The Ticking-Clock.

5 2 0

As we entered the first set of doors all the officers at their stations were sat taking calls, making notes and working hard, there was a what appeared to be an old man sat in a cell staring at me, never have I ever felt so out of place in my life. Here I am, 13 year old me, walking through a police station not having a clue what is going on, despite this, it still felt like a dream, the reality and the serious did not strike me. The officer took me in to a small dingy room, it was so brown with a little window in the door, she told me to take a seat and offers me a glass of water, I shyly refuse the water and the recording tape starts. Fidgeting with my hands, biting the edges of my nails, I never felt so little in all of my life. My hands gripped on to my baggy jeans, the sweat is building up, and the clock is ticking away in the background, who am I? The reality hit...

PC Jones 'We are here today on the 14th march 2016, I have bought in to the station a young girl who appears she is called Morgan, Morgan, can you clarify your full correct name, date of birth, and address please while remembering it is an offence to not be truthful to an officer".

Rachel "..........."

PC Jones "Morgan, do you understand what I am asking you to do here? "... Meanwhile a lawyer walks in to the room and takes a seat by the side of me.

Rachel "um, yes, my name is Rachel Parker, I am born on the 1st October and I live on Leigh Road, Oxford, I am 13 years old".

The officer in this very moment stopped the tape, she looked at me with disgust while walking out of the room. In this very moment the lawyer asked how I was, he didn't look like a lawyer, he looked scruffy, definitely not like them lawyers you see on these T.V programmes, I mean, is this really what a typical british man looks like who works hard in an over sized suit... Classy. The clocks ticking in the background as it hits 14.35pm in the afternoon, my every day phone is vibrating in my pocket continuously so I decide to pull it out and see 8 missed calls from 'Dad', and the first few words on the texts reading 'where are.." The door slams shut, my hears drops to the floor as I rush my phone back in to my pocket, PC Jones has walked back in to the room with a stash of lined paper and a pen, she looks at me with disgust, glaring her eyes over her glasses "write a statement, tell me everything, who you are, what has happened, and why you feel you have been bought in to the station here today Morgan... Oh Rachel!". Not only did this make me feel so uncomfortable, I knew she knew who I was and what I did... How can I possibly explain myself... I was confused, I just needed someone to listen to me "I'm sorry..." I grabbed the black pen, wrote down a few words and my tears rushed down my face, not only this,

I could feel the vibrations in my pocket as I knew the pain and the worry I had caused from those around me. I have no words. I have no explanation for this. All I needed was a hug, someone to tell me it was ok, but no at this current moment, I became the criminal.

Walking steadily out of the room, the lawyer gave me his card, no explanation , no talk, no advice, nothing... He just left me. PC Jones asked me to follow her through to some big area where my finger prints and photograph was taken, of course, me being me, I smiled as it was a photo... Only afterwards was it recognised it was a mug shot then there my mind goes, oh here I am, a 13 year old criminal, smiling on a mug shot, I mean come on, how bad did this look? The point is, I wasn't trying to come across as a rebellious teenager, confusion took over me as nothing made sense. "So, Rachel, I will take you home", fear gushed down my spine as the only person I thought off was my Dad, how ever was I ever going to explain to my Dad, "it's ok, I will walk home" PC Jones refused straight away and led me straight to her car, she didn't take no for an answer, at this moment I knew right there and then, I was in trouble. On the drive home, I said nothing, PC Jones tried to make silly small talk as she spoke to me about music, although the auto-pilot mode inside beat me up. Can I jump out the car right now?

I slammed the car door shut, the police lady was following close behind me as my Dad was stood there waiting at the front door, his look of confusion suddenly turned in to anger, this was the moment when I felt the most pain and regret. We wasn't even in the house for two minutes, I just wanted to hide, as soon as I walked through the door I ran so fast up the stairs and hid my phone between the bed frame and the mattress. I was scared. The noise coming from downstairs was clearly anger in the conversations and pain coming my dads voice, it wasn't long after until the stairs started creaking as the police lady came in to my room questioning me again from the conversation she had with my Dad, the world began to spin as I was cornered in a tiny bedroom, with no window... "YOUR A BULLSHITTER, WHAT IS IT GOING TO TAKE FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND? NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I PROMISE I WILL HAVE YOU STOOD INFRONT OF A JUDGE". Anger and sadness took over me as I didn't say anything from the moment she came in to my room till the second she said "judge", she left so quickly and I buried myself in my duvet. Can my life just be over?

Gradually as seasons changed the trust grew between me and my Dad, this is an amazing feeling, however I stayed alone, my trust in others to confide and let people in faded. Trust to me enabled me to be the "therapist" for my friends, empowered me to be that person other people need... Although, where was my trust in others? Who really knows me?

This is where my story began...

'Criminal'Where stories live. Discover now