1st Page of Story.

1.
A man runs, his head bobbing as his game leg plays along behind him.

He falls, an extrusive root halting his already slow progress.

He glances furtively around him, afraid of what his eyes may see.

In between laboured gulps of air, he manages to squeeze in a brief sigh if relief.

Nothing

He looks around himself, taking in his surroundings.

Small animals chirrup in their shelters, at the rain, at each other, at the man as he disturbs their temporary refuge under large green leaves.

The forest floor is covered in a deep layer of mud, saturated by the vast amounts of water falling constantly from the heavens. Ancient trees surround him, their thick parallel trunks stretching for as far as his bleary eyes can see. Like pillars supporting the falling sky.

He claws his way to a stricken tree, settling arduously into the primitive cover of its sodden roots.

He glances down towards his leg, thick dark blood ebbs intermittently in tandem with every beat of his drumming heart.

He realises with bitter comfort that the rain has stopped.

He Hears. A noise, too close, it disrupts his complacency. Thoughts come crashing back to the magnitude of his situation.

A deafening silence ensues, more terrifying than the noise before. His hands grope for the cold steel of the stolen revolver; he had never envisaged it coming to this.

He cocks the gun. This would be the end. One way or the other

2.
The room was overpoweringly white, so white in fact- that if one swept quickly over the room with ones eyes, then it would be a very difficult task to discern where the floor ended, and where the walls began. A large white table was situated in the very center of the room and fifteen chairs of a matching, modern design, sat waiting to be occupied.
There were no windows, the sources of light were multiple white lights embedded in the ceiling. It smelled of white.

Presently fourteen men filed in, one by one through the door and took their places at the table; they wore black suites which showed up in stark contrast to the rest of their surroundings. They sat there in silence, evidently waiting for the head of the congregation to arrive, and direct the proceedings.
After a minute of so of stillness, the man who they were waiting for, arrived.

He wore a brilliant white suit, white trousers, a crisp white shirt, black patent leather shoes and a black tie; from looking at him, it would have been fair to place his age at around sixty, he had a full head of white hair and walked with a slight limp. Although he was evidently a man of great power, from scrutinizing his hands and face, one could to assume that he was originally a man of the land; his face was worn and leathery and his hands followed in a similar suit.

He took his place at the head of the table; all eyes were trained on him. He had carried into the room a black briefcase and after he sat down, he placed it onto the table, unlocked it and took out several pieces of paper and photographs.
‘So gentlemen, I presuppose that you are all wondering why you are here. Some of you may have a vague idea, but I am pretty sure none of you know the situation in its entirety.’
At this point, he brought out some black eyeglasses, rested them on his face, scanned the pieces of paper held in his hands and began to address the group.
‘I have here the report made by a senior prison guard regarding what took place on the night of the twenty-second. Yesterday evening. To summarize what this unnecessarily drawn out article establishes. The prisoner, I assume you all know who I mean when I say ‘the prisoner’, has escaped from incarceration’
Had the assemblage comprised of less disciplined individuals, then the sound of nervous chatter would have surely soon have filled the room. As it happened however, a few startled faces and heavy blinks were all that portrayed the weight of the old mans words.