Random quote: There is a pleasure keen in being mad/Which none but madmen know.
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Location: Inside the Writer's Digest office | You wake up shackled to a chair and can't remember how you got there. Two voices are talking. You recognize one of them.
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Location: In The Wilderness | Kidnapped I woke up, I think. I did not recognize my surroundings, but I recognized one of the voices speaking in the other room. “Leslie!” I called, but my voice was weak and my throat was dry. I was chained to a chair so only my arms and hands were free. “Leslie!” A-ha! That got a response. “Good, you’re awake.” She said as she came into the room, followed by a brute of a man. “Who’s your friend?” I tried to smile, though my lips were cracked and they hurt. “Luigi.” Leslie said. “You might call him Wa-Luigi. Don’t you remember hiring him?” “I feel like I haven’t slept in a week. I think I’m hallucinating. I don’t remember much since Halloween, to be honest. Why am I chained up?” “Oh, my.” Leslie clicked her tongue. “You’ve been kidnapped, just like you wanted. Secret location, the whole shebang.” “My idea?” “You got your laptop. You got your pencils and paper. So write.” I looked long at the chains before turning my eyes to the blank screen and the bank pages. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Pizza, does it?” “Pizza?”
“The guy who posts these things has a bondage thing going on.” “What are you talking about?” “Never mind. You can set me free now.” I was hopeful, but Leslie shook her head. “You need to write first.” “What?” “You’re the one who signed up for NaNo month.” “I did? I didn’t mean it. Really, set me free now, OK? Please.” Leslie was shaking her head so I thought I might whip up some tears. It wasn’t hard. “PLE-A-SE.” But she had turned her back. “I’ll check back later. See he doesn’t try to escape again.” “This is a nightmare!” I shouted. “I don’t do horror!” “Yes, mam.” Luigi replied as Leslie stepped to the door. “Wait! Where are you going? I can’t turn my head that way.” “I’ll see you later.” Leslie shouted back as the door closed. “But it’s so blank. I can’t stand blankness. I feel like Vincent Price with a fly body. “Help me! Help me!” Luigi came over and stood nearby, watching. “Who would have thought your innocence could destroy my beautiful wickedness. I’m melting! I’m melting!” “It’s been done.” Luigi pointed to the laptop and blank paper. “NANOOOoooooo!”
Edited by M G Kizzia 2009-11-03 7:24 PM
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Location: swamps o' Florida | That's funny! | |
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| A voice. The sound of it exploded in her brain. Sudden and sharp. Where was she? Her eyes ached for the light; struggled for it, but found only darkness. The metal chair was cold and hard against her skin; she could feel chains biting her ankles. Chains. She was chained to a chair in the dark and none of this made any sense.
She had been reading a book about England in her old, blue chair. Sinking into its familiar warmth, not resisting the weight of her eyelids. It was unusual to be so sleepy so early in the day, but it was Saturday and the afternoon demanded nothing. Nothing wrong with a nap. Nothing at all.
But something was wrong. Settling into that chair was the last thing she could remember. An image of a busy street in London, the scent of Bobby’s aftershave, the breeze coming in from the open window, and now this. Now she was here. In the dark. With only the distant hum of voices to assure her that she wasn’t dead. That she might not know where she was, but that she was indeed somewhere. With a jolt she realized that one might hear voices in heaven or hell or wherever it was people ended up, but no, these voices sounded familiar. At least one of them did.
Now her ears took over where her eyes had left off. They stretched and pulled and struggled against the quiet to make out what it was that she was hearing. A conversation, she was sure of that. The cadence of two voices weaving in and out of one another. The pace of their words a rise and fall in the distance. But what were they saying? Her whole body strained towards those words. Even her toes ached with the effort it.
A car door slammed. Loud and fast. The sound of an engine. Tires on gravel, then the slow death of any sound at all. Now there was nothing. Silence. Deep and loud somehow in her chest. They were gone. The voices had left and she was alone in this place. In this chair.
“You alright?”
The voice sparked out of the darkness. She did know it.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” Her words fired fast and frantic. Rattling in her own ears.
“You can’t answer a question with a question” the voice teased. “You know that”. “I asked whether you were alright.”
“Alright?!!” “My legs are chained to this chair and I don’t know where I am or how I got here and it’s so dark in here that I can’t see my own arm, so no. I am not alright, not even a little bit.” | |
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| This certainly leaves one wanting more! | |
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| .....Oh, God my head hurts..... "Hey, where am I... " my eyes are heavy and my body even heavier.....
"WHAT THE HELL!" I scream. This can't be....no way... you have got to be kidding...... "Hey, someone help me!" I scream.
Two voices laugh.
- Should we go?
- Probably is best... they normally get really upset at this point.
The first voice... that was yeah, Julie from class. The second was only kinda.. oh god my head hurt.. my arm too... this room smelled and why am I chained to a chair?
-"Hey its okay"... I could smell her perfume and hear her voice but my eyes were so heavy.....
-"Approach with a calm firm manner.... " Who was that other person????
I looked up and saw her eyes. She was concerned but rather amused. "Hey, help me... someone has chained me or something.. I am a student not a patient... a mistake...... you know who I am...." my energy was so drained I couldn't get it all out.
Julie smiled. "Yes, and I bet you won't volunteer in psych pharmocolgy anymore.... ummm professor.... will she need some antinausea medications too?
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| Gotta make another post as last one was "13"----- ohhh the places this assignment could take us.......... my my my..... | |
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| My first mistake was thinking the dense fog enveloping my senses was a real fog.
My second mistake- was thinking I was okay.
As I turned my head to ‘look’ through the fog, I found the haze stayed right where it was. This confused me at first, until I turned my head the other way and found a sharp pain in my temple was waiting for me.
Groaning slightly, I attempted to rub my left temple, discovering a pair of hand-cuffs restraining me.
Thanks to the fog and the pain inside my brain, there was no room left for panic to set in, not quite yet anyway.
With a small wave of my right hand, I proved that was cuffed as well.
Tipping my head back and exhaling against the pain, it turned out my only sense left in full functioning order were touch and hearing.
Touch already confirmed my restrained hands, thanks to the unrelenting steel. With what little movement I had of my phalanges, I probed the object I was apparently chained to- a metal chair. Moving my feet confirmed they were chained as well. With a steady jerk of my upper body, I found this chair to be sufficiently fastened to the floor.
But thanks to the sudden movement, the jabbing pain in my temple returned.
Groaning again, I blinked open my eyes. Utter darkness was all that was waiting for them.
Steadying my breathing, I let my ears try and gather as much knowledge as they could.
Above the forced rhythm of my breathing I could hear the soft ‘drip, drip’ of water. A lonely faucet seemed to be my only companion in this dark space.
But upon straining my ears a little more, I could begin to make out muffled sounds. The sounds grew in volume, and took on coherent words.
Someone was nearby, and talking.
“...and now it’s another four hours until the deadline.” The voice said.
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
Wait, that voice!
“The lady upstairs seems to think we’ve left town for awhile.”
“We can use that,” The second voice replied, eerily recognizable, “we can spin into an alibi.”
What was that guys name?
“Yeah, it’s about time we got a vacation anyway. Even if it’s fake.”
“That’s why I hate my job-”
Where did I meet him?
“- no vacations.”
My Landlord!!
“At least one of the tenants will be paying on time this month.”
Ed, Ed Geradi. Crap!
Now the panic easily pushed aside the fog and pain, fully taking over.
I should have paid him on time, the first time! I didn’t think it’d go this far!! I’m so screwed!
“Do you think he’s still under?”
The sound of a door knob turning came to my ears.
What should I do!?!
“Should still be under,” Ed said, “let’s give him another dose.”
Now panic was all I knew as I struggled feebly against my restraints, terrified as the lights came on, and he entered the room. | |
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| “I’m sure I gave him the right number,” the familiar voice insisted.
“We’ll times drawing near and we can’t wait around forever,” a stranger shot back.
“I don’t like waiting Dave you know how that…” Timmy’s focus broke from the conversation in the other room as his wrists throbbed uncontrollably in the metal shackles. He’d been here before, three dozen times perhaps, but like most times he had no clue how he got there. What he did recall was the beginnings and endings. Each time, the same; each brought on by his drug crazed father.
“Where you at boy?” his father shouted through the walls of the tiny apartment. His whimper never loud enough in response, the drunkard boomed. “Don’t make me have to ask again you little son of a bitch now get down here.” Timmy slithered from his room and meandered unwillingly down the narrow hall. Sometimes barely making it through his door, if he was lucky he might get into the kitchen before the attack commenced.
“I’m here dad, right…” SLAM. The fist of his father drew down hard onto his head immediately drawing blood from unhealed wounds on his scalp. Cognizant enough to know he could not remain down long if he wished to avoid the stiff jab of a boot he rose quickly only to be thrown into the overcrowded stove.
“You think this is gonna clean itself?” his father shouted as his hands fought to find a solid grip atop the greasy stove.
“I was gonna…” SLUSH. His father’s knuckles danced across the boys face resulting in a cascading crack at multiple points along the bridge of his nose. This blow, so typical, and always fantastic, always caused Timmy to lose his balance as each time he lost his ability to stand. So much damage to his head, Timmy would fall into unconsciousness, finally to awaken hours after the assault, shackled to a wooden chair in the closet with a cowl over his head. Although fully aware of where he was at, each time he didn’t have a clue how he got there. While in captivity, Timmy would hear the drug transactions taking place at his front door and tried to convince himself with every assault and imprisonment in the closet that his father was only trying to shelter him from the bad men and women at his door.
“Tim,” the familiar voice snapped, “Tim, are you hearing me son?” His thoughts remembering his youth and with his head covered, he turned in the direction of the voice.
“Yeah warden.”
“We just got the call from the Supreme Court.”
“And?”
“Your request for stay has been denied. It’s time.”
“Ok.”
“The State of Indiana versus Timothy Small, following conviction for the crime of murder in the first degree, in that he did knowingly kill Victor Small in cold blood, the state hereby sentences him to death by electrocution. May God save his soul.”
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| Barely consciously aware of awaking, I groan, complaining about waking up from a dream I don't even remember. As I become more aware of reality, I wonder why I'm so uncomfortable. It's abnormally dark in my room.
As I fade from blissful ignorance to life, I wonder if this is even my room. I also realize I'm sitting upright. At first I think I'm wrapped up in my blankets tightly, but then I come to the assumption that I am for some odd reason tied up, which becomes more valid as I realize opening my eyes does not allow much more light in. I shut them abruptly; whatever's covering my eyes is pressing my eyelashes uncomfortably to my eyes.
Angry and a little scared, I try to make use of my arms, which I find attached to armrests with something solid and cold. What the hell is going on here?
I strain my ears, sitting perfectly still. I can hear someone's voice...no, two people. They're conversing quietly.
"I think it could work," one voice insists. "I mean, there'll be no proof in the end. And no one would suspect you."
"Well, who knows? Times aren't as they used to be. You can't trust your own mother now, no one expects to," a second voice counters.
"We'll cover the tracks. Trust me, I know how to work around obstacles. I think you'd know that by now. You can trust me on this."
"Can, I, Jay?" the second voice asks. Wait...do I recognize that voice? "Think of what I just said. What if you're the enemy?"
"Well if you believed that statement to be of any validation, you wouldn't still be here. So you must trust me to some extent, right?"
There is silence for a moment. "I shouldn't. But...I have to."
I know that voice. I do! And it's so familiar! But why for the life of me can't I place it? I think about other things, promptly coming to the realization that I can't recall my own name. Holy crap, I've lost my memory!
I hear clinking glasses. From what I hear, someone has set down a glass with unnecessary force. "I should have given her more sedative by now! Shit!"
"Are you joking? Go! Now!"
I squeeze my eyes shut, realizing it makes no difference as I am obviously blindfolded. The room becomes cold. Or was it that way before? A door creaks abruptly, and my body numbs for a fraction of a millisecond. I wince reflexively.
It gives me away.
"Crap! She's been awake!"
The man with the familiar voice panics. I feel pressure release from my head, and my eyes adjust to the dim light of a concrete room. His face...
His eyes look into mine sympathetically. "Kaila, don't be hurt. I have no choice now."
Kaila. That's my name. And this man...is Jeremy! No, anyone but him! He wouldn't do this to me! I have to be dreaming!
I can't do anything. I can't even find my voice. I see him dig in his pocket, and he pulls out a switchblade. The blade is cold against my throat, and tears sear my face. The last thing I see is... | |
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| Now well into the second week....You are so right Na NOOOOOO. Hang in there NaNoWriMoers. We will and can do this.  | |
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| Mark  speaking in a loud, harsh, disembodied voice heard thru a one-way mirror)
“That’s John. I’ve known him for several years. I’ve earned his trust, but now, because of me and my damn greed and shortsightedness, he’s here, chained to a chair and barely conscious. At the expense of a loyal friend and as model a human being as I’ve ever met, I’ve enabled you to bring your plans to fruition with minimal scrutiny. “
John chained to a chair mounted on a wall, speaking in an unsteady voice and wincing in pain)
“Hey, Mark is that you or am I just hearing friendly voices because I’m in a bad situation. Hey, whoever you are, can you turn the lights down. My eyes feel ready to explode, and I feel as though I’m in a cheap remake of a SAW movie. This really sucks. My head is pounding. What is going on here?”
Mark: (yelling loudly to John)
“Yeah, hold on man. They’ve promised to not harm you beyond what happened when you were wrestled to the ground and they incapacitated you with chloroform. For now, they’re preventing me from leaving without first signing some documents that will make me legally liable if I reveal what I know.”
Mr. Smith: (speaking calmly, as if to reassure Mark)
“Mark, what you call greed will secure you family’s future. What you call shortsightedness, will keep an entire community safe. You don’t yet know all the facts. You look at John and you see a fellow human being and a friend. Here, read this. It’s a detailed dossier documenting your friend’s entire past.”
John yells in self-defense, still wincing in pain)
“I can hear you. Believe it or not, I’m a human being and a pretty good one at that. I’ve been practicing for the last 35 years. I bet you’re no more original than Mr. Smith from The Matrix. It’s good to know someone thought I was important enough to be tracked. Anyway, you must know something about me that has managed to escape me my entire life.”
Mr. Smith: (speaking to John with irritation in his voice)
“Listen, John, spare me the movie references. Unlike those people, I’m a card carrying member of the real world of espionage. Whatever has been done in movies, we’ve done worse. Our inventiveness is something in which we all take great pride. Now, shut up. By the way, my name really is Smith.”
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Kidnapped - 11/3
