Start for Girl #5
Posted: Sun Aug 19, 2018 5:07 pm
Most people are lucky enough to avoid the hell that is to be kidnapped. Those that are unfortunate enough to be taken away from their homes, their families, a great many don't survive. If they aren't sexually assaulted, they're often killed and buried in fields somewhere, their parents never again to know where their little girl went.
So how the fuck am I so lucky to manage to get myself kidnapped not once, but TWICE?!
The name's Amanda Jones. Sound familiar? It should - my father's the vice president of the United States. If you'll remember, a few years back, a high ranking US senator's daughter was kidnapped by eco-terrorists trying to make a statement on the destruction of the Earth's rainforests. What they ended up doing was getting themselves spread all over the walls and the floors of the building they were keeping me in. That's right - that senator was my dad, and that senator's daughter was me.
This is crap! For the second time in my not-so-long life, I've been kidnapped by terrorists, had guns pointed at me, and am basically fighting for my life. I've seen dead bodies, and I've seen blood, gore, and guns. I've seen them up close and personally. Most people who get to experience this are in their twenties, their thirties. They suffer emotional trauma but are lucky enough to have trained professionals who deal with that kind of thing.
Me? I'm SIXTEEN, I have enough trouble dealing with my boy problems. In fact, that's really the only problems I'd like to be dealing with - that and how much homework I have to catch up on after a few missed days of school.
Looks like everything's about to change.
Sitting in the open field, alone and weary, Amanda Jones pulled herself into a hesitant sitting position. Her mind was racing with a million different thoughts, and her stomach was stewing with a certain fear - the fear that for the second time, nobody knew where she was.
Scenarios raced through her mind - her dad was an important person - surely the airline would let the school know that none of them made it there at all, and a massive investigation would be launched. Sooner or later, it was likely that the United States government would find these terrorists and get them out. Get them out, if it weren't for the collars on their necks. Those collars, which she fingered a little, kept any of them from really getting saved. One press of a button and they all died.
"Fuck!" She swore aloud, not really caring that in her current position, if anyone were to drop by, she'd be a sitting duck.
Glancing at her pack, she saw it was the same rather large camping back she had brought along on the plane. I'd best look through it to see if they took anything from it...
Everything seemed to be in order as she rifled through the bag. Her playing cards, wallet, cell phone (which didn't work, as luck wouldn't have it), a spare shirt, her MP3 player, sunglasses, and other random items she found she probably wouldn't need during her stay on 'Death Island' as she heretofor dubbed it. One thing was oddly out of place though, and that was the baseball bat that she found sticking out of her bag. Picking it up and hefting it, she found it to be made completely of wood. It was relatively heavy, but looked like a rather normal baseball bat - aside from the ugly looking nail sticking out of the end of it.
This must be my weapon, huh? Some fucking weapon.
Amanda sighed. She wanted to go home, this wasn't exactly what she was feeling cut out for. Regardless - if she was going to participate in the game, she would play to win - that was just regardless of anything. Could she kill someone? Probably. There was enough pent up anger in there to unleash on someone, but could she kill her friends? Her classmates?
She looked at the ground, and fell over in frustration. As she lay on her back, she carefully moved the nail-bat from one hand to the other. What about Adam? If the terrorists had been on the plane, he would undoubtedly be here on the island too. Would he be playing the game, killing anything that moved? She doubted it. Knowing Adam, he would be gaining allies, and trying to create a plan. That is, if he wasn't already dead.
Amanda shuddered at the thought. As much as she wished it, Adam wasn't her boyfriend, simply due to the fact that she didn't think he knew how strongly she felt about him. They were friendly outside of school, as most people were with him, and they had hung out a couple times, but Amanda had never thought to make a move on him, and see what he did. Most girls would wait for the guy to make the move - but not her. Amanda fancied herself a go-getter, and usually went and got what she wanted.
Perhaps that was what she needed to do, was find an ally. Better yet, find Adam. If he wasn't playing, odds were he'd be trying to find a way to get out, and if they put their combined intellect together, well...maybe they would find a way.
Hesitating, though, Amanda looked at her map, and to her dismay, saw how large the island was. Great. I'm looking for one guy on a huge island with tons of people, at least a few of which would likely shoot me on sight. This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack - provided he's not lying dead in some ditch somewhere.
With at least a temporary plan in mind, Amanda rose to her feet, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Now was a time for action and instinct before thought, but still, she couldn't resist thinking - 'where the hell do I start?'
Glancing at her map, she began to walk to the north.
So how the fuck am I so lucky to manage to get myself kidnapped not once, but TWICE?!
The name's Amanda Jones. Sound familiar? It should - my father's the vice president of the United States. If you'll remember, a few years back, a high ranking US senator's daughter was kidnapped by eco-terrorists trying to make a statement on the destruction of the Earth's rainforests. What they ended up doing was getting themselves spread all over the walls and the floors of the building they were keeping me in. That's right - that senator was my dad, and that senator's daughter was me.
This is crap! For the second time in my not-so-long life, I've been kidnapped by terrorists, had guns pointed at me, and am basically fighting for my life. I've seen dead bodies, and I've seen blood, gore, and guns. I've seen them up close and personally. Most people who get to experience this are in their twenties, their thirties. They suffer emotional trauma but are lucky enough to have trained professionals who deal with that kind of thing.
Me? I'm SIXTEEN, I have enough trouble dealing with my boy problems. In fact, that's really the only problems I'd like to be dealing with - that and how much homework I have to catch up on after a few missed days of school.
Looks like everything's about to change.
Sitting in the open field, alone and weary, Amanda Jones pulled herself into a hesitant sitting position. Her mind was racing with a million different thoughts, and her stomach was stewing with a certain fear - the fear that for the second time, nobody knew where she was.
Scenarios raced through her mind - her dad was an important person - surely the airline would let the school know that none of them made it there at all, and a massive investigation would be launched. Sooner or later, it was likely that the United States government would find these terrorists and get them out. Get them out, if it weren't for the collars on their necks. Those collars, which she fingered a little, kept any of them from really getting saved. One press of a button and they all died.
"Fuck!" She swore aloud, not really caring that in her current position, if anyone were to drop by, she'd be a sitting duck.
Glancing at her pack, she saw it was the same rather large camping back she had brought along on the plane. I'd best look through it to see if they took anything from it...
Everything seemed to be in order as she rifled through the bag. Her playing cards, wallet, cell phone (which didn't work, as luck wouldn't have it), a spare shirt, her MP3 player, sunglasses, and other random items she found she probably wouldn't need during her stay on 'Death Island' as she heretofor dubbed it. One thing was oddly out of place though, and that was the baseball bat that she found sticking out of her bag. Picking it up and hefting it, she found it to be made completely of wood. It was relatively heavy, but looked like a rather normal baseball bat - aside from the ugly looking nail sticking out of the end of it.
This must be my weapon, huh? Some fucking weapon.
Amanda sighed. She wanted to go home, this wasn't exactly what she was feeling cut out for. Regardless - if she was going to participate in the game, she would play to win - that was just regardless of anything. Could she kill someone? Probably. There was enough pent up anger in there to unleash on someone, but could she kill her friends? Her classmates?
She looked at the ground, and fell over in frustration. As she lay on her back, she carefully moved the nail-bat from one hand to the other. What about Adam? If the terrorists had been on the plane, he would undoubtedly be here on the island too. Would he be playing the game, killing anything that moved? She doubted it. Knowing Adam, he would be gaining allies, and trying to create a plan. That is, if he wasn't already dead.
Amanda shuddered at the thought. As much as she wished it, Adam wasn't her boyfriend, simply due to the fact that she didn't think he knew how strongly she felt about him. They were friendly outside of school, as most people were with him, and they had hung out a couple times, but Amanda had never thought to make a move on him, and see what he did. Most girls would wait for the guy to make the move - but not her. Amanda fancied herself a go-getter, and usually went and got what she wanted.
Perhaps that was what she needed to do, was find an ally. Better yet, find Adam. If he wasn't playing, odds were he'd be trying to find a way to get out, and if they put their combined intellect together, well...maybe they would find a way.
Hesitating, though, Amanda looked at her map, and to her dismay, saw how large the island was. Great. I'm looking for one guy on a huge island with tons of people, at least a few of which would likely shoot me on sight. This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack - provided he's not lying dead in some ditch somewhere.
With at least a temporary plan in mind, Amanda rose to her feet, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Now was a time for action and instinct before thought, but still, she couldn't resist thinking - 'where the hell do I start?'
Glancing at her map, she began to walk to the north.