The smell of dust and rotted fruit burnt my nose, as tears dropped from
my face. I laid on the cold concrete floor, then suddenly a bag fell from the laundry shoot. Asta rushed over and pulled out notepads. She handed one to me, along with a pen, then went off to lay with her brother.
The sun was setting, and a beam of light crept through the window. Asta's golden hair lit up, and at that same moment, I heard her giggle. I walked towards the bed and sat down.
I held the notepad in my hands tightly, then grabbed Asta and held her for a moment whimpering.
"Thank you, my dear," I cried.
Then I kissed her on the head and moved back to the floor to give them more room. I felt all through the journal, I smelled it, and I even hugged it. Then I flipped back to the first page and started writing.
"I couldn't tell you how I got pregnant with Carlo, how I knew deep down he was a boy, nor who his father was, but what I can tell you is my story.
My name is Venus Russo, I'm 24 years old, me and my daughter have been captured for an entire year. The only sunlight I've seen had come through a small brick size window. The room was dark, the window served little purpose, and most nights we froze.
My son's two months old and was conceived during a time I passed out because I simply ate a jelly donut. I didn't understand why we were taken, nor why we've been isolated from everyone, but I guess you could say things could get worse.
We're provided a mattress, but only a mattress. No sheets, no pillow, no blanket, and groceries are sent in a bag from a laundry shoot. This month...they gave us a notepad. A small one for Asta, and a larger one for myself. We have two pens, and a new normalized feast of canned tuna, pretzels, apples, and fruit punch.
The bad months get bad, I lay awake crying myself to sleep wishing Asta could live a normal life, could eat a normal meal again...but now with a new baby...I'm losing my mind.
Lately, the food's been served daily, but in the beginning, Asta and I were getting a jello cup to split. A can of ravioli was served to split, and they even went on to insult me with a single grape tomato...the day after they gave us a cookie to split.
I guess at some point they noticed Carlo's little bump because eventually, the food supply went up. I try to savor everything, trying to remind Asta it can always go back to the bad times.
Very rarely do we speak of the good times...the past. I don't discourage it, but I guess she's too scared to mention it.
We live in a small 12x12 foot box, but a 3x4 foot bathroom sat on one end. On the opposite side of the room, we had our bed and a small bedside table. Everyone had 30 outfits, and it didn't matter if you grew out of it, or how torn, or how stained...you had to wear it because that's all there was.
Sometimes we can hear them speaking above the laundry shoot. There are always the same 3 voices, and very rarely is there a new voice.
Victor was in command, and Pietro was next often barking orders to Enzo.
At first, I thought Pietro was in command, due to his constant nagging, but then I realized he only bossed Enzo when Victor was absent.
I haven't seen their faces, the only sort of interaction came through the laundry shoot, but their voices were very distinct.
Enzo seemed sweet if you forgot about the kidnapping. He was loyal and kind. The voice of reason Pietro always ridiculed. Enzo was the reason we didn't starve, because if it were for Pietro...things would go back to the bad days.
Victor brought in the supplies. I'm not sure what they are yet, guns, drugs, food...it hurts my mind to wonder. He talks about getting another girl, and that scared me to death...but sometimes I just wanted to know if anyone was looking.
Would she be locked in the same 12x12 as me and my children? Will she be my hope to an escape?
Questions time could only tell.
Besides my children, I haven't seen a human being in over exactly a year. Sometimes I think I'm going insane..what if I died, and this is all a figment of my imagination.
The only thing that's kept me sane this entire time was Asta and Carlo. My sweet babies mean everything to me, and I couldn't have been more blessed to have such wonderful children.
Carlo, even though quite small is very strong. He came out of the womb with his head held high, something most newborns aren't capable of. I had to deliver him myself, with only the help from my 5-year-old daughter. My sweet handsome king Carlo. His skin was tan, his hair was dark, but his eyes were deep blue representative of his uniqueness.
Asta is very timid and scared. Very rarely does she ask for sweets, or toys anymore. The only song her sweet voice sings anymore is a cry to the outside. Her Barbie sat in the corner and hadn't been touched in months. All her clothes were stained, torn, and her hair was all matted together.
Some nights she asks me to hold her, and I tell her stories of the brave princess. She listens until her eyes flutter shut, but I can feel her body relaxing as I speak. Somehow the story calmed her worries, or maybe it just gave her hope that one day we'll make it on the outside. Regardless of her reasoning, it was my safe place too.
Sometimes I blame myself, thinking that if I tried the donuts sooner...that maybe Asta would have escaped.
I often wonder how they abducted me in plain sight, and if the whole company was corrupt. Maybe the mayor was putting us on lockdown, or worse.
My name is Venus. I have a 5-year-old daughter and a 2-month-old son. I am kidnapped, and if you are reading this send help! Tell my mother I am alive, and my daughter's father our bright girl hasn't been harmed."
Then I sat down the pen and cuddled up next to my son. Asta wrapped her arm around me, and we both looked out the window watching the light disappear.
