BookBeauty
04-19-2012, 06:01 AM
I really wasn't accustomed to being searched.
It had never happened before. I was an astute follower of the law. Kind to my neighbours, never even stole a movie at the video store. I've always been a good guy. It was on a seemingly peaceful Sunday that they came. My wife and I were huddled in bed with pancakes and the Sunday paper, as became our tradition. The banging at the door scared Trudy, our cat, who fell off of the mantlepiece and broke Cynthia's favourite vase. The banging on the door hadn't scared us, but Cyn jumped and grabbed my arm when the turquoise shards exploded across the yellow-bamboo flooring. She gasped, but didn't utter another sound. I bounded out of bed, jumping into jeans and a T-shirt as quickly as I could, while Cyn went to find the dustpan and broom.
The banging on the doors continued. It was raining heavily outside, so I opened the door just an inch, water streaming in onto the doormat. The crew outside bashed the door open in my face-- There was talk of a search warrent, as the blood began to stream across my lips, a dull ache and sting in my eyes and nose, frantically looking for a Kleenex while the men in black uniforms, carrying heavy weaponry, stormed into our ordinarily peaceful home. They took everything apart. Papers flew, pillows were ripped open, with the downy feathers flying into the air. It was as if I were suddenly in an action flick that Cyn and I watched sometimes, when we became restless with our routines. I hadn't found the tissue before rough hands were grabbing me, and pushing me hard to the floor, knocking the wind from my diaphragm. Cold metal shocked my wrists, binding and cutting off circulation.
''You're under arrest, Mr. Seranski,'' A tough, hard voice, with no sympathy.
''Wha--..'' I coughed. It was difficult to speak with the wood in my face.
''You have the right to remain silent,'' he continued.
Cyn's voice had heightened several octaves as she tried to fight through the armed guards that had me captive.
''What has he done!? Why are you taking him!?''
As they took me away, reading me my rights, I was still stunned. I was captured, and a prisoner.
It had taken six men to storm my home, and during that time there had been people robbed in the streets of our fair city, several women had been raped, and there had been at least three domestic disturbances.
Why had they stormed my home?
It was very simple. I had downloaded a song, our song, Cyn and I. It was for our wedding anniversary. Well, at least we got to enjoy half of the pancakes in bed. I sat on the bed of my new cell, staring at the ceiling. This was my time out.
To think about what I had done.
It had never happened before. I was an astute follower of the law. Kind to my neighbours, never even stole a movie at the video store. I've always been a good guy. It was on a seemingly peaceful Sunday that they came. My wife and I were huddled in bed with pancakes and the Sunday paper, as became our tradition. The banging at the door scared Trudy, our cat, who fell off of the mantlepiece and broke Cynthia's favourite vase. The banging on the door hadn't scared us, but Cyn jumped and grabbed my arm when the turquoise shards exploded across the yellow-bamboo flooring. She gasped, but didn't utter another sound. I bounded out of bed, jumping into jeans and a T-shirt as quickly as I could, while Cyn went to find the dustpan and broom.
The banging on the doors continued. It was raining heavily outside, so I opened the door just an inch, water streaming in onto the doormat. The crew outside bashed the door open in my face-- There was talk of a search warrent, as the blood began to stream across my lips, a dull ache and sting in my eyes and nose, frantically looking for a Kleenex while the men in black uniforms, carrying heavy weaponry, stormed into our ordinarily peaceful home. They took everything apart. Papers flew, pillows were ripped open, with the downy feathers flying into the air. It was as if I were suddenly in an action flick that Cyn and I watched sometimes, when we became restless with our routines. I hadn't found the tissue before rough hands were grabbing me, and pushing me hard to the floor, knocking the wind from my diaphragm. Cold metal shocked my wrists, binding and cutting off circulation.
''You're under arrest, Mr. Seranski,'' A tough, hard voice, with no sympathy.
''Wha--..'' I coughed. It was difficult to speak with the wood in my face.
''You have the right to remain silent,'' he continued.
Cyn's voice had heightened several octaves as she tried to fight through the armed guards that had me captive.
''What has he done!? Why are you taking him!?''
As they took me away, reading me my rights, I was still stunned. I was captured, and a prisoner.
It had taken six men to storm my home, and during that time there had been people robbed in the streets of our fair city, several women had been raped, and there had been at least three domestic disturbances.
Why had they stormed my home?
It was very simple. I had downloaded a song, our song, Cyn and I. It was for our wedding anniversary. Well, at least we got to enjoy half of the pancakes in bed. I sat on the bed of my new cell, staring at the ceiling. This was my time out.
To think about what I had done.