By Harriet St. Pier, aged 13
A gunshot rings out, penetrating the silence, as I sprint down the street. I hear shouts of elation, and I run faster.
I turn corners and run down alleyways, but I can hear footsteps gaining on me as I come to a dead end. Heart beating, I scale up the fence, but hands grab my ankles and pull me to the ground. I scream as something hits my head and everything goes cold.
I wake to a small, dark room. I have been held captive before during my past year on the run, but this is different. I don’t want to escape. I don’t have the will to escape. Not since he left.
After hours, a man comes in. Him. I gasp. I haven’t seen him for six months. Best friend, brother, traitor.
“Mia” he cuts me short, “they’re going to make...me...kill you.” His voice is hoarse and he is crying.
“Tom. Everything you have told me is a complete and utter lie. Tell me the truth and we might both live.”
“I can’t...do that. You don’t...understand. If I don’t...kill you...they’ll kill...me.” The words are choked and he falls to his knees. I begin to cry too.
“It was a mistake,” he screams. “A mistake!”
I love him. But can I forgive him? I think so. “I love you” I whisper.
“I’m sorry,” is his only reply.
Men begin to file in, the mob.
They pass him a gun. He raises his head, his face stained with tears.
I can forgive him.
I stand, as the only person I ever trusted loads his gun. I don’t struggle. I don’t want to struggle. This is my end.
“Any last words?” One of the men shouts.
I shake my head. I no longer have the need for words.