even faze him. I needed to loosen his grip on me so I could escape, but he just wasn’t letting go. As he pulled me along, I let out a high pitched scream into his ear and continued to spit and wriggle to get free. I needed to get out of here. I know I looked crazy, but I couldn’t help it, these people were probably going to kill me. All he did was tighten his grip on my arms. I felt dizzy. I need water. I feel weird, faint… my legs are shaking, I need some air.
“Here, drink this. You fainted on your way down here, water will help,” a man in a suit and big glasses held out a small glass of water towards me. I took it and gulped it down; water had never tasted so sweet before. The man started fiddling with papers, his suit looked expensive and so did his desk. My nostrils stung with the smell of his tobacco pipe. “Now,” he continued, “Who do we have here? Pretty little thing, can you tell me your name?”
“Margaret Turner, from Kentucky” I stammered, my shaky knees started to come back but at least the pounding in my head had ceased. “Sorry, I don’t know where I am, I don’t understand…See I was…”
“Don’t worry, all we need to do is focus on treating you,” he interrupted, his voice was stern and he didn’t look at me once. They were toying with me, what the hell did I need treatment for? I needed more answers, “What? I’m fine, I don’t need help, I just need to get home.” My patience was wearing thin and I could feel my stomach bubbling inside of me. He said calmly, “That’s where you are wrong Margaret, you do need treating. You’ve put up a fight this last week, but I think you’ll find we can do something to make you more…submissive.” I hated the way he said my name. My rage was building up inside of me, I know I am ok, I know I don’t need treating. “You’re not going to touch me, now let me OUT!” I screamed so hard at him I felt my lungs rattle.
“No Margaret, not until I say so.”
