KIDNAPPED
"I don't remember much of my early childhood, but I remember the day it happened. The day they took me away from my home and brought me to this place. I remember the long trip in the back of the car. I remember when they brought me here and put me in my new home. 'Home' is no word for this place, for this prison. The cold steel bars stand in silent opposition to my freedom. I am fed, but it is nothing like how I used to eat. This food is always the same. Always dull and tasteless. To the point where I despise it and eat it only to sustain my life. My cell is rarely cleaned. My own filth covers the floor.
I remember having a mother. I remember her voice. I remember her singing to me. Now there is no singing.
I am awakened suddenly by the sound of something hard being ran across the bars of my cell. I open my eyes and see the eyes of one of my captors. This is the larger of the two. It is he who brings my food. He who slides the bowl of warm water into my cell. He looks at me and laughs. It is a horrible laugh. Loud and ferocious. Like the roar of a lion. He speaks to me and bangs the bars of my jail. I do not understand a word he says.
I have tried to learn their language. Tried to find a way to communicate with them so that I may plead for my freedom. I managed to pick up the od phrase here or there but I don't really know what I'm saying. When I say the snippits of dialect that I have learned, the cruel beasts only laugh and point at me.
My soul sinks deeper and deeper into the darkness of depression as I lose all hope of seeing my home or family ever again. I cry at night... So that my kidnappers won't hear. Life seems hopeless.
Suddenly I am yanked from my thoughts by someone banging fiercely against the bars. I start and look to see who has come to torment me. My heart sinks. It is the shorter one. He is the bane of my existence. He tortures me daily. He screams at me through the bars and laugh as I cringe. He throws little stones in at me and sneers. When will this horror end?
I want to go home."
I remember having a mother. I remember her voice. I remember her singing to me. Now there is no singing.
I am awakened suddenly by the sound of something hard being ran across the bars of my cell. I open my eyes and see the eyes of one of my captors. This is the larger of the two. It is he who brings my food. He who slides the bowl of warm water into my cell. He looks at me and laughs. It is a horrible laugh. Loud and ferocious. Like the roar of a lion. He speaks to me and bangs the bars of my jail. I do not understand a word he says.
I have tried to learn their language. Tried to find a way to communicate with them so that I may plead for my freedom. I managed to pick up the od phrase here or there but I don't really know what I'm saying. When I say the snippits of dialect that I have learned, the cruel beasts only laugh and point at me.
My soul sinks deeper and deeper into the darkness of depression as I lose all hope of seeing my home or family ever again. I cry at night... So that my kidnappers won't hear. Life seems hopeless.
Suddenly I am yanked from my thoughts by someone banging fiercely against the bars. I start and look to see who has come to torment me. My heart sinks. It is the shorter one. He is the bane of my existence. He tortures me daily. He screams at me through the bars and laugh as I cringe. He throws little stones in at me and sneers. When will this horror end?
I want to go home."
posted by the plaid donkey at 12:27 PM
4 Comments:
interesting take, required a step outside myself, I just might have to join this bloggin world that you have all found yourself in
cheers
anna-marie
gordon? is this the gordon that i know from that town that starts with an n? or, to be more specific, the gordon from the farm near the village that starts with a c? i sure hope so cuz that means that you are even cooler than i thought you already were cuz you now have a blog. and if this is the wrong gordon then i apologize for this intrusion... but really... how many 20-year-old gordon's can there be in this world? it must be you. miss you!
Gordon, your imagination is a constant source of enlightenment. I can truly see how growing up with you has affected me in a way that I cannot truly explain without breaking down into a fit of tears. It has been an honour being raised along side you and witnessing the events of your life taking place. I can only hope that all this time together will not warp me in a way that cannot be fixed by a therapist sometime in the near future. Love, your sister, Katie
well... Gordon? wow, everyone is in this blogger world that I seem to be missing out on... but I found you, ah ha:-) Yep so this is Rachel (from the town that starts with n) take care... have a fantastic day!
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