"Keep going, keep running." I tell myself over and over again, but it's no use. I'm tired, beaten and feeling dangerously dizzy. I can barely manage another hundred meters before the world starts to spin and I stumble. I land on my ankle and hear a sickening "CRACK!" A white hot pain pulses through my ankle and I almost pass out from the pain. I try and move my ankle but it's no use; I'm stuck. I look around me and take in the landscape: a deserted woods with the sun blinding me up in the sky.

I wipe the blood from my face and it catches in my hair. My ankle is still screaming and I can't bear the pain. There has only been one time where I have been in more pain and that was when they caught me. The memories come flooding back, but I don't want to remember. It was too hard. Just thinking about it made my body shake with terror, the memories as vivid as if it had just happened too me. But I can't stop it. I squint and shake my head, but the memory erupts in front of my eyes and I'm pulled back down to my little world of hell.

I was in a white room. A blindingly bright room. I was gagged, couldn't scream, needed to scream. I didn't know why I was there. I was also tied up to a chair, ropes cutting through my skin. I twisted and as soon as I did, a shock ran through my whole body. It was paralyzing. I couldn't think. The shocks were enough to leave me writhing in agony, but not enough to kill me. Never kill me.

The shocks ran through my body for hours at a time, then they would stop for a while. When I finally began to think that maybe it had all stopped, they started again. The men came in to laugh at me, mock me. They copied my screams of pain and laughed in my face. When I spat in one of their faces, he grabbed the hair on the top of my head, twisted it around his hand and yanked my head up. I howled, kicked and my fists went flying. But it didn't do anything. I was weak.

I tried to remember what I had done to deserve this. But I couldn't think. My mind was too fuzzy. Then, when I heard the end of one of their conversations, it all became clear.

I think back to my mission with MI5. They had sent me after a group of terrorists with a plan to blow up the London eye, instantly killing thousands. I was sent to infiltrate their camp in the Amazon and discover as much information as possible to make their plans screech to a halt. I had to become friends with them, these barbaric men, and secretly try to get the information. And it was all going well.

But one day, I got too cocky and confident and left my files lying around my room. One of them read all my files, mission briefing et cetera and my cover was blown. All that work down the drain, thanks to me. At first I was more worried about the years of research spent on this particular group, that had all gone to waste, but then I realised that I should be concerned about my own life. This mission had been classified as high risk and I accepted it, fully well knowing that if I got on the wrong side of these people, it was more than likely that I was going to end up dead. I couldn't have been more careless.

Another shock. They had removed my gag now, so my screams were heard. They must have felt some sort of pride at hearing my begs, wails and screeches. Sadistic jerks. After a while, they got bored of electrocuting me and decided to beat me instead. The instruments changed all the time. Baseball bats, feet, fists. One they never seemed to get tired of was bamboo. Yes, they especially loved the bamboo. It made me scarlet and they always commented on the beautiful colour of my blood. After each beating they would drag me out of the room, shove me under a shower and watch the blood slowly trickle off my body.

I wanted them to kill me. But they had no sense of mercy. Death would be far too easy for me in their eyes. I needed to pay for what I had tried to do. I thought I would be trapped here. It wouldn't be long before I eventually died because my body would simply not be able to put up with the pain any longer. I always looked out for chances to escape. Unlocked windows, open doors, that sort of thing.

Then I finally had my chance. It was straight after a beating with a baseball bat. I had been shoved back in the room after being showered and my eyes locked onto the bat. It had been left by the table and no one so far had noticed it was missing. I hobbled over, grabbed the bat and made my way over to the window. With all the strength I could muster, I lifted the bat up and swung it so it connected with the window. The glass shattered. I heard the shouts behind the wall and the men hurling themselves at the door in an attempt to break it down. It would have been quicker if they just used the goddamned key and unlocked the door. I placed my hands on the windowsill, jumped out the window and hurtled into the woods directly behind the camp.

The memory ebbs away and I blink. I hear birds tweeting from the canopy of trees above and I try to savour the sweet bird song. I hear the distant rumbling of an engine and start to panic. My head whips from side to side. I don't see anyone, but does that mean there is no one there?

I try to stand up, but soon realise that it's impossible. I slump on the ground and begin to cry. I'm a twenty three year old woman. I am trained for these life and death situations. I had six weeks of harsh training getting me ready for this mission, so if I ended up like this, I would be able to help myself. And here I am CRYING? I disgust myself. But part of me thinks that, under the circumstances, it's okay for me to show a brief sign of weakness. I had put up with so much over the last… god knows how long. I bring my hands up to wipe my tears away and am surprised at the sight I see. My once youthful hands, are now covered in bruises, cuts, scars and caked in grime. These hands don't belong to me. The belong to some, rabid, wild woman who has encountered the Grim Reaper far too many times for her age.

I run my fingers up and down my arm, tracing my scars and cuts, until I see something that makes me cry out in happiness. The tracker. MI5 had planted me with a tracker, so if anything went wrong, they would know where I was and be able to follow my tracks. The reason they didn't come and get me from the camp was because it would be far too dangerous and everyone's cover would be blown. They would have had to hope I got myself out of here and then find me from then on. I hear a helicopter above me and look up to the sky. I see my work colleagues grinning down at me and a pair of paramedics.

They lower them selves down on this rope thing and rush over too me. Again I start to cry, but this time it's from happiness, not despair. The next few moments are a blur, and when my eyes can finally focus on one thing, it's my agent partner who I work with on most missions. She smiles down at me and says

"What did I tell you? You can't come back from your first solo mission looking like road kill. It does nothing for your reputation."

I let out a small laugh and close my eyes. I feel safe, which is something I haven't felt in a long time. I feel myself drift off as some old man starts telling some people around me about how with all of the information we have finally won the battle between the terrorists, and the need to sleep pulls me into unconsciousness.

I wake up to the sound of a small bleeping noise. Everyone else around me is talking and my eyes widen as they land on a small yellow device. As much as I don't want to admit it, I know deep down in my heart that this device is a bomb. Planted by the terrorists, unknown to us. The numbers are flashing at me and I take into account that it now says 0.10 seconds. I try and tell someone, but my voice no longer works and the time is getting nearer and nearer and I'm paralyzed with fear and people start screaming and try to hurl the device out the window but it's too late. My world bursts into flames.

My body is searing and I simply cannot describe how much pain I am in. People around me have met their demise far before their time. My legs, hands, and pretty much every part of my anatomy is on fire. Another explosion sends my body rocketing off the bed in the helicopter and crashing to the floor. I find myself staring straight into the lifeless eyes of my co-agent and scream. The smoke clogs up my throat and I gag. I roll over and grab onto the row of chairs beside me. I hoist myself up and cover my mouth with a scrap of cloth from my shirt. Or from what was my shirt. The flames have been pretty much put out from on my body, due to me rolling about on the floor. There is a tiny flicker of hope that I might make it out of this alive, but it is soon extinguished as I hear another bleeping noise from directly underneath me. I close my eyes and let out a big breath. Then the engine explodes.

I feel as if I am flying. I open my eyes and seem to be looking down on the helicopter wreckage. Am I in the sky? Have I been saved? I see my body, which is impossible because I'm ME. How can I see my own body if I'm alive? Because I must be alive, someone saved me. Right? I look up to the sky and it seems to be glowing. I see the faces of my work colleagues and my parents, who died on a different mission in South America. I look down at my body again and then up to the sky once more. The pieces fit into place. I've expired, departed. I'm gone.

I bite my lip and grab my mums hand. She tries to pull me towards the golden sky, but something seems to be stopping her. She tells me to let go, but I don't understand what she means. I blink. Then I understand. She wants me to let go of what happened and accept my fate. But I'm not sure if I can do that. I look down at my helpless body and the ground, still sizzling from the heat. And I decide for what I'm going to do. I wave to my body, thrust my head up towards the sky and smile. My mum tugs on my hand once more, and I let go.