Run With Me

🤍how is everyone ripped🤎

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄
𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕘 - 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖
𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕒𝕥𝕖, 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕥 𝕜𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕒 - 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕤
𝕠𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕟 - 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤
𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 - 𝕔𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕥
𝕡𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕖 - 𝕣𝕪𝕟 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕣
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

The box was by far the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced, the terrible scream of metal against metal as the floor beneath her hurtled ever upwards. She was on said floor, curled up in the corner, legs tucked underneath her, shaking arms drawn around her. Then, a jolt in the ascent. The box jerked upwards, with a sudden burst of speed, and she was thrown across from one side to the other, shielding her head with her arms as she crash landed against another wall of endless smooth metal. She tried hesitantly to get to her feet but instantly regretted her decision as she lost her footing and thumped back down.

She crawled back to her original corner - or at least what she thought was her original corner - and tried to feel around for something to grip onto. But she found nothing, jut more cool metal walls. She sat back frustrated and scared,  searching around her empty head for some comforting memories to cling to. Phrases, faces, snippets of a conversation, the tinkling laugh of a woman, the earthy smell of wet grass, flashed before her eyes, her brain throwing up everything it could to try and get her to remember. But, her memory was gone. All that was left of what she had been before this Box was gone, evaporated. Only a name remained. Gray.

She pondered the name. It was her name, without a doubt, but as to who gave it to her or who had called her by it, she had no idea. All that was left of her life was a gnawing emptiness. Questions flitted across her train of thought. Was she here for a reason? Had she done something wrong? Where was she going? Because, despite appearances, she doubted she was actually going to hell, and she felt relatively alive. The rattle of chains sounded around her, a sound which her mind identified as some sort of pulley system which would explain her ascent. Who had taught her that?

Her inner voice told her that she would be okay, that she was safe. But the voice was fading and as the Box rattled upwards on its never ending journey to more darkness, and her memories slipped away like sand in a timer, she wondered if maybe her inner voice was the remnants of a lie.

With each eternal second, Gray became more and more agitated, frustration replacing her fear. A frustration that evaporated as soon as the box of darkness rattled to a halt. She was once again tossed across the box like a rag doll, an activity which she was becoming increasingly sick of. But, as she clambered to her feet and actually manage to stay upright for more than a few seconds, she realised the box had definitely stopped. It was time to meet her fate. She stood, staring at the walls, hoping to move them with her eyes, praying for something to happen. Anything.

Then, the panic hit. She could be anywhere, taken by anyone. As fear and panic clutched her brain, her breaths became shorter and shallower and she gripped her arms to stop her hands shaking. Whatever shred of hope that had previously told her that she would be ok was long gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread, a dread that only increased as a white line split the roof of the Box and the squeak of hinges sounded. Voices started up in a flurry of noise and what might have been anticipation as the white line grew thicker and daylight began to pour into the box, banishing the darkness. The hinges screeched again and the top of the box which was apparently two doors were wrenched open.

Gray squinted against the sudden influx of light, a stark contrast to the darkness that her eyes had adjusted to. Faces peered in and she took a step back, shielding her face with her hand as chatter ran through the crowd, only to be shushed by a tall boy with dark skin and short hair.
"What's goin' on?" Yelled a voice from the back. There was a pause before the taller boy spoke again.
"It's a shuckin' girl," more whispers broke out and this time the boy made no move to quiet them. That was when Gray realised; they were all boys. About forty of them, of all shapes, sizes and colours, all about fifteen or sixteen, crowding close around the box and talking in low confused voices amongst themselves.