CHOO! CHOO! I got into the freight train that was leaving for London just in the nick of time, the assassins could not get to me as I outran, outsmarted them. Dusting away the remnants of soot that stained my clothes, I paced my way into one of the passengers seat.

There was someone who was about to walk pass me, I spot his ticket sticking out of his coat, briefly, deftly my hands grabbed them as soon as I got pass him without any contact whatsoever. Scanning the vicinity for any possible threats, no. I got into a seat where I was seated with old people, nothing suspicious, yet.

As the train conductor was making his rounds, I pulled out the ticket that I got from the unfortunate guy just now, but only to realise my hand was reaching for nothing. I looked frantically over myself. Click. “Move another inch, your guts will be blown out.” the old man beside whispered into my ears, taking me by surprise, revealing his true identity.

The train conductor was getting closer, my head was conjecturing thousands of escape plan and his next move. I could not trust anyone, anymore. Not even having the time to catch my breath, I needed to get myself out of this sticky situation.

Slightly moved my hands, the gun was pressed harder against me. Come on… “Mister, tickets please.” I could not move, I’m going to die if I do so. “Tickets please.” Flabbergasted by my stationary state. “Mister, I…” He too pointed a gun dead right into my forehead. Shit. I’m screwed. 

Putting my hands in the air, as a gesture of defeat, on the outside. The gun points were pushed even fiercer upon me, my next minor movement would spell my demise, splattering my insides out. As I formulate my next moves, there were several other people sticking their guns into my direction.

I was petrified, I could not even form anything inside my head. Everything went blank instantaneously as I attempted to wrestle for my freedom, my body was bored with countless holes of blood gushing out of my system. Red spelled my death.

Craving for more? Down below:
Flowing
Logarithmic
How to Manage Time? (By Someone Who Is Always Late)
Intention
The Insignificance of Significance
Brief
Decisions. Dilemma.