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Original Writing

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Original Writing Coursework Final Draft Oliver Latham 10J Faraway from my English countryside lies the island of Cuba. Nestled in the Pacific, warm, tropical waters covers its shore on all sides; a wall of energetic blue. It was a clear afternoon as I made my way back form Havana University. The skies were opened up in a friendly shade of pale blue and I was feeling fine. I had arrived a few weeks before to work in the university as a Professor of History. I checked the strap of my leather briefcase and straightened my suit before crossing further into town. Havana was a colorful city. Pretty flowers hung from shop windows in indigos, violets and crimsons. But the air was thick with moisture and in the humid weather I saw the maze of houses packed together like sardines and the chain of laundry hanging out to dry above me. ...read more.


It was then that the object came crashing hard into my head. Semi - conscious I remember being bundled into the hungry back of the car that had opened its hungry mouth to devour me and then all light was extinguished and darkness enveloped me. They dumped me like clay into an artists bin. Beaten until my skin was branded purple, I found myself thrown into a cell. The cell was damp and grubby. Built of four slabs of hastily mixed concrete, cement has been brutally beaten into the gaps. There was nothing fanciful in this drab room but recurrent grey, gaunt grit upon the wall. Carved into the concrete were the tokens of prisoners gone by and as I lay there I wondered what had happened to them and whether they had died alone in this blandness. Sprawled upon the floor was a pitiful, putrid smelling excuse of a sheet which was nothing more than a moth eaten rag. ...read more.


I'd seen things like this happen on T.V where the terrorist asks for the ransom in return for the safety of the hostage... I heard the hooded man behind me begin to chant quickly his voice callous, devoid of all emotion quickening slightly as he spoke. I shivered the sensation running cold down my spine. Even inside the glacial wind managed to pierce my skin and chill me to the core. Then without warning I heard myself begin to shout: "Help! Somebody help!" But nobody was listening. The camera lens lay before me a passionless void of darkness. No warmth, no emotion, just blackness... They found me a few weeks later. The Cuban Authorities had been informed of my capture by the people who lived across the road from me. They had been searching for me ever since. To the police I was just another terrorist victim, another political mistake ready to be covered up by some witty excuse. They slung me on a portable bed and I was carried off... ...read more.

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