Chronicles of the Desolate

Tag, you're it (1) 🔞

Looking at me through your window, you've had your eye out for a little while.

The sleek van pulled up, dirty and rough, riding along nice and slow.

"Hey girlie, let me take you for a joy ride, I have some candy for you inside,"

One look is all it takes, and I know he has other intentions.
I tear off through the parking lot, leaping over curbs knowing he can't drive other them.
A door slams shut behind me and the sound of rapid footsteps close in on me.
I've had a good head start, but I'm small, and he's fast.
Racing through the parking lot, he chases me, and he wins. A thick hand closed tight on my hair, dragging me down.

                                     "Tag, you're it,"

He's got a sadistic grin. His eyes are crazed looking.
He's lost his mind.

I open my mouth for a deep breath to scream as loud as I can, but his clammy hand clamps over it. I bite down but he doesn't let go.
I bite even harder as he drags me to his car, but still he doesn't release me or give any indication that he's in pain.
He backhands me with his free hand and I almost blackout from the force. He stuffs me quickly into a plastic container, with only a tiny hole for air.

This was the moment my claustrophobia started.

Pretty soon I'm gasping for air, my mouth pressed up against that tiny hole, body shaking in hysterics.
I think I blacked out, because I don't remember how I got from the box into that stone cold, dark room.

                                         I can taste his skin in my teeth.

I am physically ill all over the floor.
I don't stop screaming, begging for help.

                                               Can anybody hear me? Am I hidden under ground?

He's there, right across from me, laughing. He joins in on the yelling as well.

He took the words right out of my mouth.

                                                          Can anybody hear me?
                                                                      Am I talking to myself?

Eventually I dissolve into a sobbing mess, anchored to the spot by metal fetters around my ankles, and leather binds my wrists together.

In an eyrie, deep voice that echos in the room, he starts singing.

                                                                                                   'Eenie-meenie-miny-mo catch a lady by her toe, 

                                                                        if she screams don't let her go.'

He sings softly, in a taunting away, as he slowly steps closer and closer, fingers opened in a claw like motion, aiming to tear my skin off.

 'Tag, you're it,'
'I love it when I hear you breathing,'
'Tag, you're it... tag... you're iiit,'
'I hope that you will never leave,'

                                                 Can anybody hear me? 

                                                                  Am I talking to myself?

                                       Please

Eenie-meenie-miny-mo
Catch a lady by her toe
if she screams, don't let her go,
Eenie-meenie-miny-mo
Mother said to pick the very best one
And I have