Contests and Short Stories

To Be a Doll

My lower lip quivered as I looked straight across the poorly lit room at the steadily ticking clock. I couldn't look at his face, the face of my kidnapper. I'd done it only once since I was taken here and didn't dare to do it again. The soulless madness lurking in his eyes made me want to just spend the rest of my days groveling in a pool my very own tears of depression and despair.

My heart roared in my chest and I could feel a large lump forming in the base of my throat, it ached me, with the pain spreading into my head to make an almost unbearable headache. I anxiously wrung my hands which were otherwise perfectly folded in my lap, desperately trying not let my discomfort show. My feet were tucked in beneath the set dining table, hiding the thick shackle attached to my left ankle.

My kidnapper paced the ground in front of the table in the shadowy room. They seemed to be in deep contemplation. The thud of their shoes pierced the thick silence and just drew me closer to the edge of my impending insanity. I squeezed my eyes shut as I could feel the panic growing inside of me like a balloon about to pop. My mind couldn't help but wander with dark thoughts of what this maniac would do to me once he was finally bored. I took a shaky breathe as I begged myself not to cry. Not again. I knew what they would do if I cried. I'd learnt it the hard way. They would be especially furious if I destroyed their work of art as they liked to call it. The thick layers of makeup that made me look like my sisters old dolls would run, and right onto my perfectly ironed doll-like clothes no less. Yes, they would rip me apart for such an offense.

I bit my bottom lip forcing myself to keep control and opened my eyes to see that my assailant had come to a stop. They slowly approached the table and drew the chair back with a loud sudden screech that caused me to visibly jump. He took the seat right across from me but I could do nothing but turn away. I could feel the burning of his stare against my cheek and shuddered just at the thought of those crazed eyes.

"Eat," was all he said, and I quickly obliged as I slowly picked up the fork and kept my eyes trained on the mashed potatoes on the plate before me.

I slowly picked up a small portion of the food with the fork and brought it to my mouth. Thoughts of if it could possibly be poisoned or drugged suddenly entered my mind but it didn't matter if it was. I would have to eat the food anyway, I had no other choice. As I ate the food each bite felt as though I were swallowing a callous tasteless stone.

I was desperately trying my best to swallow the unpleasant food when images of my own family flooded my mind. Were they eating dinner right now? Or were they too depressed and worried at my disappearance to eat anything at all? Maybe Mom and Dad were too busy fighting again and they hadn't even noticed I was gone?

I couldn't help the tears that suddenly sprung to my eyes and the slowly spilled over my lids to roll down my cheeks. I suddenly looked up at my kidnapper to see his reaction and just like I had expected I could see the anger lingering in his eyes. All of a sudden I could not longer hold back the wracking sobs and my body shook with a sudden chill as I could here him get out of his chair.

"P-please. I'm sorry," I attempted to apologize between my crying.

I screamed when I felt the large hand aggressively tangle itself in my hair and yank my head back. I would have continued to beg but the look in his eyes silenced me. I could feel the pure terror creeping into my mind and gnawing away at my last bit of hope. He was going to kill me. I'm going to die, I thought as I watched him pull the large gun out of his pants' waist and place the cold metal barrel on my forehead.

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So I feel like writing another short story but I'm not sure what to write about. Any suggestions?