25 april 2010
The rope around her wrists dug deeper into her skin with every attempt she made to free herself. She stopped, covered in cold sweat, her wrists shredded. She heard the girls laughing on the other side of the wall.
If only she could make them hear her, but that filthy rag in her mouth would smother any cry. Besides, everything was drowned out by the overly enthusiastic sports commentator on the TV in the corner.
She stared around the room and tried to discover a way out, but the dark was thick and impenetrable. It could never be long before he'd be back to continue his interrogation. How long could she keep on telling him she knew nothing of Sara's hiding place?
Stumbling sounds, the doorknob moved. The yellow light from the hall lashed into the room and showed his silhouette in the doorway. This was her only chance to get out. In a sudden outburst htat contained all her anger, she stormed at the door, still bound to her chair.
If you've had the time to read this story this far, you'd better try the train sometime. Dutch Railways. Come along.