[stylist] Releasing the Demons 1

[Samara Raine]

Thank you, Barbara. I'll go ahead and change that. Maddie will probably only 
swear when she's lost her temper completely.

Thank you for your feedback!

Samara

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Barbara Hammel" <poetlori8 at msn.com>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Saturday, June 16, 2012 11:18 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] Releasing the Demons 1


> 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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