He came at me from behind, taking me by surprise. And before I knew it, he had grabbed my bag and run away with it.
Some days later...
I was scared out of my wits. He brandished a knife and threatened to attack me if I didn't hand over my bag.
It was either my life or the bag.
Obviously. I tamely handed over my bag.
In a few weeks...
He had a menacing look about him. I should've been more watchful.
Was he a big man?
Built like a weight-lifter. With bulging arms and all. I was no match.
And he threatened to knife you.
I'm sure he'd have ripped me to pieces if I hadn't handed over my bag.
The following month...
He was giant. An armed giant. He had a revolver and a knife.
Oh my god!
Look at this scar on my neck.
He held the knife to my neck and laughed like a maniac. It's still ringing in my ears.
What did you do?
What would anyone do? I gave up my bag to save my life.
In a couple of decades...
I can still remember those weeks when I was held hostage.
Yes, by a group of disgustingly vile terrorists.
They tortured me. In the most shocking ways.
I'm at a loss for words.
Scarring me beyond recognition.
All because I didn't hand over my hand bag when threatened.