Blindsided

It took mere seconds to relapse into a comatose state; lying unconsciously on a plain white bed with minimal sheets and walls of bleak stones. There were no windows, no sun shining through the bars and shedding warmth into the frigid room.  Nothing about the area screamed comfort, a place of safety and recognition.  A musky smell wafted into the room through the crude wooden door, seeping through the large cracks caused by the previous inhabitant. Water ran down the stone walls creating mud pits on the floor. The place was rightfully entitled ‘Prison’ and seemed to embody every aspect of the word.

Stale sheets, soaked with urine, sweat and blood crunched under the girl as she shifted in her sleep. The time that had passed was unrecognizable due to the lack of ability to see the position of the sun. It could have been hours, days, or even weeks before she would open her eyes once again. Her skin used to have a healthy, sun-kissed glow. Now it was pale white and blotchy from malnutrition, large bruises covering her limbs. Hair that was once as vibrant as the red of a rose was now matted with dirt and grime, forever entangled in dreadlocks. Her nails were chewed up and stained with blood from constantly scratching at the door or wall, trying with no success to escape her dreaded fate.

The days grew longer and longer as time passed. Nothing seemed to bring comfort to her no matter how hard she tried. It had not mattered much anyway. She was in and out of consciousness so much that comfort was not necessary. It was a rarity that she was awake. By the end of the time, she was not eating any food or drinking water. She would not smile or grimace, hell - she barely acknowledged pain from the knives piercing her or the hot irons branding her skin. Her eyes were void of all emotion having gone a milky blue due to vision lost. Her face was beyond recognition and one would use daunting as a way to describe it, but that word did not justify the horror of decay. She was essentially a walking corpse…had she been alive.

It started about a year ago, the girl living with her mother and two older brothers. She was a golden girl; she had perfect grades and was the president of multiple clubs at her school. She was a teacher’s aide and helped other students in her classes and even offered to remain after school for extra tutoring. There was nothing that any person could pick out as a flaw. Deandrah Jay Milton was the girl every other girl wanted to be and the girl every boy wanted to be with.

The day was setting into twilight and the colors in the sky mixed together creating a masterpiece of abstract art. Deandrah was walking along the streets towards her home not but fifteen minutes from the school. She had earphones in her ears and music playing from her mp3 player, her mind lost to the lyrics, eyes closed in content. As she reached the corner to turn onto her street, a pair of hands unexpectedly wrapped around her petite body. One hand moved to cover her mouth before she could scream while the other remained around her waist, tugging harshly towards a car stopped on the road.

Her screams were muffled, the noise catching in her throat and rubbing her vocal chords raw. The person was unrelenting in pulling her to the car and shoving her into the trunk. With tears in her eyes she screamed only to have it be cut off by the trunk lid slamming shut effectively locking her in the small confinement. Deandrah’s hands were trembling as her body shook with fear. Who were these people? What did they want?

Deandrah banged against the lid while screaming. She knew they were moving from her body shifting in the trunk or being thrown in the air from hitting pot holes. After about half an hour she gave up; she lost hope that someone would hear screaming from the trunk of the car and do something about it. At that point she let the tears fall freely. What little pride she held onto after being thrown into the trunk was gone. She did not care if the kidnappers saw her crying. Perhaps, then maybe they would see that she was human and had emotions as well. Maybe they would realize that it was a mistake and take her home.

It was a fruitless dream.