Locked Up.

Introduction

        It's been two months sense I was kidnapped. My family, my friends all of them have given up trying to find me. How could they just forget about me? My parents always said that I would always be their little angel, no matter how old I was. That if I ever got lost, they'd come looking. Maybe being nineteen means that everyone stops caring about you. Maybe it means I no longer matter to the world. Will anyone ever find me?

         Kyle Mercie is the name of the kidnapper. According to him he's twenty-one, but stress makes him look a little older. He has short brown hair and green eyes. Every night before he locks my room for the night he stands in the doorway and says "You do know me. Or at least you did. You just need to remember. I'll find a way to make you remember." He tells me that everynight. How do I know a kidnapper? I swear I've never met him.

        The house I'm trapped in is very old and in the middle of a forest. It's perfect because no one ever suspects someone to be trapped here. Most people don't even know this house is here. It's a two story house, which was falling apart. The inside is just as bad. It smells like rotting wood, and the wallpaper is pealing off of the walls. The room my kidnapper has me locked in has an old uncomfortable bed, a rocking chair and one bathroom. The bed has four cuffed chains, one at each corner of the bed. He chains my hands and feet to the bed if I ever disobey him. He isn't like most kidnappers, there has never been any sexual assault involved and he doesn't beat me. Not hard at least. He's always kept his distance, although it seems to kill him inside whenever he doesn't touch me. Yet, he never does.

        He only feeds me once a day, twice if I'm good. The only entertainment I have is the window in my room. It overlooks the prettiest part of the forest. I spend hours looking out of that window. Watching the deer run past and all of the other animals, it must be nice to be free. It must be nice to gallop among the trees, without a single care in the world. I'm not aloud outside, the man keeps saying that it's to risky. That someone might see me, and come take me away from him. He's always worried about me being taken away from him, sort of like he cares to much to let me go.

        The man gives me a lot paper to write on. I guess in my case that's a good thing. The constant squeaking of the floorboards could drive a person insane. So that's why I'm writing this, so that if I'm killed or end up going insane people have my story. So they will know what happened to me, so they will know what happened when they forgot about me.

People need to know. They just need to.