Taken

Struck

Some time later, I fall asleep. My brain stops keeping track of time and begins to fizzle out. I have trouble thinking straight.

The time ticks by with me unaware.

I sit for hours in the cold steel chair, sometimes sleeping, mostly awake. My skinny body is shaking with cold and fear. I was dressed lightly in a t-shirt and jean shorts the night I was captured, and they must have taken my hoodie when they knocked me out.

The vauge movement of the boys entering the garage sporadically slices across my vision. At least one boy is always left as a guard.

One day, my brain stops feeling fuzzy. My thoughts are once again crystal clear.

And with that clarity comes loneliness.

I hide my emotions during the day, so as not to evoke violence form my captors, but in the night, when the guard becomes drowsy, the full force of my predicament hits me in the chest.

My eyes are red and puffy every morning.

Despite their promise, I have not eaten in days.

Something inside of me breaks. I am weak from hunger, shivering from the cold, and I still have no idea where I am.

One tear rolls down my cheek.

Then a second.

And a third.

Suddenly, the forbidden tears blur my vision. I sob, horrible, cracked, broken sounds. My voice becomes hoarse.

Then the metal door opens and the boy called Ron enters, storming in with the rest of the boys following him. They form a crowd around me.

Ron slowly takes me in, his cruel eyes raking over my shaking body.

"This is exactly what I told you not to do."

He steps in closer. My eyes widen in fear.

"Please! Please! I'm sorry! Don't hurt me!"

His hand draws back and slaps me hard across the face. My hand immediately lifts toward my cheek, only to find that it's tied. Hot, angry tears roll down my cheeks.

"Next time, I'll do it harder. Now shut up."

The rest of the group is silent this time, No laughter, no grins. Only nervousness.

My cheek stings and burns.

"Your turn to guard, Nick." That's the last thing I hear before I black out.