I know it’s not a real gangplank. It’s my backyard wall. I know the sword isn’t real. It’s the plastic one from the fair. But does Nick know?
He’s blindfolded, hands behind his back, bound by my school tie.
‘Move, you lazy pirate,’ I shout. I prod him forward. He stumbles and falls, landing heavily on the pavement.
Looking down, I can see blood. Real blood.
‘Mum,’ I scream.
He’s playing dead. I know it.
Originally published: Paragraph Planet