Monster

Yet Another Crap Day

Everything went in slow motion. My leg throbbed. Anna jumped up from the couch and pulled out a gun. I limped over to my night stand to get the pocket knife I had. I heard three shots go off…they all hit me. Except instead of bullets, they were darts. The people shooting at us were wearing all black and even had black masks on. They started approaching, and I tried screaming…but the dart medicine was kicking in. I felt…really…sleepy. I felt the people pick me up and duck-tape my arms and legs, then they put some over my mouth. And then, when I couldn’t resist anymore, I dropped my head and—blackness.

            I was expecting to wake up in a white padded cell, because that’s what had happened the last few times, but no. I was in a kind of dungeon thing, with my arms strapped above my head. Thankfully I was low enough to the ground to lie down. My mouth, wrists and ankles hurt, probably because of the duct-tape that had been on them. The three places where the darts had gone hurt, and I could see three little red welts. But it was my head that hurt the most…it felt like someone had put a bomb inside my head and had it explode from the inside. My body ached all over, and my tongue was dry and swollen.

            It seemed like hours passed. I tried escaping a few times, but that just made my wrists hurt and bleed. I started singing some LMFAO, but it really didn’t make the whole kidnapping thing better. Then, so suddenly that I almost screamed, the door flew open, casting light into the small dungeon.

            A silhouette of a man stood there. I…vaguely recognized it.

            “Hello…Drew? I know you as Subject 8. Remember me?” The voice had a slight English accent, and the person finally stepped out of the brilliant light. He had almost white hair that was military style. The man was wearing a white lab coat with some black slacks underneath. Something tickled the back of my mind…but I had no idea.

            “Actually, my wonderful, happy childhood memories have been erased. Thankfully.” I said, trying to sound bored. The man came closer and undid my shackles, then helped me to my feet. But when he offered me his hand, I quickly grabbed it and whipped up, then yanked it and spun him around (not an easy thing to do) making him land on his back.

            I sprinted to the door, but was stopped halfway there by his iron grip on my foot. I fell forward, and then he was standing over me, chuckling.

            “You always were a fighter. I see that the scars are gone.”

            I jumped up quickly, but he blocked my path and, with ninja reflexes, grabbed my hands and handcuffed them.

            “Drew, I’m not going to harm you. We need to talk. I promise I won’t hurt you.” I knew he was lying--I could almost sense it in the air. But I couldn’t do anything at this point.

            He led me out of the dungeon and down a hallway, then into a kitchen. It was really a shock to go from dungeon to quaint, homey kitchen. The walls were painted a calming maroon and cream, the floor was black and white checkered and all that was missing was a four-pane window with sepia light drifting in. The man motioned to sit down at the table that was in the middle of the room, but I wasn’t paying attention to the kitchen. I looked around for a door, and found one, that was supposed to blend in with the wall (it was painted the same color as the wall, so it looked almost invisible).

            I quickly sat down, trying to hide the fact that I had noticed the door. It was across from me, but the table and the man blocked my path. There was no way I could do this in handcuffs.

            “So, Drew. I need to ask you some questions. And you probably have lots of questions for me, too.” He was all business.

            “Well, I’m not going to answer anything until these hand-cuffs are off.” I slapped my hands on the table, and he reluctantly got out a key and undid them.