Fear.

My arm was outstretched but the cold weight of the gun in my hand was trying to drag it down, like someone had handed me a double decker bus and expected me to hold it up. The connotation was utterly ridiculous and, in a place where you had to learn to appreciate the little things, I found it hard not to smile. Though, from the corner of my eye I saw the man to my left, dressed all in black, including a ski mask, take a step forwards and fidget with his larger, far more intimidating gun and so the smile quickly fell.

The dim empty room I was in smelt of urine, quite ironic seeing as I was almost pissing myself with fear. I had to suppress another smirk.

To anyone else in this room (obviously excluding the one who was bound and gagged) the task would be easy, so damn easy for one of these ruthless, sick people to kill an innocent civilian.

Who in their right mind thought this would be easy on the person who wasn't experienced in this particular field. Well, these people weren't in their right minds, were they? Far from it, I should think. They were disturbed and probably had some kind of un-diagnosed mental disorder.

Detachment is hard.

I needed to detach myself from this person. That would make it easier, right? Through the haze of fear and panic, thoughts like “You can’t kill someone you don’t know” flowed through my mind. 
Do the right thing and die? Don’t do the right thing, maybe die anyway, definitely be convicted for murder, and have to live with it for the rest of my life? Easy way out, my ass.

That’s what they offered me, an easy way out. Was it? I don’t think so.

When I think about it, humans truly are selfish. I’d always tried my hardest not to live up to that reputation, the reputation everyone else seems to hold, but in the end every human being has a natural instinct to try and save themselves above anyone else. So why now, in this particular moment, is my instinct failing me?

Just then there was an ear piercing scream, one that tore my heart from its chest, like a hand had pushed past flesh and bone to grab and just squeeze until all the blood had been drained.

The scream was caused by a gunshot. To who or what, I have no idea, but I’d closed my eyes. What was said about that cat? “Until you open the box, the cat is both dead and alive.” Well at that moment I must of have Schrödinger's eyelids for all that I knew.

I mentally checked myself for pain but felt none. So it wasn't me that was shot.

I started to cautiously open my eyes to see the aftermath and the first thing that caught my attention was the empty room. The guards had all fled and left behind no trace of ever being there. I didn't even hear them leave.

I drew my attention the hostage who was still currently tied to the chair. There was no blood pouring from their face and they had their eyes closed.

I quickly rushed to them so see if they were okay. I was no doctor, but I tired my hardest to look for signs of damage.

We’d both been beaten up pretty badly. I had several bruises forming all over my face and chest. The hostage didn't have as many injuries on show as I did but I did know that the ones they did have, hurt like hell. Mine did.

I went to untie their binds when I saw that their wrists were mangled and bleeding from several attempts at trying to get free. I knew that there would be no way to fidget free as the rope they'd used was ridiculously strong so fortunately my wrists just had small rashes, but theirs would need treating, maybe stitches? I'm no doctor but it looked deep, painful, and would probably leave scars. Like they needed a reminder of today.

I carefully put both my hands on either side of their face and tried to soothe them by lightly stroking my thumb on their cheek and offering words of comfort as I slowly started to untie them. Groans of pain were muffled by the piece of cloth still tied around their mouth and I knew that this wasn't easy for the hostage, but the quicker we got out of that place, the less chance we had of the guards coming back.

From Ones Sofa To Ones Fridge

Eating food is a fantastic way to stop your hunger. Not only do you get the nutrients your body needs, if you make it right you also get a great taste that will last.

To make the food, you must first make that all important journey to your fridge. Some say that the journey to the fridge is a long and perilous one (usually directed by Peter Jackson) but if you can make it past the danger, deliciousness awaits you.

You must resist temptation from your television and your laptop and hoist yourself off your sofa. Some use an actual hoist but me and my team managed to use tools that were already at our disposal, our legs.

After the first push, the rest of the journey is almost plain sailing. Almost.

You must bear in mind the dogs toys scattered about the floor, one wrong step and you'll use your whole plaster supply in one go.

After you've dodged a near cut and scrape experience, you must brave a 30cm drop into your kitchen. Parachutes are crucial for this part of your journey otherwise you won't make it there alive.

Once everyone has landed safely you're on the home stretch. There's only a short stroll to your fridge and that's where the treasure awaits.

Dear Diary...

Thursday 26th June 2014

We arrived at Chewer's house at half five. Everyone's parents took pictures and telling each other "oh how time flies." Clocks, of course, have wings. Way-to-go logic!

We all then piled into a mini bus and waited for Keepy's late butt to finally show itself. Which it didn't. Sucks to be her!

We were all wondering as to why we were leaving so early, I mean prom starts at seven and it's like, quarter to six? Though we did have sweets, lemonade and unfortunately embarrassing pictures of all of us in the windows for everyone to look at. Fan-bloody-tastic.

The lemonade was nice and chilled so when the bus went over large potholes on the road, are laps were not only sodden, but cold too. Just what everyone wants when you're climbing out of a mini bus with all the onlookers who have their eyes about level with your crotch.

A tip for all: do not start food fights with sticky food in a cramped bus as you can guarantee that you will find some in your hair later on. (Sorry Becca)

Aside from Sod's law, the journey turned out to be quite pleasant. We were partying it up at the back of the bus to possibly the worst songs to get you in a party mood and I don't think a single one of us stopped laughing until we got to Ashton Court.

I Love Trains, Okay?

Light conversation trickled through the seat rows.

The static voice of a woman rings out above everyone else warning them that the next stop is coming up soon and that everyone, not that they need be reminded, should remember to take their belongings.

The late sun warming my face and the elongated window above my head was open ajar and wafting in the smell of the rapidly passing sea.

Out the corner of my eye I could see an attractive man stretching his legs fully into the empty seat opposite and crossing them at the ankle. His head was tilted back in relaxed bliss and he was mouthing along to the music blasting from his headphones. Judging by the badge around his neck he was a nurse that worked at a local hospital, yet his lycra shorts and top would say otherwise.

I turned back to my window and the scene had changed completely. The grass was long and fluffy like rolling green waves and the trees were vibrant and bright. There were acres upon acres of green fields.

That's what tends to happen to one on a train, look away for a few minutes and you'll miss everything.