• I sat at the table, just chewing the last of my after Christmas candy. And I looked at the clock, thinking. Thinking of what had happened the other week. Yea, sure, they said it was an "accident". But it was something more. Just thinking about it makes me want to roll over and die. I had been outside, just minding my own business. You'd think I'm crazy, but this is what really happened. I'd seen it from the news, all those reports of mysterious kidnappings. Man walks into the house, kidnaps, and leaves. Thats it, no trace of the child he had stolen. But, they didn't say that the guy would kidnap in broad day light. No. Yea, it happened too. I was just there, and the next thing I knew, I was being held against my will, being taken to an old abandoned building downtown. They guy, he tied me up to the chair. He then left, said he had another "errand" to run. He'd come back, every hour or so, with either a girl or boy, all near or my age. The last person he brought back for the day was a fifteen year old girl, my age. Then he left us, our stomachs growling, and our mouths dry. He left no water, and no food. Me and that girl, we stayed up all night, talking about how we were supposed to escape. She had a pocket knife, one she carried with her, every day, except on school days. And I, luckily, had some matches. Don't ask, I just happened to have taken them, and forgot they were in my pocket. Soon enough, we knew how we were gonna do it. The next day, the man stormed into the building, a Mark XIX Desert Eagle in his right hand. I asked what he was gonna do to us. He glared at me and punched me in the face. He almost broke my nose too. After a few smokes, the man took a boy, a bit older than me, and dragged him into an empty room. I got to catch a glance of the room. It was covered in blood. We heard screaming, punching and kicking. And then a gunshot. It was silent after that. He then came out, and took another boy, the routine was followed again. I nodded at the girl, and she nodded back. I had made a calculation of how long the routine lasted. About fifteen minutes. It wasn't exact, so we either had more or less of that time to do it. He took another boy, and went into the room. We quickly hopped our chairs, as quietly as possible together. First, she undid my rope bonds, and then I did hers. She looked at me and smiled, and I grabbed a match, lit it, and threw it at a full beer bottle. Alcohol, of course, is highly flammable. It blew, making a huge hole in the wall, where the man was torturing the boy. The man, and sadly the boy, who did not make it, were caught in the blast. The man stood up, aiming the gun at the other children, who he quickly shot and killed. I growled at him, grabbing a gun. I had once fired a nine millimeter in a firing range. and I'd do it again for me and the girls sake. We started to run, making our way across the room. Until, the girl was shot in both legs. I ran over to her, and tried to help her up, but I could see she was losing blood fast. she looked at me, and smiled a faint smile, saying "I never told you my name. It's Abigail, Abigail York. I'm glad to have met you." What I had not noticed was that the man was towering above us now. He shot Abigail in the head. "No!" I shouted, with anger. I pointed the gun at the man and before he could shoot me, I shot him, right in the head. I watched as he fell to the ground. I looked at the mess that had been done here, the one I created. I grabbed my cellphone, which I regret to say, that I now just figured out I had, and called 911. They rushed over here, and looked at me, taking me to the ambulance. I watched the bodies being zipped up and taken away. I looked at Abigail's, and asked them to lay her body, unzipped, beside me. a nasty thought, I know. But, I felt that she deserved and honor. I looked at her pale skin, and at her blue green eyes. Now dead, with no soul nor shine in them. I stroked her now cool, and pale cheek, and murmured "Rest in peace, Abigail." I looked over at the police men, medics, and firefighters, and smiled, thinking Are we truly that, of which we hate?

    Abigail York
    1993-2008

    END