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Prologue

They stole me. They stole me from my room in my home. They stalked me. They knew my name, my age, my school, my everything. They broke me. Relentlessly tortured- every second of every day begging and pleading for mercy. For freedom. For rest. They wanted answers. Answers that I didn't have.

Today is day thirty-eight. I'm on my lunch break. It's never much, usually just bland chicken and baby carrots and water. That's all I've eaten since they stole me. I haven't eaten for days. Since day thirty-four. But I still don't find myself hungry. Torture doesn't build up an appetite. Lunch is the only time I get to see the others. I've counted four so far, excluding myself. A girl and three boys. They may have others, but I've never seen them if they do.

The girl is tall and blonde with silver eyes. She'd be beautiful if her cheeks hadn't been hollowed and face turned gaunt. They gave her some sandwich and an apple and water. We all got water. I hope.

One of the boys is tall with dark skin and black, spiky hair. His eyes are bright blue like the waves on the shore that I so distantly remember. I've seen him pick the bones out of the burnt fish they feed him.

Another boy was shorter with black, shaggy hair and pale skin. His eyes were a dark and deep yet warming brown. I've never seen him eat. Once he approached me and spoke to me, but my brain didn't register his words. I grabbed the dull butter knife they give my to cut my chicken, stood up, and tried to stab him. He backed up and tripped over a seat and fell. He hasn't tried to speak to me again.

The last boy was tall and blond with eyes like the girl's but warmer. Wider. More afraid. Or it may not have been fear they were filled with. Maybe awe? Or wonder? Or innocence? I couldn't tell. I've only seen him once. He gets a small pack of saltines and a sandwich like the girl's. His skin was pale. But not pale like mine. It seemed faded. But then again, so did mine.

My watch beeps and I check the time. 12:30. They'll be here any second. They'll be here to take me back. I'm tempted to run, to try and escape. But I don't. I know what will happen if I try that again. As the thought fades from my mind, two men in their latex gloves and pristine lab coats and odd masks enter the cafeteria. I walk up to them, dragging my feet. My head is down, my arms crossed across my chest. I stare at the black digital watch on my left hand and then at the red wristband wrapped tight around my right hand. I don't know why I have it, but I'm scared to ask. If I say something wrong, I get punished. Simple. And yet the curiosity still burns inside me. It burns through my blood and my skin and my all. It burns until I have to bite my tongue to keep it from escaping my lips.

They throw me into my cell along with some fresh clothes. I know what it means. It happens everyday. Shower. I have to hurry or the water will shut off. I only get ten minutes of running water. I go into the small, crusty bathroom and undress. I climb into the grimy shower and turn it on. They icy water washes over me and I yelp at the sudden chill. I don't wait for it to warm up and squeeze the shampoo from the bottle into my hand.

After I finish the shower, I dry off as best I can with the small towel. I dress in the identical clothing: black jeans, a red shirt, and a black jacket. I stare at the mirror above the sink and at the girl looking back at me. She isn't me. She can't be. I look youthful and wide-eyed and round-faced. The girl looking back at me is faded. Her face is gaunt, not round like mine. Her eyes are a dull, cold brown, not like mine. Mine are dark and fiery and bold. Her being is corrupted. She is not me. She is weak. I am strong. Her hair is dull and faded. It isn't like the bright crimson of my hair. She is not me. She is faded. She is broken. She is not me.