Mob Mentality

She wasn’t sure how she had gotten in the position that she was in.  All she knew was that she was scared now.  Sitting in this cell on the hard bench and just waiting to hear what was going to happen, she was so scared.  She didn’t even know what to think.  She started going through the evening in her head.  She couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong.  But as she tried to figure it out, she realized that she had no idea what was going to happen to her and that scared her even more.

A cop opened the door and escorted her into an interrogation room.  She had always wondered what it would be like to be in one of these rooms – seeing them on television in the shows that she watched – but now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to experience it.  She was scared.  She stared at her hands that she knotted up and fidgeted with as she waited for something to happen.  She wasn’t sure what was going to happen or how it was all going to work, but she knew that she was going to cooperate this time.

A man walked in and sat down across from her.  “Do you know this person?” he asked sliding a photograph across the table.  She shook her head, not saying a word.  “What would you say if I told you he had been hurt tonight?”

“Is he alright?” she asked her voice audibly shaking as she asked the question.

Seeing that she was not the person that had orchestrated all of this, he knew that he had to take it easy on her or she was going to fall apart.  “How did you get involved in this?” he asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders.  He couldn’t help but realize that she looked much younger than the 22 years old that her drivers license said she was.

“It just happened,” she said into the quiet air between them.  “One second I was thinking how crazy it was and the next I was here trying to figure out what had happened.  I don’t even know if I did anything wrong.  I don’t know what I did at all.”

He got up and started to walk out the door.  She heard him whispering to someone in the hallway.  “She’s not a harm,” she thought she heard him say.  “Have her call someone to pick her up.”

As she waited for her friend to pick her up, she wrung her hands together and apart, together and apart.  As she walked out of the police station, she breathed a sigh of relief and hoped she would never have to come back again.

The latest installment in my Creative Writing Thursdays!  I haven’t started doing character sketches yet, so just a random musing.


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