Creative writing 

                                                                                  Kidnapped 
I woke up by being kicked in the stomach. In front of me was a middle aged man with the dullest eyes and grey hair. His face was pale and wrinkled like a prune, you could only just notice that he didn’t have a left eye. He walked away with no words, as he walked I stared frantically after him.
I felt a gust of winter wind that struck me with a shiver. It came through the rusted metal bars from something you could barely call a window, the bars were up high out of reach.The smell of mildew and mould filled the basement air. The cold, numbing concrete floor made me curl into a ball.

From the corner of my eye, a black shadow moved down the stairs. The old man kicked a silver tray towards me, the cold soup spilt onto the stale piece of bread. I grabbed the soggy mess and ate it quickly, I could see my starving reflection in the silver tray. I saw my brown thick hair, my left eye was bruised and I could see thick red blood running down the right side of my pale skin.
As I laid on the cold, hard concrete, my mind started to wander. Why am I here? How Will I escape? Will anyone save me?
The next morning I tried to find my way out. I tried looking from left to right and every corner. I heard a deep croaky voice mutter, “Unfortunately, boy, there is no way out.”

“Why have you kidnapped me?” I questioned.
“Well, my son was taken away from me a few years ago. He was shot. So I like to take revenge out on other kids,” he said. His eyes were desperate and sad as the words came out of his mouth. “Since you mention it why don’t I go get my favourite gun in case you might try and escape again.” He left. 
My heart was pounding things started occurring to me: I had been so nasty to my parents and I didn’t even apologise, there was also that day when I knocked someones book over and I didn’t even help them and carried walking. I even pushed my sister over yesterday and didn’t care. Regret overwhelmed me. 
The man made his way down the stairs with his black, daunting gun. With every step he took my heart beat louder and louder. He got half way down the stairs when he slipped and plummeted to the ground. His head made a sickening crack as it hit the concrete floor and the gun clattered of in to the darkness. I did not hesitate. I sprinted up to the steps panting as a I ran. I threw the basement door open and was blinded by the light. 
In that moment, I had stopped. Was he dead? Should I help him? Should I leave him to suffer?
I didn’t know what to do, I desperately wanted to escape but all I could do was think that leaving him might make me a murderer. I was frozen to the spot I didn’t move, my mind wasn’t thinking, it was like my body stopped functioning. Just as I was making my way down to check on him, he began to groan. Fear overcame me and I raced out the basement door and never looked back.