[stylist] Releasing the Demons 1

[Barbara Hammel]

Actually, upon further reading, I think her vocabulary is fine.  Only one 
thing, unless she starts swearing later in the story, I'd change "the ass 
crack of nowhere".
Her actions and the many tears do much in persuading me that she is a 
middle-aged child.  (My term for tweens and young teens.)
Barbara



Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Samara Raine
Sent: Friday, June 15, 2012 11:46 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: [stylist] Releasing the Demons 1

This is a first draft that is always being edited and tweaked, even as I 
continue to add more to it. Please be gentle with your criticisms. This is 
my baby, and I'm really hesitant to be posting it here.



Summary:

Kidnapped and forced into a world where girls are nothing more than 
property, Madeleine's only outlet is through her journal. Where following 
the rules could very well mean the difference between life or death, only 
the pleasing survive.



Warnings and Notes:

I know Madeleine doesn't write like a thirteen-year-old girl, and I'm aware 
that will detract from the image of a young teenager. I'm using a bit of a 
cop out and calling her a borderline genius. Think Hermione Granger from 
Harry Potter with less know-it-all traits. I'm sorry if this disappoints 
you, but no matter how hard I try, I simply can't write in the voice of 
today's teen.



I've toyed with making her sixteen instead of thirteen, as I also feel the 
older age may be more acceptable as the story progresses, but I haven't 
decided one way or the other yet.



Please keep in mind that this story deals with very sensative subjects such 
as child slavery, prostitution and rape. There will be course language and 
scenes containing graphic violence. I can't say 'If this upsets you, don't 
read.' It is a raw tale told through the eyes of a child who is being 
wronged. If I do my job right, it will upset you. So the decision is left 
with you. If you feel you can handle it, then welcome. If not, then I 
strongly suggest you skip this one.



Releasing The Demons

By

Samara Raine



Introduction



Present Day



My name is Madeleine Tamlin. I was born on March 16, 1998 and for the first 
thirteen years of my life, I lived with my family in Port Saint Lucie 
Florida.



On June 10, 2011, everything changed. I was abducted by a stranger and 
forced into a world of debauchery that I could not understand. Life was 
simpler in Camp, the name of the large estate that was my prison. It was a 
place where only the pleasing survived. Obedience was rewarded while any 
infractions were dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.



It didn't take long before I learned what was expected of me. But even as I 
fell further and further into the emotional trap my captor had laid, I could 
never puzzle out his reasons for doing what he did. He was not a troubled 
man. By this, I mean he appeared mentally sound. In five years, I never 
heard him attempt to explain away his actions. Whenever I asked him why he'd 
taken me, he'd answer quite plainly.



"Because I wanted to," he would say.



Everything he did was premeditated, from abduction to training to 
discipline. He had a knack for taming the fighters (like me,) without 
crushing our spirits. He broke my will and shattered my resistance, but 
never once did he obliterate all that made me who I was.



I didn't see it like this at the time. In the last five years, I've lost my 
dignity, feared for my life, had my innocence torn away and watched a dear 
friend die. but I've had many months to reflect on my captivity. During 
these reflections, I've come to some startling conclusions; the most 
disturbing of which is the realization that I still wish I were there.



In order for you to understand why I feel this way, I must take you back 
five years, to the night of my capture and all that followed. I kept a 
journal throughout my captivity. I think the time has come to share it.



My name is Madeleine Tamlin. I was born on March 16, 1998 and for the first 
thirteen years of my life, I lived with my family in Port Saint Lucie 
Florida.



For the next five, I lived in New York as a slave to a Master who I wish had 
never set me free.



The Journal of Madeleine Elise Tamlin



Wednesday, June 15, 2011

6:27 AM



Capture



My name is Madeleine Tamlin. I'm thirteen-years-old and I used to live in 
Florida before I was brought here to New York.



I'm about five feet tall, with long, dark red hair and emerald eyes. My 
skin's quite fair and I bruise more easily than an egg yolk. I'm slender, 
with the shapely legs of a dancer.



I love belly dancing. I was in a troop back home. We had the best times 
competing with other troops in friendly competitions and performing at 
festivals like Relay For Life and Ren Fair. I also adore reading, and can 
recite Amid Summer Night's Dream by heart. I'm a right little Hermione 
Granger, don't you know.



I was on the honor role at school, as well as the top student of my grade. I 
was also a member of the student counsel. I was the secretary, cookie 
provider and argument killer. Pamela Peacemaker, that's me.



So I guess you're wondering how I got HERE, huh? To be honest, journal, I'm 
not sure my mind's actually caught up to my body. Or if it has, it clearly 
suffered some damage from the trip. This all feels like a dream, and I'm not 
as scared as I think I should be. It's as if the last three days happened to 
someone else, and I'm just the onlooker.



Was I afraid? Definitely. But that's gone now, like I said. Maybe I'm just 
too emotionally drained to feel anything but numb. Everything happened so 
fast, and I wasn't given any warning.



Maybe I should just tell you about it. It'd probably be smart to write it 
all down before I forget. I don't think that'll be any time soon, but I'm 
not sure I should risk it.



My parents had been fighting again. They were in the middle of a divorce, 
but dad still came over each day so he and mom could continue their epic 
smackdowns. My brother Jeremiah - Jem for short - was out studying with 
friends. He always said that if it weren't for me, he'd never come home. He 
said he had to protect me.



I know what you're thinking, journal. He didn't do a good job of that, did 
he? But you're wrong. He did his best. He couldn't have known what was about 
to happen. No one could have.



Anyway, after awhile, the screaming and breaking of things really began to 
upset me. I was both angry that they were more concerned with where the 
china and furniture was going to go rather than their own kids, and I was 
miserable at how far my family had fallen. We used to have fun together, all 
of us. Now Jem and I couldn't stand to be around our parents. But only we 
seemed to get just how sad that was.



My bedroom was above the living room, but it wasn't as wide. This left me 
with about thirty feet of roof to scoot across in order to reach the pipe at 
the side of the house. It was pretty easy to sneak out. A bit harder getting 
back in, though.



The yelling was louder on the ground. I took off running as soon as my 
sneakers touched the grass. I figured I'd head over to my best friend 
Jasmine's for awhile. Her parents knew what was going on at my house and 
their door was always open to me. Jem would know to look for me there if I 
was still gone when he came home. I'd left the red silk sash of my bathrobe 
tied to the curtain rod just in case, though.



Red meant I'd run to escape our parents.
White meant I was out visiting friends or doing something neutral like 
shopping or playing on the swings at the park down the road.
Blue meant I was doing something for school. Counsel meeting, extra help, 
etc.
Yellow meant I was with the troop.



I swung by Jasmine's, but she and her family were on their way out to eat. 
They asked me if I wanted to go, but I shook my head.



"You're going to Duffy's, right?"



Jasmine nodded.



"I can't," I said. "Tiffany knows me too well. If she sees me there, she'll 
be bound to tell mom and dad the next time they're in. And then I'll be 
grounded for a century."



Tiffany was my parents' favorite waitress at the sports bar known as 
Duffy's. Although I wanted to go with my friend, I had too many self 
preservation instincts to possibly run into someone who would completely 
blow my cover. So I waved Jasmine and her parents off and headed for the 
playground near the middle school.



The gate squeaked when I opened it. It always did that, but for some reason, 
I noticed it more that night. Almost like it was an omen or something, this 
squeaky gate in the silence you get just before a storm. Tonight, the storm 
was both literal and figurative.



It started to drizzle as I made my way across the basketball court. I 
ignored it. I loved the rain.



My sneakers seemed extra loud on the mats around the swings. You know the 
kind. They keep stupid kids who jump off at the height of their arc from 
breaking their necks. They're black, and get really hot in the summer, but 
just then, they were growing slippery with rain.



When I reached the swings, I checked before sitting down, making sure the 
one I chose had no bird poop on it. That seemed to be common with swings, 
and I had no desire to plop my butt down into grossness. Thankfully, it was 
clean.



I loved those swings. They were the real sturdy kind with the thick seats 
and long, heavy chains. As any veteran swinger can tell you, the length of 
the chains combined with the force of your pumping is what really controls 
the height of the swing.



The higher and higher I went, the further and further away all my troubles 
seemed. The forward movement made butterflies explode in my stomach, and I 
giggled. When the skies opened five minutes later and drenched me in rain, 
when the thunder rolled and the lightning ripped across the sky, I threw my 
head back and laughed. I had never felt so free and alive. I'd never been a 
part of something so wildly beautiful.



Rain lashed my face and the wind whipped at my loose hair. Thunder crashed 
in my ears and I could smell the distinct scent of ozone. I inhaled deeply 
and knew at once I'd never breathed such clean air. I could almost taste it 
on my tongue. The storm was rejuvenating the earth, giving it strength to 
endure another day. It was the single most incredible experience of my life.



I was so exhilarated, I didn't even notice the sharp pain on the side of my 
neck until my limbs began failing me. Almost in slow motion, my limp fingers 
slipped from the wet chains. I jerked forward, trying to catch my balance, 
but my body wasn't obeying any of my commands. I was rapidly losing control 
of all motor function. I tried to scream, but even that small act took too 
much effort. All that came out was a low keen.



I watched in fascination as the world tilted sharply to the left and the 
mats slowly approached me. I felt like I was flying, and I almost smiled. I 
was scared, but not like I should have been. My mind was too fuzzy for fear. 
I was, instead, curious about the flashing lights and the rushing sound 
filling my ears.



I landed with a soft thud, my entire body limp. It didn't hurt, but I wasn't 
feeling much by then. My left cheek was pressed against the cold mat on 
which I lay, my eyes only half open. I felt like I was still moving, and I 
was convinced the ground had sprouted wings and was carrying me away from 
whatever awful thing was happening to me. I smiled softly before the heavy 
weight of unconsciousness dragged me down into darkness.



When I awoke, the first thing I realized was that I could move again. The 
second thing was that I WAS, in fact, moving. Something beneath me vibrated 
steadily, periodically tilting and jouncing. It took me quite awhile to 
realize it was a vehicle of some sort and that I was lying on something 
soft. A blanket, maybe. My mind was still trying to extricate itself from 
the grip of whatever drug had been used on me. For I knew then that it had 
to be some sort of drug. The burning pain in the side of my neck attested to 
that. I hadn't seen anything. Distracted by the storm or not, I knew I would 
have noticed someone creeping up on me. There had been no unnatural movement 
caught out of the corner of my eye, which led me to believe I'd been darted 
like an animal.



I shook my head and blinked my eyes open. I couldn't see anything. Closing 
them again, I counted to five before trying again. Still, all that met my 
gaze was blackness.



Panic seized me then. Had I been blinded by the drug? What if I was allergic 
to it? Or perhaps the dart had hit something vital. I'd been struck in the 
neck, after all. I began to sob. What was happening to me? Where was I? 
Questions raced through my mind so fast I had scarcely thought of one before 
another five took its place.



Whimpering, I attempted to push myself to my knees, only to discover with a 
thrill of horror that my hands were bound. This only made me cry harder. I 
pulled my arms toward me, elbows bent, intent on crawling toward where I 
suspected the back hatch to be. I was being carried to the right, not 
forward. Assuming I was lying with my head on the driver's side, the back of 
the truck should be to my left.



I didn't get very far. When my elbows were only slightly bent, I met with 
resistance. Futilely, I tugged, but to no avail. Only then did the sound of 
my tugging register in my mind. It was the clink and rattle of chain against 
something metallic. I've seen A Christmas Carol. I know what chains sound 
like.



Moaning, I let my head fall to the blanket. The substance beneath it felt 
oddly soft, like sawdust, or perhaps sand. It was impossible to tell which, 
however, since I could see nothing of my surroundings.



Sniffling softly, I closed my eyes and tried to relax. It was easier than I 
thought it would be. The drug had mostly worn off, but it still left me with 
a lethargic feeling that I quickly took advantage of. I focused on the 
movement of the vehicle and soon I was lying there in a trance-like stupor. 
After awhile, the stupor became sleep, and I was once more shrouded in 
oblivion.



The next time I awoke, it was sudden. The movement had stopped and the 
vibrations were gone. Opening my eyes, I was nearly blinded by the light 
streaming in from one of the open doors to my left. The doors, I realized, 
of a large truck. Struggling into as upright a position as I could manage 
with my wrists bound, I arched my neck to try and see if I could get a 
glimpse of who had taken me. I saw no one.



Sighing, I glared at the open door, tempting me with the prospect of 
freedom. So close, yet so far.



A breeze wafted into the truck and I shivered violently. It took me only a 
few moments to realize I was naked. When I did, I gasped and tried to wrap 
myself in the blanket. With both my wrists and ankles bound, that wasn't 
happening.



Glancing around, I discovered that the substance on the floor was, in fact, 
sand. It didn't appear to be very deep, and it was pure white as though it 
had been taken straight from Caribbean shores.



After witnessing this, my curiosity overcame me for a moment. I looked about 
at what I could see of my surroundings, trying to learn something, anything 
about who had taken me. What I saw was not comforting.



I started with my restraints. I had been bound by manacles that were locked 
onto my wrists. No flimsy handcuffs for this kidnapper. A chain ran from the 
cuffs to an iron ring bolted to the floor. My ankles had been similarly 
bound, though they were not attached to an anchor. Glancing around, I saw 
that my ring wasn't the only one. There were six, three on each side of the 
truck. Each was spaced about two feet apart and each had a chain looped 
about it, secured with a small, heavy lock. Mine was the only one occupied, 
however.



Several nails had been hammered into the side of the vehicle, and from them 
hung various implements. From one, I saw a long-handled whip with five broad 
leather straps. A riding crop hung from another, and on a third, I saw a 
large wooden paddle with holes drilled through the thick wood. The sight of 
these torture tools made my blood run cold.



My inspection was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the 
truck. My heart began to beat wildly and I squinted against the bright 
sunlight as I waited for my captor to appear.



When I saw him, my eyes widened. He was the tallest man I'd ever seen. His 
wavy black hair fell to his shoulders and his eyes were the green-gray of a 
stormy ocean. He had chiseled features, like those on the granite statues of 
Greek gods I'd seen at the Metropolotin museum the year before. His skin was 
nicely tanned and I knew that if I hadn't been so frightened, I would have 
been quite smitten with him. He was dressed in black from head to toe and he 
carried a wrapped bundle in his hands.



Placing one foot on the floor of the truck, he leapt inside with an agility 
that astounded me. I stared. When he started to approach me, I suddenly 
became very conscious of my helplessness. Naked and bound, I couldn't fight 
him if he decided to rape or kill me.



When he reached me, he crouched near my head. Setting his bundle down, he 
unclipped a large key ring from his belt and unlocked my chain from around 
the iron ring.



Gratefully, I struggled into a sitting position, scooting away from him as 
best I could with my wrists and ankles still bound. In the next moment, I 
yelped in surprise. The man had fastened his hand in my hair. The touch 
wasn't cruel, but it was firm. I didn't dare move, lest he rip out the 
handful he held.



"Stay," he ordered. His voice was deep and smooth and rang with command.



I froze. I couldn't help it. You just didn't disobey a voice like that.



The man then reached around me and unlocked the manacles binding my wrists. 
I smiled, and was about to thank him when he jerked my arms behind my back 
and re-bound them. My lip trembled and tears filled my eyes. When my wrists 
were once again secure, he unlocked the restraints on my ankles. Those, he 
kept off.



"Kneel," he said.



I struggled into the position, rather difficult without use of your hands. I 
knelt rigidly, my body shaped like an L. All my weight was on my knees and I 
could already tell just how uncomfortable that was going to get.



The man frowned and shook his head. Moving to stand behind me, he wrapped 
his hand around my throat and pulled back. Terrified he meant to strangle 
me, I followed the pressure until my hips were resting on my heels. I 
glanced back at him. He grabbed my hair and forced my eyes forward. It hurt, 
but the movement meant his fingers were no longer at my throat. At the 
moment, that was all I cared about.



When he was facing me again, I looked up at him. Our gazes locked and held.



"Stay," he commanded.



"I'm not a fucking dog," I snapped.



I thought my head would fly from my neck from the force with which he struck 
me. The blow was open handed, but the strength behind it sent me reeling. I 
rolled away from him, too stunned even to scream. Through the haze of pain, 
I heard his sharp command and rushed to obey it. I scrambled into the 
position he'd showed me, my entire body trembling.



Blinking away tears, I stared fearfully into his eyes. He didn't appear 
angry, nor did he look apologetic. His face was impassive, almost 
expressionless.



"Stay."



I kept my mouth shut this time.



He watched me for a few seconds longer before, seeming satisfied, he bent to 
pick up the bundle he'd entered with. I followed his every movement like a 
hawk. I was pleasantly surprised when he removed the covering to reveal a 
bottle of water and a small plate of chicken strips and baby carrots. The 
chicken looked like the kind you get in fajitas, little bite-sized bits of 
heaven. Each piece was sliced so that it was no longer than the carrots 
beside which they lay.



Lifting a piece of chicken from the plate, the man motioned for me to lean 
forward. Was he kidding? I stared at him incredulously. He expected me to 
take the meat from his hand like a dog? Furious, but too frightened of his 
reaction to protest, I did as he instructed. I was hungry. I hadn't realized 
it before, but now that the food was in front of me, my empty stomach was 
making itself known.



I had been right. The chicken was exactly the kind found in fajitas. It was 
even still warm. Leaning back on my heels, my eyes closed and I hummed 
appreciatively as the flavor exploded on my tongue. When I'd finished that 
piece, I opened my eyes and leant forward for another.



I ate in this fashion, the man never permitting me to feed myself. When the 
food was gone, he brought out the water. Taking me firmly by the hair, he 
drew my head back and pressed the neck of the bottle to my lips. Water 
rushed into my mouth and I swallowed eagerly. The meat had been well 
seasoned, and I was parched after eating it. The juice from the carrots 
helped a bit, but I was immensely grateful for the water just the same. When 
I had eaten and drank, my captor re-fastened my hands before me and bound me 
once more to the ring in the floor. After shackling my ankles together, he 
left without a backward glance.



This continued for several days. I was able to keep a rough estimate based 
on my feedings, and if I'm right, I passed three days in the truck before we 
arrived at our destination. They were three days of degradation the likes of 
which I had never known. Eating from the hand of my kidnapper wasn't so bad. 
At least he fed me. But when it came time to relieve myself, it was quite 
obvious I was viewed as something less-than human.



That same night, he returned. He unbound my ankles and released me from my 
ring. I was curious, because he didn't have a bundle with him this time.



He instructed me to kneel and I obeyed. From his pocket, he withdrew a choke 
collar which he fastened around my neck without a second thought. Clipping a 
leash to it, he gave an experimental tug. I gagged.



"Up," he said and I rose to my feet. "Walk."



My first thought upon leaping from the truck was that he'd parked us in the 
ass crack of nowhere. Only the moon lit the darkness. We were in a small 
clearing surrounded by trees. I tried to look over my shoulder to catch a 
glimpse of the truck's license plate, but a hard jerk on the leash had me 
rethinking that plan. It's kind of hard to memorize something when you're 
choking.



He led me over to a large tree and waited. I stared at the tree, then at 
him, confused.



"Relieve," he ordered and my jaw dropped.



"What?" I gasped.



"Relieve."



I looked from him to the tree and back again. "You've gotta be kidding me!"



The collar tightened perceptibly. Swallowing, I turned and crouched by the 
tree. Tears filled my eyes as I relieved myself, more exposed than I'd ever 
been in my life. When I was done, I looked to him for something to wipe 
with. He motioned for me to drag my nether regions along the grass. Cheeks 
burning, tears falling like rain, I obeyed.



Afterword, when I was secured and left alone in the back of the truck, I 
wept.



>>>>>>>



The house was large and white, set on a sprawling acreage of land. I 
glimpsed rolling fields and dirt paths as I was led, leashed, toward a side 
entrance. It was night. Floodlights illuminated the area around the 
building, and I heard the snarling of dogs in the darkness. I shivered. I 
hated dogs.



My captor unlocked a black steel door and thrust me into a small room lit by 
a single bulb. Leading me across the freezing stone floor, he pressed me, 
face first against the wall. I felt cold iron against my cheek and heard a 
click as another chain was attached to the collar around my throat. Looking 
up, I saw another one of those infernal rings mounted high on the wall.



He left me then, and I listened to him close and relock the door we'd just 
come through. He moved to my right, and I turned my head, following him with 
my eyes. Approaching a second door, this one of heavy wood, he unlocked it. 
He then came back to me and removed the chain attaching me to the ring.



Sliding his wrist through the loop at the end of the leash, he motioned me 
forward. As I neared the second door, I felt the collar tighten. I glanced 
over my shoulder when I reached it, unsure if he wanted me to open it or to 
wait for him to do so. He nodded, and I turned the knob.



We were standing at the end of a long, shadowy corridor . The only 
illumination came from the bulb in the entry room, and that was shortly 
eclipsed as my captor closed and locked the door. Soon, however, light 
flooded the hall as the fluorescents overhead were flicked on.



I gasped. Not from the pain of the blinding light, but from the horror of 
what it revealed. Lining both walls were cages, and inside them, stirring 
and blinking as they were awoken by the sudden brightness, were girls. Some 
had kicked off their blankets, and I saw that they were all naked.



I wondered at such cruelty. Many of the girls appeared to be my age. Only 
kids. How could one man be so completely heartless, and what had made him 
feel he had the right to treat people this way?



As I stood there in shock, my captor turned the collar I wore around so that 
the leash now extended from the front rather than the back. This left him in 
the lead, and I followed mutely as he began pulling me along the rows of 
cages.



Each cage was approximately six by eight feet, their steel bars about the 
thickness of a man's index finger. The vertical bars were spaced at eight 
inch intervals, the horizontal bars at six inches. This left squares large 
enough for a girl's hands to slip through, but too small for any attempt at 
escape to be made. In the far right corner of each, I saw a small box. 
Vaguely, I wondered what they contained.



As we walked, I heard the whispers of the other girls. Some pressed their 
faces against the bars, staring as we passed. Some giggled, others glanced 
at me and rolled over, uninterested.



"Dormire," my captor ordered, his voice cracking like a whip. I jumped. 
There were gasps and rustling sounds as girls rushed back to their blankets.



He stopped in front of an empty cage. Unlocking it, he thrust me inside. 
Before departing, he removed the collar from my neck and the manacles from 
my wrists.



"Sleep," he commanded me before slamming the door and turning the key in the 
lock.



I stared after him as he walked away, vanishing around a corner. Seconds 
later, everything was plunged into darkness. Kneeling, I crawled deeper into 
the cage. When I reached the wall, I pressed my back against it and pulled 
my knees up to my chest.



As I sat there, I waited for the reality of my situation to sink in. It 
never did. It all felt too surreal, like a bad dream I'd wake up from at any 
moment. I tried to weep, but found my eyes remained dry. I sighed and put my 
head in my hands.



"Psst. Hey!"



I heard a small, eager voice to my right. Lifting my head, I turned in the 
direction from which the whisper had come.



"God?" I queried drily. I couldn't believe I was cracking jokes, but there 
you have it.



I heard a giggle. "Sorry, he's on vacation right now," the voice said. "I'm 
Katie. What's your name?"



"Katie," a voice hissed from a cage somewhere to my left. "Be quiet, or 
you'll get us all in trouble."



"Oh shut up, Tara," the girl, Katie, said. "I don't remember you complaining 
when it was YOUR first night here."



She turned her attention back to me. "So? What's your name?"



"Madeleine," I said softly. I liked her. She sounded so chipper, even while 
lying naked in a cage. "You can call me Maddie though. Everyone does."



"Maddie," she said. "I like it. Well, Maddie, you'll find your blankets in 
the cage box."



"Thanks," I said weakly.



Feeling along the wall, my hands soon came into contact with the box. It was 
of simple cardboard and was easy enough to open in the dark. Reaching in, I 
dug around for the blankets. They too were easy to find. Pulling them out, I 
heard something hit the straw beside me. I groped blindly, but couldn't find 
whatever it was.



Giving it up for a lost cause, I spread the first blanket on the straw and 
crawled onto it. Huddling beneath the second, I wished there had been a 
pillow in the box.



"Night, Maddie," Katie whispered sleepily from her cage.



I smiled.



"Goodnight, Katie."



>>>>>>>



I woke up to the sound of cages being unlocked and girls talking and 
laughing. Once more, the lights were on, and I blinked against their 
brightness. Rolling over, I stifled a grunt as something dug painfully into 
my ribs. Reaching down, I grabbed the edge of the thing and pulled it out 
from under me.



It was you, journal. A black marble notebook, completely unremarkable, but a 
salvation unlike any other. The moment my mind registered what I was 
holding, I flung my blanket aside and scrambled to the box. After a bit of 
digging, I retracted my hand with a triumphant smile. In my fingers, I 
clutched a black ball point pen.



I don't know what's in store for me here, journal, but whatever happens, I 
promise you'll be the first to know.


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