The rain beats on the roof above. A strong continuous timbre; like the foot steps of soldiers marching into battle, never to return. Dismal faces surround us, everyone is exhausted. They feel trapped, so do we; like animals in a cage. Waiting, just waiting. That’s all we’ve done. Wait as the minutes and then the hours go by on the clock. Tick, tick, tick. The room is filled with smoke, half of us can’t breathe. As we wait, we choke. We are all angry; but few of us show our feelings. We try to rally our spirits, but are too weary to laugh. Everyone is talking, but there is not the buzz of excitement that there was in the beginning. The subject of most conversations is dry and sombre. The weather is ever popular as a topic, as all it consists of is rain and wind. Much like in our homeland really. Every person in the room is hungry, children’s stomachs growl as they sleep. They are small enough to sleep, the rest of us are awake; high on depression. People are pacing, hearts are racing, will we ever leave?
Our surroundings are cold and dismal, but we know there is hope. There must be, or why would they keep us here? We slowly sip the cups of water they have supplied us with. The cold, musky taste stays on our tongues, a horrid flavour of dust and dirt. Nevertheless we consume it, slowly, not wasting a drop. It may be the only drink we are given all night. Another hour has dawdled by, come around and then gone; like a whisper in the wind. Yesterday we were all so happy, oblivious to the ordeal we were about to be submitted to. The ordeal that has extinguished the fire in our hearts, sucked away all feeling in our bodies and left us limp, chewed and lifeless; as though we had been attacked and then spat out to die.
There is only one positive factor to **emerge** from this journey of exhaustion. We have made friends, we have joined together as comrades; helping and supporting each other at our time of need. If it weren’t for our new companions, many of us would have given up hope of ever leaving. In two days we have made more friends for life than in a year, but the sacrifice we have all had to face whilst making these friends has been heavy.
A young girl; no older than five years of age, sighed a deep, sorrowful sigh. Many of us turned to look. This tragedy was affecting the children as well. Us adults have nothing to do, nowhere to go. We had passed through into the next **section** and there was no turning back. Our clothes and belongings were far away from us; securely locked up away from our reach. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs and a small bag of luggage we were permitted to **bring with us**.
The small girl is wandering about the room, she has no idea what is going on. **In truth**, neither do we. We have no power over what is happening. We are like ants in rain; there may be many of us but we are powerless in the circumstances. As the girl walks, she drags a doll along by her feet. It is now tattered and dirty but still bares a beaming smile across its ragged cloth face. Nobody here is smiling, not a single glad soul. One change can turn a **boat load** of smiles into a sea of scowls. One small change can bring everyone’s hopes crashing to the floor. One small change which no-one can ignore but no-one can change. We just wait, another minute, another hour, another day. For we are helpless, we can only scowl.
Suddenly a familiar voice booms through the room. It pierces conversations, making them halt with surprise. Everyone stops. We all hold our breath. Is there news? Are we leaving? The voice stops. Then, a familiar crackle is heard, a gruff Portuguese voice sails through the room, like a knight on a strong horse, filling each of us with hope.
But none of our kind understand.
Are we to leave tonight?
Nobody utters a word, there is not even a whisper. The small girl tugs on her mothers sleeve, but her mother signals her to silence. We are waiting, our hearts pounding. Our last drops of energy surging through us; keeping us from collapsing.
“The JMC 218 flight to Madeira will be boarding in 1 hour, we are sorry for the inconvenience caused. The transportation to Puerto Santo for your overnight stay could not be helped due to bad weather conditions at Madeira Airport.”
Why I wrote this story
I decided to write ‘Trapped’ as when my flight was diverted on a recent holiday, I noticed that everyone was acting as though it was the end of the world. Everybody was depressed, but it seemed so ironic that there were so many bigger problems in the world that people hardly listen to. However, when it is a tiny problem like a plane being diverted for half a day, everyone acts as though their lives are about to end. I wrote this story so that you did not know why all the characters are depressed until the very end, hopefully the reader will assume that something terrible has happened to them, maybe they have been kidnapped. Then the ending is supposed to be ironic, showing that these people are acting suicidal over nothing.
I wrote the stories in ***first person plural???*** because then the reader cannot say that it was just one person over-reacting, that it was the overall opinion of all the people there that it was the end of the world. I think that if I had written it in the first person, the reader may have come into the opinion that the character was just over-reacting by himself/herself. By writing in the **** person the reader gets to see how self-centred and ***** many people are.
However this story does not have to be read in this depth, it could be turned into a comedy script for a short sketch, with the ironic ending to make everyone laugh.