Trapped

Cole Hanson

Period 6

WLH, Bennett

4/25/14

Trapped

My uncle had warned me about certains parts of the city.  He had said they were unpredictable and teeming with the kind of people you didn’t want to be close to.  But against my better judgement and uncle’s advice, I often traveled alone in Kuala Lumpur.  I usually carried a backpack with only my laptop and money, but nothing that could be of any use if I was caught in a dangerous situation.  I was unprotected and because of my skin color, I stood out like a flashlight in the dark.

It was a beautiful, Malaysian day; a calming breeze graced the humid air as the clouds above me began to part, giving way to the warm rays of the sun.  I was walking along a fairly busy road ridden with potholes, cracked sidewalks, and the occasional fruit vendor.  The day had been fairly uneventful and I was on an errand for my uncle.  Before I had left the apartment, in a precautionary tone, he warned me that a couple of foreigners had been kidnapped by locals and held for ransom on the very street I was going to take.  He said to move quickly, but not too fast, and to keep away from the sidewalk near the street so that no one could drive up and snatch an assuming me.  However, he assured me that everything would be fine and that if I heeded his cautions, nothing would go wrong.  I thought it was very interesting that even in a place that was so expensive to live, such activity was still very prominent.  

I continued my journey and tried to keep those thoughts out of my mind and attempted to focus on the intriguing environment around me.  I looked up and saw monkeys scrabbling around in the tall, eucalyptus trees above.  I could see the massive skyscraper apartments I had just left, dominating the horizon and environment.  Beaten-up taxis and blacked-out BMW’s alike sped along by weaving in and out of lanes, competing for the open spot.  Even though I had been in Malaysia for about two weeks and had become relatively familiar with the environment, the sight of a family crammed on a moped always gave me a renewed sense of gratitude.

“Boy!”  

The sound of a voice calling out in the crowd of people that swarmed the streets broke my concentration and returned my focus back to the world.  I figured that the voice belonged to the father of some lost child, so I kept walking, looking ahead for the sign that signaled the road that I would be turning on to get to the market.

“Aye, boy!”

Again, I figured the call was not meant for me, however I curiously glanced back up the street to see who was yelling out.  As I scanned the mass of people behind me, I saw a tall, scrawny native man hanging on to the door of a small, battered truck, looking in my direction.  Our eyes met and he nodded.  A turning sensation of heat climbed up through my limbs as I immediately remembered my uncle’s cautionary words.  I began to quicken my pace and studied the area for a safe place near a police post or even a crowded mall where I could lose this man.  I turned back quickly to assure my distance from him, and lost my balance on one of the many uprooted sidewalk plates.  I tumbled and felt adrenaline surge through my body as I realized that I had just given the man time to catch up.  I was in pain and now unaware of my my pursuer’s whereabouts.  People continued to pass, nobody even cared enough to look down at the fallen white boy.  At that point, I realized that in this foreign country, I was an outcast and on my own, faced with an unknown threat in an environment I barely knew.  My head began to throb as I rolled over the curb slowly, trying to pull myself up by my bleeding hands.  I heard the yell again and I scrambled to regain my bearings.  

As I fought my way through the crowd to stand up, anxiety gripped my heart and my body began to shake, wracked by the possibility of the man catching up to me.  My legs and arms felt disconnected from my body and I stumbled forward like I was stuck in a dream unable to control myself or the events around me.  I was alone and my body felt useless.  

As soon as I began to run, a strong, rough hand clamped onto my arm, yanking me back.  

“Get off me!”  I yelled as I fought my unknown adversary, strangled by the paralyzing thought that I would never see the world I loved again.

“Boy, boy,”  the voice was connected to the hand.  

Why wouldn’t anyone help?  Thoughts raced through my mind as I struggled alone, tired and nervous.  

“Calm down, calm down.  You dropped your wallet.”  

I turned around, my heart beating fast as I looked up at the voice.  There before me, was the skinny native man I had been running from, with his hand outstretched, holding my wallet.  

I just nodded cautiously, breathed deeply and took it from him.