• 4



    I couldn't see anything.
    Something hurt, and the pain was spread all over my body. I tried blinking my eyes repeatedly, yet, no light could be found. When I tried to reach up and rub my eyes, it didn't work.
    My hands were tied together. My ankles were bound as well.
    Great. So, I was wrong. This idiot trucker guy was bad after all.
    It was kind of dissapointing, though. I had never been wrong before when I decoded someone's voice, so why did it happen now? Maybe my head just wasn't clear. Maybe I'm just getting more worthless as the days go by.
    I could hear it. The car was moving, so said the crushing gravel underneath the tires and the roaring of the engine in this big army-like truck. I tried to twist my wrists back and forth, maybe being able to get it loose like some girls did in the movies.
    Those movies lied.
    The more I twisted, the more the rope would cut into my skin, and the more my blood would trickle down. I let out a frustration scream, but I couldn't even hear it over the noisey engine.
    Maybe twisting my ankles could loosten the rope down there? I tried, twisting my ankles as much as they would turn. I first tried to nudge off my worn-down sneakers, which finally was a success. After that I was trying to tip my toes, like a ballerina I guess, and get the ropes loose that way. It wasn't working, only turning my ankles into a bleeding fountain like my wrists. I wasn't going to give up though. I already had gotten one part done, and now I know I could do the other.
    Well, I couldn't. Once again I was completley wrong. I felt like the idiot trucker now.
    The car stopped, quite abrudtly, sending me flying back against what felt like a wall, making me grunt out of pain.
    I could hear the door slam and I got myself ready. I had a pretty rebel plan that I hadn't really put any thought into, but at this point it was worth a try. I was probably going to die anyways.
    I heard footsteps. Boots, crushing the small pebbles under them, taking slow and hefty steps one right after the other. First, it was by my right side. Then, it gradually swayed beneath my feet.
    The trucker opened the door of the back, and I couldn't really fight much as I was literally dragged backwards towards him.
    Something wasn't right. I couldn't run, I couldn't hit him, I couldn't even put my unthought plan into action. I knew there must be light by now, yet, I couldn't see any.
    Oh, duh, I thought. There was a rough fabric brushing against my arms.
    I was in a bag. Great.
    I heard it begin to unzip. Now I readied myself for my plan. Fear and anger filled my insides with some monstrosity power I could feel myself shaking. This guy wasn't taking me. I was going to survive.
    When I jumped up, screaming and having my bound wrists up, I stopped.
    The trucker was smiling.
    Not in that evil, you're about to die, smile. But, more like, a smile of amusement, like he was about to let out a repeatitive hearty laugh.
    "What's going on?" I heard my quivering voice call.
    "Well," that heavy southern accent began, "We hit a border line. I saw it about a mile away with all the bright lights they had, and well," he hesitated, "I didn't think them police would think good of a man my age drivin' around with a girl your age."
    His face was red.
    I couldn't help it. I laughed. It almost startled me to a jump, hearing this sound I hadn't heard in many years. I couldn't stop, either. My stomach began to clench up and tears came to my eyes, yet the laugh continued. I was running out of breath and felt like I was going to pass out, yet...
    It felt good.
    I had almost forgotten the feeling of actual and pure happiness.
    After a few minutes, I began to calm down. Then, I noticed something.
    "Umm," I started, "What happened to the logs?" I said, looking back at the now empty truck.
    "Oh, I dropped them logs there at my brother's house not too far from here." He said. "If I had known about the border line..." He looked up at me, looking like a pitiful child that had just spilled his drink, "I'm sorry about pushin' you in a bag and all,"
    I smiled. "It's okay."
    I was entirley and most amazingly relieved.
    Wait.
    Something about that wasn't right.
    First of all, I was tied up. That wasn't necessary. Second of all, the trucker just had this twicker in his eyes like nothing I had ever seen.
    Before I got the chance to ask about these two suspicious reasons, I was hit to the ground. Not by the trucker though, who stood there with his baseball cap twisted in his hands, but by someone else.
    "I'm quite sorry Lil, you have to understand," he was walking around me and back to his truck, "I was in debt, and they were gonna kill me."
    Then, he drove off. No heroic words or attempts to save me, but just a stupid excuse.
    Now I had to figure out one last thing.
    Who the hell was on top of me?
    I tried to turn around, but a greasy hand pushed my face into the gravel. The hand didn't just push my head down, he was crushing it down. Then, something wet was touching my ear. I could also now hear very close heavy breathing.
    "You're a very pretty little girl aren't you?" This husky voice came.
    I forgot what to do.
    Scream? I did, but not long enough for anyone to hear me as my face was pushed back down to the road.
    I was forced up to my feet by my bound wrists, and now was being walked somewhere behind me. I hated not being able to tell where I was going, and also the repeated tripping I had to go through while walking backwards was getting on my nerves.
    I was thrown to the ground. Guess where?
    Yes, the cliche, empty forest of tall trees and gnarly limbs.
    The man was back on top of me, my body still facing towards the dirt ground. My clothes were being torn off my back, and my hair was being pulled all in different directions.
    I shut down.
    Words.
    I began going through my own customized dictionary through my head, trying to leave my body. I found the word happiness.
    Happiness. The first love of your life. The moment you see your cleaned and ready newborn child. The holding hand of your best friend. Feeling the warm sun beat down lightly on your skin in a beautiful park.
    More, I needed more. I couldn't let myself go back to reality, not now.
    I searched frantically through my mind, having to go quicker and quicker as the grunts of this man became louder and louder, and the cuts in my skin hurt more as well as the unwelcome feeling in my stomach.
    Determination. Staying up until the morning sun rises up trying to finish a project. Ignoring the pain as you ran a marathon or simple course. Getting up and trying again after falling down off your skateboard. Supporting someone nonstop until their disease faded.
    I was screaming. Not in my concious, but back in reality. It made me even more frantic. Why was this happening? What did I do to deserve this?
    That's when I found it.
    God. God is to faith.
    Faith. Getting over a loved ones death. Feeling warmth throughout your body after crying for hours. Looking up at the ceiling in a church, praying. Hoping for everyone in your family. Believing.

    It was over.
    I was laying on the dirt, clothes now torn rags, my hair knots, and I was bleeding. I was bleeding from the cuts on my wrists and ankles, and now in a different place.
    And it hurt. It hurt more than anything in the world. It hurt more than father's abusing me, more than his bottle crashing into my head, more than my mother's cries for him to stop, more then her resenting me.
    I didn't cry.
    I didn't move.
    I didn't feel that warmness either.
    I give up.