The Escape

Bourne awoke feeling groggy and confused. He looked, left, right, up and down. And was greeted by a dull, grey frown that hung onto the ceiling of his cell. As a sinister, grin clung onto his face. Some ten minutes later the night shift would occur, a five-minute gap in-between was all he needed, the steel hell in which he was imprisoned within, the endless nightmare that lingered in the back of his head, would soon fade away into inky, black ash that huddled inconspicuously in his vacant void of memories. He smoked his cigar; a thick grey haze weaved through the iron bars. It was time.

         Frantically he dug into the seams of the trap door and heaved it open. A large hatchet appeared before him. Lifting it up to the ceiling he hooked it onto a steel vent and strenuously hacked it open. Crawling through the tunnel smoke drove into Bourne’s eyes choking his vision. But he picked his way through. Groping in his pocket Bourne pulled out a map he had traded for with an inmate which led to the basement of the prison.

         A loud whirring drummed at his ears. The ventilation fan blocked the path between the inmate and the basement. A frozen bolt of fear shot up his Bourne’s arms as his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Sweat plastered his forehead, spilling out of his palms. There he was, Bourne’s heart accelerated as he stared down at the flashing tiles. The guards weren’t at duty. Diving into the gap every drop of blood in his body froze as the metallic blade skimmed his skin.

         Clambering to his feet the escapee shoved open the trapdoor which led to the alley and slid through. Fresh air lunged into his lungs and the sweet, enticing scent of revenge. Suddenly an alarm went off. That was his queue. With all the surplus energy left within him Bourne sprinted out of the alley and onto the street, a black pick up can awaited his arrival. The engine snarled and roared to life. A s dust scattered across the tyre’s tracks.