Captive

"Write a 2-3 page story in which a strong main character is on a quest for something important and specific. The object is a given- don't explain its importance. The main character starts acting immediately. She then meets a (specific) obstacle. Finally she triumphs over the obstacle by means of a magic or supernatural element that comes from the outside. This story should be told through action and dialogue and should include a strong sense of place."

“Captive”

White light flickers around the cracks in the blacked out window, thunder rolls, and rain patters against the siding. I hope they are enough to cover the sound of the chair squeaking as I work my chaffed wrists against these restraints. My jaw aches from the gag. My shoulders and spine are sore from sitting upright, with my arms pushed behind my back. My head aches, but I don’t know if it’s from dehydration, stress, or the heavy odor of spilled gasoline and mothballs mixed with stale sweat. Wisps of hair keep falling in my eyes, tears roll down my face, and I am terrified that he might hear me, he might come back, and it will start all over again.

            The floorboards above me creak, and I stop my movement. Is he walking toward the door? Will he come down again? Does he come down at certain times or is it on a whim? I don’t know, but the footsteps overhead move left and then behind me, so I keep working. Layers of duct tape are wrapped around and around my hands and feet and arms and middle, just under my breasts that he apologetically caresses when he binds me. I’ve been struggling against these makeshift restraints for days- hours? How many times has he fed me? I’ve lost track, but I get nowhere. He removes the straps when he comes down to talk, then replaces them with fresh tape. My arms ache from straining and my wrists are swollen from the edges that cut into my skin.

            There! I’ve worked them loose just enough. I think that I can slip my hand out if I pull hard enough. I yank hard, and try to choke off a muffled scream of pain. I pause to listen, my heart riots inside my chest, adrenaline screams through my muscles and in my brain. I can get loose! Did he hear? I’m almost free!

            There are no footsteps above, but I wait longer. I will only have one chance, I don’t want to waste it. With another flash I take in a breath, I would grit my teeth if it weren’t for this gag. The accompanying clap soon follows, and I scream and pull my right hand through. The left is out a half second later, and I claw at the tape around my face. I can’t tear it off fast enough, as frantic as I am I can’t seem to grip anything, numb fingers stuttering clumsily at edges, digging, worrying, a fingernail tears and I bite my lip to suppress a yelp.

            The room is ink, only a razor of yellowed light burns above, at the top of the stairs. I have seen the room before, when he turns  on the light and comes down, but I cannot trust my memory. I cautiously shuffle forward, pawing at the empty black with my hands, but it is my feet that find cardboard boxes and gardening tools, and my shin that strikes some unyielding metal bar. If I make it to the door, then what? Slip through the house unnoticed? Try to sneak out the front door? Should I try to find some weapon in the dark? I reach the top of the steps and cautiously, gently try the knob. “Oh God oh God oh God,” I whimper, “let me get away.” The door is locked.

            Panic claws at my throat and fresh tears roll from my eyes. I am stuck here, there is no way out of this concrete prison. He will come in and find me out of the chair, and he will know that I tried to escape and it will be worse than before. I should be thinking of my next move, something else to do, but despair is eating my heart and I can’t think of anything but how I am going to die in this miserable hole in the ground, and no one will ever find me. With my back to the door, I sink to the steps and quietly sob.

            A deafening crack, like the universe tearing off its hinges, explodes on my ears without a breath of warning, followed by a groaning snap and the shattering of glass. Soft yellow light spills through a broken window, illuminating a leafy branch, an escape, an out. I’m momentarily deafened to quieter sounds, and I don’t hear the footsteps until they are almost at the door. Fumbling, slipping, scrabbling down the steps I flee, not thinking or planning, just getting away, the door opens and the room floods with light, dazzling my eyes. He shouts and I dare not look back, just thrashing my way to that window up above my head on the other side of the room. I stumble over trash bags of cast away clothes and around the free weight bench I must have hit on my way up and I’m there. I jump and grab the edge as he shouts my name and I wriggle my way up, up and over, dragging my body through shards of broken glass, out into the clean smelling rain. He grabs my heel and I kick savagely, he releases and I am free. It was God, it had to be, I think, while my feet pound the wet ground and pain begins to register in my hands and arms and knees, where glass splinters have embedded in my skin. Or was it? Lightening happens all of the time. But this one hit a tree that punched out the window that made an opening for me, right at the time I needed it. Struggling to my feet I disappear into the night, I don’t care what direction just not on the road where he can follow.

On a track I can run a mile in five minutes. This is an uneven field and I’m not wearing my track shoes, I’m malnourished and bleeding, rain is pouring down in my ears and in my eyes and through my clothes. Doesn’t matter. I lengthen my stride and pace my breathing, eating up ground, flying over grass. Running is what I do best. That son of a bitch is never going to catch me.