Bloodshot

Heya people, ok so this is a short story that i have actually written 2 years ago as an English coursework and well it's about a life of a man imprisoned in Guantanamo bay. 

Ok, well it is a short story awhich contains two perspectives, one of whom is the prisoner and the other is a soldier. 

Anyways, please vote, comment, become a fan and recommend to others!

Thank You! 

...................................................................................................................................................................................

Prisoner's POV: -

Freezing rain, like shards of glass, pelted the never-ending stony pathway. Lightning lashed out with fury. The night breeze was brisk and carried snatches of laughter from the night guards who stood outside. Leaves that had once been fiery crimson and gold were dull, brown mush, squelching underfoot and clinging onto their boots and sandals. The once-proud oak trees appeared ravaged by the winter’s cold; each branch now empty and barren. The undergrowth around the trees appeared dreary and gloomy, holding sinister secrets. The scene was grey and weary; all sense of life had been sucked out from it. Clouds moved in formations across the murky, bleak black sky, which looked like monstrous faces, as if nature itself was infuriated. Debris from a tree, fallen in the night, was strewn across the lane – a danger to the cars that might have passed by. The driving rain continued to pour down, forming muddy pools and filling up potholes. Most of the wild life had vanished, looking for refuge from the vicious cold.  A lone bird screeched as it struggled to fly against the wind and rain that battered its wings. It kept on fighting in search of safety and shelter. A Bentley sliced viciously through the quiet night like a black shark, gleaming and powerful. Lorries crammed full of anguished people had travelled up this path.  No one had returned.

At the end of the narrow pathway was a street lined with ugly tenement buildings. Furtherin the corner was a brick building that stood overlooking everything below. Torches gleamed and flickered high on the old wrecked towers where innocent people were battered, beaten and brutally hurt, and just a few lanterns shimmered in the Cathedral Square a little way to the North. An old man, stoop shouldered and grey-faced, squeezed in on either side by taller, broader and healthier men. The inside was a maze of cell like rooms; each only large enough for one person, yet each containing ten people in the tiny space for only one person to fit. This was where i had been for the last time. A muscular broad man with a solemn, stern expression on his face, camouflaged in green and brown, army-like clothing, entered my cell. I was entirely intrigued by his clear appearance. I was grabbed frantically by the arm and hauled up onto my feet. The sudden movement caused my head to spin. All my muscles gave up on me leaving me unable to muster up any strength for resistance. Every slight movement was painful. My head felt dizzy and my empty stomach felt like it would hurl after using the little energy I had left. My heart fumbled a beat, and in the pause of a feeling, the gloomy darkness seemed to slide pass me. I was too slow and hesitated, as both my feet were glued to the floor unwilling to set me free. The broad, muscular man looked exasperated. I glanced at him to see his boots quickly approaching me. They slammed into my face, a punishment for my weakness. I hit the rock-solid ground, incapable of fighting back or turn to protect myself. His leg lashed out again, this time a kick to my jaw. My body twisted in an awkward angle. Pain pumped around my whole face like a bull rampaging around a field and seemed to make my brain throb. Knowing I could not take another kick, I climbed weakly up to my feet, only to loose my balance and fall again. His eyes sliced into me like a sharp, shiny silver dagger and the corners of his mouth tilted up. As I cautiously looked up at him, thin red blood trickled down my face. Both my hands were cuffed, an unnecessary and somewhat ironic act since I had neither the strength to follow his commands nor to disobey them. An itchy bag was thrown over my face. In confusion I cried out, ‘Let me go!’ But it was all in vain. What did he care about the burns on my face? I was nothing to him. Just an animal he was asked to herd. I was sturdily pushed forward, out of the cell into the damp, grim corridor.