They snatched me off the street. Us. They chained us up together, twenty or thirty unwilling ducklings in a row. Skin colored balloons weighted down with silver string. We had heard of this happening, pretty girls in groups getting taken away but it seemed at an arm's length, a distance away from our safe and sheltered world. This used to be a safe neighborhood. Used to be, my mind whispered. Shut up, I ordered. I am going to be fine, but the gigantic rampaging elephants in my stomach said otherwise.
We had been walking together, a whole group of us, thinking we were safe. Of course, it’s the innocent girls in the horror movies that always get taken away, always the girls who think that they’re fine, that they are just complacent within the world. The books never taken off the bookshelf, the ones that blend in, the ones that have been read over and over yet never dropped and then a hiatus. Then, garbage.
It seems like the ones who do the dropping are never as they appear, in novels, television. We were held captive by two men, young men, handsome too, a future ahead of them, involving this? I couldn’t think. I stood there and blinked.
They held up guns to Bernie’s head, the most fragile out of us. We had our screams choked with fear, one emotion replacing the other, like a babushka doll, each growing larger to swallow the other up. I could see her trembling and looked in his eyes. He has glacier eyes, turning his brown irises black. I didn’t want her limp birdlike carcass on my conscience. We allowed the cold shackles on our wrists, on our ankles. None of us fought. There was nothing we could fight.