[stylist] Releasing the Demons 1

[Jacqueline Williams]

Samara,
I do not know how I missed your chapter, but went back on two e-mails and
found it.
It is the beginning of a story that I refuse to miss. 
Not only is it a timely subject, it ensnares those of us who studied
Skinnerian behavior modification methods with dogs.
You have totally capture the imagination of your reader, no matter that they
may  dislike some descriptions.
I do not object to your use of any of these, but just might question on a
technical basis, a detail or two.
For instance, who could "void" their bowels on command? Not even a
thirteen-year-old, I would imagine. If you changed the act to urination it
would be more believable, and not require a physical act to clean herself
that almost seems mechanically impossible as the physical four legs of a dog
allows. 
Some people will look at these details and try to imagine them.
The important thing is that by using an intimate detail, you have started
the process of degradation, which with the rewards of food earlier, to a
fascinating process of her forthcoming helplessness. Yet, you have put up a
very intelligent, strong, self-willed person against this process.
I cannot wait for a continuation. You may not want to post the next
chapters, keeping us tantalized, so when do you predict that you will finish
the book. It has the feel of many best-sellers.
I do not feel qualified to critique fiction, for I am limiting myself to
poetry these days, but there is nothing I enjoy more than a riveting story.
Brave New World, Animal Farm, 1984, All the alphabet murder mysteries, to
name a very few.
By the way, anyone who has been a domestic abuse situation and stayed beyond
the first severe abuse, has had their behavior modified to a great extent,
and much of that has been various acts of degradation which the victim
cannot ever admit to, so keep quiet.
Jackie Williams


-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Samara Raine
Sent: Tuesday, June 19, 2012 11:53 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] Releasing the Demons 1

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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