The Arrest

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Tasnim Rahman        English Coursework

The Arrest

As I sat in the pitch-black dump of a cell, all I could think of were my stupid mistakes. Helping someone, taking some responsibility, it isn’t such a bad thing. If only I had known this before, then maybe I wouldn’t have got myself into this mess and be imprisoned in this dump, this dump that will decide my future.

I hate it how the oppressors watch my every move. I hate it how they listen to the thunderous thudding of my heart. I hate the way they listen to my every deep, quivering breath. I hate the silence of the walls, the soundless cell, making me feel like everything will come crushing down upon me. I hate it all. I hate being here. I hate being with them. I hate them watching me.

Worst of all, I hate how people think I’ve committed a crime; making me become a killer, accusing me of a wrong I have never committed. No one believes me; my family, my children, my friends. They all think I’ve become a killer. All I hear in my nightmares are the taunting whisperings of ‘murderer, murderer, murderer’. But I know I am innocent. My conscience tells me so. I am innocent. I know I am … I know I am.

It all started out as what I thought would be a wonderful Sunday afternoon. The sun was low and I felt a tiny breeze in the atmosphere as it swept through my hair. It was the perfect weather for a stroll in town. Well that’s what I thought!

It was a lovely walk into the town. The leaves on the oak trees rustled in the soft breeze; the daffodils on the pathway moving as if to the sound of the footsteps; the low, bleeding sun that cast immense and remarkable shadows over the deserted street.

As soon as I stepped foot into the town centre, I instantly knew something was wrong.

Someone was howling in pain. They sounded to be in great agony. It was a horrifying and defining scream.  I had to find out who it was; I had to know who was in pain. I had to know. I ran towards the source of noise, but as I drew near it I began to stop. The noise was coming from Akanni’s house, my childhood friend. Parked next to his house was a big, white, run-down looking van. The Oppressor’s van! I instantly knew one thing. Trouble!

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I ran as quickly as I could towards the front door.  It was open, the door almost hanging off its hinges.  I heard thudding noises of fist upon flesh.

There were four of them and they were beating Akanni. One of the oppressors gripped onto Akanni while the other three brutally punched and kicked him. One oppressor repeatedly punched Akanni in the face; till he was bleeding and his nose looked as if it was broken.

He was trying to fight back, thrashing and kicking, but they were way too strong for him. One last fatal blow ...

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