Stolen

papa42

papa42

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Stolen was written in 2016 as a class project by Mrs. Weston’s 1st hour English III class.  Authors include: Mercedes LeFluer, Wil Rowe, Hannah Scroggins, Tailer Hinson, Dusty DeLozier, Tori Stanfield, Tristan Garvin, Brendan Compton, Sebastian Sabisch, Dalton Idell, Damion Hardcastle, and Caleb Moss.

Where am I? What am I doing here? Blinding light, the sun shining through a hole above me. In a cement box, I now lay. Voices echoing around, dread fills my body. Anxiously, I sit up and wait for the voices to come nearer. Now appearing over the edge, the man glares down at me. Through a door in the box, past the foggy underground, I saw my captor. But for the first few moments the man I saw didn’t say anything. Although he glared down at me, he seemed at ease with what he saw. To say my body hurts is an understatement. While maintaining eye contact, he started laughing in a high-pitched tone, slowly increasing in speed. After halting his cackling, he stated simply, “I was born in the shadows.” Paralyzed with fear, I couldn’t find the words to is speak. Putting his hands on me, he caused me to shrink into darkness. “The punishing you have endured is part of a larger plan. The pain you think you feel only scraping the surface of the pain yet to come.” Pulling me across the room, his untrimmed fingernails dig into my wrists. He takes me into his arms and looks into my eyes and spits threats into the depths into my core. My body aches. My body bleeds. My body is broken.

We don’t stop trying because we die. We die because we stop trying.

As my blurry eyes adjust to the chilling darkness, above the man’s head flickers a light, making his appearance clear- intimidate me with his dark, tall, and slender figure, causing my skin to crawl, my teeth to chatter, my heart to race and I attempt an escape as his harsh, piercing, icy blue eyes stare through my cold body and into my trembling soul; he drops me, and as I look up I see his threatening physique. Once again he forcefully picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. As I push myself up to see where we are going, I see a vertical flight of stars. There is a light at the top of the stairs, and suddenly I gain a flicker of hope. With all of my might, I push, kick, and scream, my knee making contact with his stomach and my elbow the with back of his head. Suddenly his grip releases me as he tumbles down the stairs, and i gracefully catch myself. I bolt for the light at the top of the stairs and crash through the tiny, wooden door as if it were cardboard. As I adapt to my new surroundings, I find in a room filled with body bags. I am hit with the odor of formaldehyde and decay. Before I have time to take in the details of my surroundings, I hear tromping up the stairs. Thinking quickly, I frantically look for a place to hide and find nothing but a door. I swiftly creep through a door trying not to make noise. Bodies hang by meat hooks from a ceiling, and the smell of putrid, rotting flesh poisons the room. I wretch at the foul stench.

After a few moments of silence, I thought he had left, so I creep back out; anxiously I look around at the blood-stained walls.  I feel like all my nightmare have come true; I have always been afraid of bring stolen, and now it’s a reality.  The roar of a chainsaw rumbles behind me, filling my heart with absolute terror.  I nervously look for an escape, finding a small window to climb through, and squeezing through the opening, I make my way out into the night air.  Suddenly, I feel a tight grasp around my ankle, and I instinctively kick back as hard as I can, feeling the crunch of his nose breaking against the heel of my foot.  The man screams in pain as I quickly jump out of the window, landing on my feet , completely surrounded by decomposing leaves and dark trees.

I take off through the woods, searching for any sign of civilization – I see a road peeking through the tree line, and a feeling of relief washes over me. I reach the highway and attempt to wave down a passing car. After a few moments, a policeman finally stops.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss?”

With tears running down my cheeks, I relay the whole story to him in frightened nonsense.  He bays me to clam down and helps me into the passenger seat of his police car.  The officer turns on the sirens and quickly drives away.

While driving to the station, the officer notices someone following us in a big rusty farm truck.  I feel the officer speeding up, turning corners and trying to lose him. My heart starts to race, as if its goal was to beat itself out of my chest. I hear the bellow of the truck behind us, getting closer and closer, faster and faster. I feel the truck his us from behind, and the officer’s head hits the steering wheel. Watching, the world turn all around me, over and over, as the car rolls to a stop. I look next to me, seeing the crimson stream coming from his head. I shake the officer, pleading for him to wake up. He swiftly opens his eyes with a jerk and topples out of the car, reaching for his gun.

The man gets out of his truck, and once again, I see that same man with the icy blue eyes.

“Freeze! Stay where you are! Put your hands in the air!”

The man slowly raises his hands above his head, and the cop holsters his gun and goes to handcuff him. Unexpectedly, the man turns rapidly, grabbing the officer’s head, and I close my eyes tight.

Crack!

I hear the officer’s body drop to the ground.  I panic; I kick open the door and immediately pull myself out of the upside-down vehicle. I run into the nearby woods, running as fast as my feet will carry me. Pushing branches out of my way, I suddenly lose my footing and plunge down an unexpected embankment. The leaves, dirt, and sticks plaster my body and face. Slamming my leg into a tree, unforeseen pain radiates from my shin. Flailing my arms, grasping for something to decrease the speed of my fall, all I can think about is where my captor could be. Finally coming to a stop in the creek, I feel my head pound against a rock. As I slip from consciousness, I see the silhouette of the man with the icy blue eyes.

As I regain consciousness, I realize my wrists are bound together by barbed wire, and my ankles are wrapped with tape. I try to scream for help, but the worn sock in my mouth prevents the sound from escaping. In the back of his truck, he kneels in front of me grabbing my hair, pulling my head up, forcing me to look at him.

“Let’s put a smile on that face.”

I hear the crunch of his feet retreating toward the cab of his truck.  As I hear him dig through a tool box, I roll over onto my stomach and push off the ground with my forearms, feeling the pinch of the barbed wire on my skin, slowly bringing my knees to my chest. I straighten my back and sit up, balancing on the balls of my feet, sawing at the tape with my barbed-wire wrists, ripping the tape apart. I carefully stand up and jump over the side of the truck, immediately sprinting away. All I think about is my husband and my little girl, having no idea where I am, and the thought of my daughter motivates me to not give up until I am safe in their arms.

We don’t stop trying because we die. We die because we stop trying.

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