Tsitaadid raamatust «My Stockholm Syndrome»

It was like watching a movie scene in slow motion as his hand reached for his holster. He drew his gun calmly and casually, as if he was simply checking the time on his watch. He didnt even change his expression.

The strangers voice turned out to be even more sinister than his eyes. It was low, husky, and sent chills down my spine. Swallowing frantically, I staggered back into the barracks. Why are we being guarded so excessively? I agree I wasnt supposed to peek at the preparations, but what was the point of having a gun? Were being treated like… prisoners.