WITNESS

Crime with a capital C

Another boring school day. Another lonely bus ride home. Bus rides are always very lonely when your only best friend gets driven home from school in a limo (my parents are on holiday for a week in a random country, so even if they were rich enough, they couldn't ) "At least I have my five dollars," I thought (I rarely ever had money ever since my parents decided I was too old for an allowance.) I glanced at my watch. Gran wouldn't be expecting me for dinner for a hour. So, at the next bus stop, I gathered my bags, and left. An ice cream shop caught my attention, so I walked over.

I had left the ice cream shop, double scoop mint choc in my hand. But something stopped me in my tracks. It couldn't be. That big fancy new bank on Stanley Street was being robbed! I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. There was no one around,as it was growing darker by the second. A horrible thought dawned on me. My parent's money was in that bank. And if the rumours were true, that bank doesn't pay you back when your money is robbed. I had to do something. I lunged at the man in front, and pulled down his woolen, black mask. I won't describe to you what happerned next, but I still have a great, big whopping bruise on my head to prove it. To my utter astonishment, instead of seeing a burly, toothless criminal, I saw a young, attractive teenage boy. It wasn't him that gave me the bruise, but the much taller guy behind me. He dropped his rucksack (full of cash?) and pinned me too the wall. I ripped his mask also in my vain attempt to get help. I kicked him in the forehead, but it was no use. He threw a sack over my head, then chucked me into the boot of the car. I wish I could recall anything about the car, what colour the car was, but I do know the boot was tiny, and even though I failed science class, I knew I only had a limited supply of air in there.