The last thing I remember was running through Brooney Forest, when a gun went off and hit me in the side. I opened my eyes only to see a bright light right above me. I was in a cold dirty brick room with no windows, a small bed and a maroon colored door. I lifted my shirt just above my belly button and saw that my wound was covered by a bandage but it wasn’t sore. I walked up to the door and jiggled the handle but of course, it was locked. I wondered who had shot me and why they did. I hadn’t done anything wrong; I was just a seventeen year old going for a run. I knocked on the door and yelled until I couldn’t stand anymore. I went over to the bed and laid down and prayed that I would get out soon. I thought back to when I first moved here from Seattle, Washington, it was like it was yesterday.
This is the beginning paragraph to my story Cell 413, is it descriptive enough or is there any parts that seem confusing? What could I add or remove to make it sound better?