Wednesday, May 20, 2015


I came up gasping for air—wanting to grab ahold of something. I went back under; I tried to kick my legs and move my arms, but they just felt more tired and heavy. The water was filling my lungs faster and faster. I was screaming for help with everything I had, but I knew there was no one around—no one to save me. My body moved with the current, pulling me under, and forcing me quickly along with the water. Every thing was still except for me.
I could feel my fingers and toes go numb. There was this burst of numbness that started to work its way up my legs and arms. It felt like there were needles pricking my body because the water was as cold as ice. My body temperature was dropping as well as my hopes of making it out alive.  
My lips were purple and my skin pale.  I didn’t think I would last much longer. The water was ice cold, and my body was shaky.  My senses were becoming incompetent; I started losing feeling throughout my entire body. All at once, everything went black. I was falling through a darkness that I couldn’t comprehend. I didn’t know what was happening, until I looked up and saw the blinding hospital light.
My throat was burning, and when I looked down, I saw an IV going into my arm. Someone shouted, “He’s awake!” Soon all of the doctors were surrounding me, and people started asking questions; it was all so complex.
“Why were you in the water, Jax?” They would ask, but I couldn’t remember. I had no memory of anything before the water. It’s like someone had taken an eraser to my brain. It felt as if all the images and memories of everything I’d ever known was just thrown away.
“I… I can not remember anything before being in the water,” I said, with a slight hint of confusion in my voice.
“What do you remember?” one of the older doctors questioned.
I just sat there staring blankly at each one of the doctors in the room. I didn’t answer their questions because I had questions of my own. But before I could ask any questions, two tall men in black suits walked into my room.
            “Where did he go after he pushed you?” the taller of the two asked me, with no expression in his voice.
            I had no idea who these men were.
            “After who pushed me?” I responded. “I was alone.”
            The two men were looking at each other—probably trying to figure out what to do. They asked the doctor to come with them, and they left the room. As soon as they came back, they were unhooking me from the IV. I was still a little out of it as the man pulled me out of the hospital bed, and dragged me along with him and the other man. They took me out to the parking lot. When we got out there, there was a big black SUV with tinted windows.
            “Get in,” the man demanded.
            “Where are we going?” I asked, hoping for a response.
            “Get in,” he said again, with a harsh smile.
            I got in the car—there was nowhere else to go because the men were on both sides of me. The car smelt of leather and I there was a little scent of chlorine, I have no idea why.
            It was really dark in the car—I could barely make out any other faces in there, but I could tell I was not the only one in there. I kept asking questions, but no one would answer them. All of the sudden I felt this wet rag go over my mouth. The guy who put it over my mouth started to count. I tried to scream, but it made it worse. My mouth was burning. The rag was not wet from water—it was chloroform. I passed out.
            I woke up, and I was kneeling down with a bag over my head. My throat burned of the chemical. Four men were standing behind me, and one had pulled the bag off. There was a small man in a desk a couple of feet in front of me. The man had a big name tag on his desk, which read: “Mr. Bracks.” He stood up and started walking towards me.
            “Stand up,” Mr. Bracks ordered me.
            So I did.
            “Bring him in, Jonathan.” Mr. Bracks said to the tall man who was asking me questions earlier.
            He left and came back with a scrawny man; he looked like he had only been 80 pounds. He had bruises and blood everywhere—he couldn’t even look up.
            “Do you see this?” Bracks shouted, pointing at me. “Why is he still alive?”
            There was no answer.
            “You know what happens to people who don’t get their jobs done, right?” said Bracks.
            “Sir. Please, I did what you told me. I tried to kill him, I really did! Please don’t kill m…” the scrawny man didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Bracks pulled out the gun and shot him.
            “You’re next,” he said to me, holding the gun to my head.
            That was the end of my unexplainable death.




1 comment:

  1. This PPOW is truly amazing! My favorite thing about your writing is that you use so many great adjectives. I also like you that you make the dialog so realistic, like when people were speaking and got cut off. I think this makes your PPOW so much better. You are a gifted writer.


We're glad that you want to comment! Before you do so, please remember that we are eighth graders who are learning to write. If your comment is going to be encouraging or constructive, please share it. If your comment is neither, please keep it to yourself.