I arrive at the airport with my battered, old suitcase. So here’s the story basically. I was helping my Mum clear out the attic witch was absolutely boring until I found this suitcase. I opened it and there was money and files, about 200 pounds. I don’t know why but I grabbed the suitcase and ran. I think my uncle saw me and he’s after me! Before you start thinking, ‘You’re on your own!’ I’m eighteen.
I’m off to my Grandma’s house in France. I silently walk over to my plane and stumble onto it. I stuff the suitcase under the chair. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ I ask myself. We lift off and about an hour later we are finally able to get off this wretched plane which made me sick twice. As I get off I realise I have the wrong suitcase and start to worry like mad. I run up to the lady at the counter. “I have lost my suitcase where is it!?” I exclaim.
“Calm down ma’am, I’ll go look for you,” she replies. About half an hour later she walks up to me with my wrecked suitcase. How long does it take? I run off and don’t bother to say thank you. I suddenly spot my uncle and a glimpse of the police.
I run through the door dragging my suitcase with all my might. I look around breathing deeply and grab a taxi. I tell the man the address and he drives me away. When I reach my Grandma’s I run through the door. ”Grandma!!” I scream, I quickly explain to her as the police come bursting through. She explains and finally arrests my uncle. No more running I hope. I’ll cross off the cross country this year.