Bloody Hands

When I woke up, my surroundings blurred. I couldn’t see very well, so I figured they’d drugged me. That was getting old.
I was tied by ropes, but I was guessing I was still in the same area as I was before. That said, I don’t even know where I am in the first place.
I took a couple of breaths, and tried to remain calm.
A radio blared, startling me.
“Several bombings in SanFrancisco. It is estimated that there are 500-600 killed in these bombings. Terrorist strikes are coming all around the world in different places. The killer identifies their self as the ‘DTA Bomber’ and is traveling around America and bombing cities big and small. If you know any information about this individual, please contact us. This terrorist act threatens to wipe out America.”
He talked about different precautions you should take, and I tuned out. It made me think what it would be like if I was in my apartment. I wondered if I'd be happy (?) with my family. I thought about all of my friends and family, probably taking precautions. They probably think I’m dead.
My eyes closed, as a tear ran down my cheek.
A bang to my head woke me up, and I was startled.
I rubbed my head. My vision was blurred, so I didn’t have any idea who had just banged me on the head. When does this stuff wear the hell off?
I felt my vision clearing, which was a relief. It was another male, but one I hadn’t seen before. He had sandy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was probably in his early twenties, meaning he's very young. “Gehen Sie auf einem Flug gehen müssen!” (Go, you must go onto a flight).
He saw my confused look. “Go, you must go onto a flight.” he said, with a heavy German accent.
I pointed to my ropes. He reached into his pocket, and took out a knife and began to cut, accidentally cutting my wrist a little, making me cry out.
I looked to the fresh blood at my wrist. There were about 3 or 4 other scars that would make you shiver if you saw them.
My attention snapped when he dragged me out to the jet where the Terrorist sat. I felt the heat of the sun, which was a little soothing. It reminded me a bit of home. I looked at the window. A scar sat on his cheek that I hadn’t seen before. I was shoved inside.
The seats were a dark green leather, and there were quite comfortable.
I was forced to take off, which I was guessing was going to be another bombing.
“What’s the purpose of this?” I said. I was frightened, but I couldn't show him fear. I didn't want to get on, I was afraid that the bomb would some how go off, and we would explode.
“Just shut up. God damn I can’t get quiet?” he grunted.
“Whatever. I’d like to know why I’m here not by will.”
“You’re being held hostage, that’s why. Don’t act like this is a damn day trip or I’ll kick your ass. Wait, I’ve done that too many times to count!”
“Where are we going?” I ignored his remark before.
He didn’t answer. We were in the jet for about an hour before a felt a shake, and I almost got knocked off my seat. The bomb must've dropped. I looked up. The terrorist sat there, his head laying back on the seat. He was unconscious, and we were going down at a rapid pace.
I felt my ears begin to pop and my body being pressed backwards.
I shook him. “Wake up!” I cursed a couple of times.
I looked down, seeing how fast we were going to hit the ground. My eyes lighted up with fear, and I almost screamed. Almost.
In seconds, the jet hit the ground, and I felt myself become airbourne for a couple of seconds, and then black filled my head.