Currently Untitled (PLEASE READ)
I haven't written a story (or a poem, come to think of it) in ages, and some of you might be thankful, but I thought I'd just write and see what happened.
I do need a title for this story though, so ideas would be seriously appreciated. I was just going to call it Martin Place, but that's trÃ©s boring, so...any ideas?
Also, feel free to tell me your thoughts, or places I could improve. Thanks!
Rhyme passed him her mobile, feeling a flush creep onto her cheeks as she saw people glance at the phone. It was her Dad's old phone. It wasn't even touch, it was so old. She had broken hers when she dropped it at school. She really needed to get a new one. Maybe check out EBay. When she got home, she thought, and then started. When she got home. What if she didn't? They were being held hostage at gunpoint and she was embarrassed about a phone. Was she mad? Her Dad asked her that often. Oh. Her Dad.
Her parentsâ€¦they would have no idea where she was. And she had no way to contact themâ€¦she hadn't told them where she was going. Her thoughts raced, wishing she had told them this morning, or that she had texted them before their phones were confiscated. Stupid. She was stupid.
The pregnant women beside her nudged her in the ribs and raised an eyebrow, her eyes turning toward the fire exit behind the feature wall.
"Really?" Rhyme whispered, and the women shrugged.
She couldn't risk it now. She knew that. He was watching them, so she would have to wait.
He began to talk to a man about his family, asking about his children. What sort of a person did that? Asked a person they were possibly going to kill about their family? That was sadistic. She kept her eyes on her watch. Ten minutes, fifteen.
Half an hour passed. They were all quiet, huddled together, strangers who had never once met in their life forming a silent alliance.
An hour passed before Rhyme saw her chance, and, staying low so he wouldn't see her, she crawled commando style to find reprieve behind the faux feature wall. Her heart best wildly, and she wiped away perspiration with violently shaking fingers. She was so close to the exit. Shuffling forward, she folded her hand around the cool metal of the door, and slowly, quietly, she turned the handle.
Nothing. It was locked. In that moment, her heart seemed to die inside her, a cold, frozen feeling pervading her body. She rested a cold hand on her burning forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.
His voice reached her, an angry exclamation. Then, "There was another one. Where is she?" She heard a gun being cocked and stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop the scream from crawling up her throat. "Where IS she?" he screamed. "I will shoot one of you if you do not tell me."
She couldn't let that happen. Swiftly, she stood, with her hand up, palms out, her sad escape plan blown to hell. The man swung to face her, and the cocked gun made her flinch.
"I'm sorry." she stuttered. "I had to go to the bathroomâ€¦"
His face was furious. "Then you ask!" he shouted. "Sit."
She did as she was told, slinking to the wall to sit beside the pregnant women. She looked at her, and whispered. "Sorry. I tried."
The women rested a trembling hand on her swollen belly, silent tears pioneering their way down her faced, but she gave Rhyme a shaky smile and whispered, "It's okay."
Rhyme tucked her legs up and buried her head in her arms.
She didn't want people to see her cry.