Personal Narrative: The Interrogation Room

After four gruesome hours, he finally arrived at the interrogation room with blistering feet, swollen creaking knees, throbbing shoulders from the brutal handcuffs, and drenched in sweat for he still wore his heavy green turtleneck and suit jacket. The burly guards slammed him down in a wooden chair. The room, dimly lit by a lone overhead lightbulb, felt cold and smelled vaguely of mold and salsa. A short police detective tottered in and set down a hefty mound of paperwork. While examining the first few pages, the detective introduced himself while audibly chomping on a massive wad of grape Big League Chew, “I am Staff Sergeant Calvin. My last name was removed due to a clerical error after my birth, and my parents never bothered to correct
One snatched his mountain of paperwork, and the other two escorted him hastily out of the odd smelling room. They guided Harambe down a long hallway, which smelled strongly of dark bitter coffee. The officers crammed him into a tiny old rickety elevator, and hit the “G” button. Each second on the elevator passed ever so slowly, and the perpetual sense of getting trapped became more and more plausible. Finally, the rusted elevator doors creaked open, and copious amounts of sunlight flooded each of their eyes. They blindly stumbled out onto the busy sidewalk of
The beast inside Harambe awoke. He unforgivingly backed one officer into the reddish brick wall with ease. His head banged against the rough surface of the brick, and promptly knocked him unconscious. The remaining officer, now in front got a swift bicycle kick to the balls by Harambe, the former striker for the USC men’s soccer team. The officer bent over and collapsed on the concrete floor of the alley, writhing in inconceivable pain. Harambe thrusted his handcuffed wrists beneath his feet and elevated them back to a normal position. He fumbled through the unconscious officer’s keys and after numerous failed attempts, he managed to jimmy the constricting handcuffs off. With one policeman still squirming in agony on the ground and the other knocked unconscious, Harambe reached into the other officer’s holster and pulled out a Glock 22. Without hesitation, Harambe paused, thinking through the situation for a brief moment, then mercilessly shot both officers though their skulls with the pistol. He glanced cautiously out of the alley, peering down the south side of the street. Before walking out, Harambe remembered the police officers said something about a squad car three blocks north, so he scampered back to the lifeless bodies. Rummaging through their keys, he found the right one, a silver shaft and black bow indented with the famous Ford