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Tripoli

This is just a short story I wrote when I was younger. Not very good, but I hope you like it.. Submitted by louise (Award 565), age 16

I woke up in a cold, damp room. It could be many things, but my mind refused to think of anything to do with my current location. But how did I get here I hear you ask? Let me take you back to the beginning…

My story begins in the small town of Tripoli, not many had heard of it until, the war began. For once in my life I had discovered true happiness; our own small slice of heaven seemed to have found us, no matter how long its journey had taken.

Rather than sit on street corners begging for money, like the rest of the Tripoli civilisation, we had a luxury home thanks to our Akra inheritance. So, what could go wrong! Lovely house, brilliant family and up to our necks in money (so it seemed).

Suddenly my life disappeared, grave news had come to Tripoli, we were at war. It had been decided that Tripoli would become a battleground, almost humanity’s hell of the living. From then on we were soon on a slippery slope of war firstly: we lost the house and were thrown to the streets as if we were burdens, no longer wanted...

Then came my downfall. Sadly as we had become mere beggars, capture of the enemy had made us cautious and extremely vulnerable. As the youngest I had earned the most money and was sent to buy bread. The first sign of someone coming up behind me, was a sweet smelling cloth applied to my face then… I was blacked out.

I cried out for help. Sobbing, until my tear streaked face was wet and my eyes were bloodshot and raw. Hours must have gone by, yet nobody came. I felt lost for words, I felt like a mockingbird deprived of its voice.

My thoughts were dominated by the single sentence my captor had slyly uttered to me, before he threw me into what I believed was the pit of hell, the one place, where no rest, no love and no hope are commonplace:

“Take it all in. Because, believe me: you won’t be coming back.”

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