​

A dear person of mine, with whom my relationship has no definitive label, once told me: “Although you are a walking sunshine, it shocks me that you know what pain feels like, and the depth you have really contradicts your power to brighten someone else’s day.” Maybe it wasn’t a contradiction, but more of a norm that the brightest lights are born from the darkest shadows? But to be honest, these words made me feel better about myself, romanticizing that although I’m aware of my pain and not escaping it, I’m still living as a human who tries to experience joy in an imperfect life.

Anyhow, my #1 fan —aka my bestie— told me today, with the most serious face I have ever seen on her, to start taking my writing seriously. Apparently, she believes that I have the potent power to publish something extraordinary that has no label nor familiar structure, yet it would reach people’s hearts.

Last August, I wrote a letter that has never been sent, but I published it somewhere appropriate. I was defending my stance as a person experiencing an ugly feeling that is necessary to grow, but most people are not comfortable enough to face it and usually escape it; however, I was courageous enough to do so. In that letter, I was asking for my right to be respected while being a mere human being with dignity carving its way in life. Every comment I received on that letter was about how scary it would be if that letter were written by an AI Agent because it was so touching.

Only I know my most impactful words were written unconsciously, and they ended up with me shedding tears in random public places. The best of my writings weren’t planned… I was feeling an immense emotion but I never cried, so I ended up writing it down until I suddenly cried. That’s why whenever I’m at a public place, which mostly happens to be cafés, I always ask for extra napkins. Because I don't mind crying in public, but I do mind looking ugly and miserable while shedding tears in public; not because I care about my looks, but because getting attention out of people’s kindness stops me from crying, which I need… and the worst part of my day is when I take the unused napkins to my car because I didn’t cry and I can’t return them… now my car is a waste-field of clean napkins on standby for my tears —of joy, I hope—.

As summers dawned, the writing lined the wall

The final walk around, yet pining stood tall

The paths that witnessed vulnerabilities laid bare

Now glimpse their end, no moisture lingering there

For the ethereal beauty, an enigmatic muse

Could never belong within my routine blues

Magnanimous, yet untouched by this pile of rubble

And perhaps it is kinder to spare her the trouble

1:53 on the 7th, and I let go of it all

The awe of her drive, her grace through every fall

The scrunched brows accompanying her loud laughter

Her towering presence, a jest we chased after

The anti-curse blessing that came from the heartland

The ideal child and daughter, though she’d never understand

God gives his bravest soldiers the cruelest battles

And I saw the saying breathe, while she stood unrattled

Her post-nap visage, the softly swollen eyes

The pearly pale skin and the hair fallen awry

The betrayal of my principles continues to sting

Yet I drown in thought as my fractured will caves in

The fault is not hers; her principles stand tall

As admiration deepens, it heralds my fall

The beauty herself would never betray her will

While I pine away, enamored by fleeting thrills

The disgust of self stretches ever so strong

This longing feels despicable, persistently wrong

Thus I let it fade and rise from the rubble

The beauty is freed; she is spared from the trouble

My irrational jealousy, boundless and wild

Of the men around her while she effortlessly smiled

The envy is foolish; numbers are never the enemy

Ever duty-bound, she fulfills the needs of many

Though the conclusion grates harshly against my skin

It is not her burden to suffer what festers within

The irrational one shall bear the weight of the rubble

While the beauty walks free, untouched by the trouble

Her choice respected, her freedom preserved

And perhaps in peace, my thoughts shall no longer be observed

I finally let go while adding lines to this ode

The nail in the coffin struck; others may walk that road

I wish her the highest success life can bestow

Though I shall not witness the places she'll go

The final promise I make as 1:53 draws near

She shall not be troubled as I quietly disappear

Replacements will come; there are always many

Wrong man, wrong time, wrong place , almost tragically funny

The weakness of principle was never hers to carry

The weak will and fractured discipline are mine alone to marry

This final goodbye shall never be heard, nor should it be

Yet even in absence, I shall root for all she may achieve

And when I vanish beyond memory’s dimmed shore

I shall still wish her every good, forevermore

---

Devvrut

Ps: Nice to see this sub flourishing used to be a mod here

Hey all! I’ve been working on this for about a week and would love some feedback! It’s not super polished since I’m just trying to get the flow of ideas down on the page. I’m not a seasoned writer by any means so please tell me if I should find a new hobby! 😂

Chapter 1

Does it always have to be black and white? What about all the colors in between? Scarlet Reds, Royal Blues, Purple Mountain Majesty. Shades of white are often tainted cream or grey, and blacks are almost never truly black, but some shade of blue or green. Is anything ever truly black and white?

A pen twirls between my fingers. My eyes glaze over my essay. The flow of thoughts halts. I look back up at my title, “More Than Black and White” by artist Jana Hues. I’ve only just begun filling in my outline but I’m already lost in thought visualizing every stroke I’m going to add to my painting when I get home. I squirm in my seat. I don’t feel anything writing this essay. Memories of times past fill my head. The irony of how Dad hung my work in the entryway for any passerby to see; only to become a stranger to me. Mom kept me safe from him and now that he’s gone, she doesn’t need to anymore. I shake my head. I need to go home. I need to get out of my head. I close my laptop and  open my desk drawer to put away my things. I pause. A sticky note is stuck to the inside of my drawer. 

Go with the flow. 

Was someone in my office? I close the drawer shut. 

A knock on the door interrupts. I can see through the glass that it’s Wallace, my ex fiance and co-worker. I signal to come in. 

“HR wanted me to relay the message, your mom called, She came in from her flight safely.”

“Thank you Wallace. I’m actually about to leave for the day… Did anyone come to my office while I was on break?” 

Wallace curls his lip and shakes his head. He could have put it here… but how insensitive would that be after the week I’ve had. I broke up with him for many reasons but insensitivity was not one of them. 

“The workload got to be too much for you eh?” He teases, eyeing the only assignment I’ve had for a week: my essay. 

I grimace. “Right, like you know anything about how to handle a workload?” Despite our ex status we enjoy poking at each other as if we were siblings. “Goodbye Wallace.” I wave. He rolls his eyes and goes back to his business. I pack up my things and head to the garage. 

Just before I make it to my exit the shining face of my little sister catches my eye. She chats with a stranger who leans against the building’s welcoming desk; he appears to be in his early thirties. My sister breaks eye contact with him and welcomes me with a smile. I’d really rather keep on my route home, but my sister is hard to escape. 

“Oh my gosh! You have to meet this guy! He’s our new,”  she turns to him, “sorry what did you say your job is?” 

“It’s a pleasure, I’m your new exterior design specialist.” His focus shifts back and forth between us. 

I tilt my head. I know everyone who works here, no one has mentioned an incoming “exterior design specialist.” 

“Oh, welcome to the Art Institute!” I  force a smile. His eyes narrow, almost microscopically. His looks are charming, but something about his expression makes me squirm. 

I turn to my sister, “I’m going to get going early today.”

“Are you ok? Is it about your Dad? Because I can totally come by later and bring you some company,” she mutters. I exhale a little more forcefully than necessary. “No, it’s ok Shay. I’m going to get lost in my painting tonight and forget the world.”

“Okay. Call me tonight!” She pulls me in for a hug. I can still feel the man watching me as I pass and finally exit the building; but I do not allow myself to glance back. 

I will be taking my sister up on that phone call. And he will be the main subject. 

My phone is clutched between my ear and my shoulder as I fumble around my purse for my house key. 

My mom answers, “Hey Jana! I came home safely!”

“I know mom. Wallace let me know.” I clasp my lips shut, I should really help mom tonight, “I decided to leave work early today. Do you want me to come that way in a little while to help you unpack?” 

“Yes, please! Reah was going to come help too but she had to cancel at the last minute. Anyway, how is that young man!?” 

“How should I know, Mom?” I shuffle my weight, “ You know, it really isn’t any of my business anymore.”  

“I know, but could you find out for me? He’s a good kid. I miss having him around.” 

“Alright Mom, I’ll do that” I chuckle. Sometimes she’s more like a nosy grandma than a mother. I pause ready to switch to a more somber subject, “how was the funeral?” 

“Ummm,” my mom hesitates,“it’s a lot to talk about over the phone. I’ll tell you when you get here?”

“Sure. I’ll see you soon Mom.” 

I finally retrieve the keys from my purse and walk up the drive way of my Italian style town home. It looks like one of my paintings, which is why I did not hesitate to say yes when the real estate agent offered it. 

I dump my things in my entry way where I’m greeted by my maine coon cat, Cumbs. He rubs his soft cheeks all over my baggy overalls. He’s more like a dog than a cat, which is why I love him. I shuffle to round the corner where I am welcomed by the sight of my art studio. Blue lights line the room and the best kind of clutter fills every surface. My shoulders rest. This is my sanctuary. My painting sits just how I left it this morning: A black and white woman whose color lies in her hazel, gold speckled eyes. I make some green tea for a late afternoon pick me up and go straight to work on La Donna di Colore. The harsh memories of my childhood fade away. A couple hours go by before I decide it's time to go to my Mom’s house. My stomach grumbles. I’m sure mon will have food ready for me. 

I dial up Mom to let her know I’m on my way. No answer. Well, I hope she’ll have dinner. 

My car pulls in next to her brand new 2026 bright pink mustang… at least she moved into a pretty house. Its style is much like my own town home, but on a far grander scale. Columns and architecture frame each window and door with extravagance. Outside, it feels more like a wedding venue than a home. 

I open the front door which Mom always leaves unlocked for me and call out. No response. “Mom, I’m here!” I repeat. Still nothing. It's not unlike her to begin something and lose track of time, and reality, as she focuses. She must be gardening or working on her book. I check the garden and her library office. In both I was equally met with silence. 

Strange. 

I call her. No answer. I try again as I breeze through every room in the house. Nothing. I pause in the living room. A book sits halfway open on the couch. Mom never leaves anything sitting out. She sits with it until it's done or she puts it away in its spot. As small a detail as it is, it's enough to spike my blood pressure. I close my eyes hard and grab my face. 

Mom, where are you?

My thoughts are blurred from adrenaline. I decide to call Wallace. When he answers I immediately jump to asking questions. “When my mom called the office did she mention anything else?” 

“N-no? You good you never c…,” I hang up and dial my sister. No response. Seriously, Shay pick up!  I try again. Still no response. I send her a text. 

I can’t find mom. Call me! 

For now I have no one else to call… except 911. 

The sun nearly passes beneath the horizon. Red and blue lights are backed up to the street. I sit on the steps beneath the front door folding myself into my Mom’s brown cardigan which I took to keep the evening chill off my shoulders. An officer questions me. I recall the entire day. I explain I have not been in contact with her at all today, until I called her when I got home from work. 

“You haven’t been able to get in touch with your half sister either, it’s half sister right?”  The officer asks. 

“No I haven’t and yes she is.” 

“We’ll send an officer to locate her and update her on the situation.”

If she hasn’t gone missing too, “Thank you.” 

“This funeral your mother went to, who was it for?” 

“My father. Her ex husband.” 

The officer’s expression towards me changes," I see. Why weren’t you and your sister there as well?”

“He wasn’t much of a father.” I explain,“Not one worth putting my job on hold to fly across the country for. And my sister, she had no connection to him. She lived with her dad when we were kids.” 

The officer nods, “Has your mother been around anyone suspicious or complained about any suspicious activity?”

“Not that I know of. I don’t really know her friends. Though she has mentioned a friend named Reah a time or two. That’s really all the information I have on her social life.” 

The officer thanks me and goes to his colleagues to consult with them before returning to me. “ Usually in adult cases we wait it out until the individual shows up. But since her car is still here, we agreed it would be best if we do an extensive investigation until she turns up. Does she have any cameras?”

I shake my head “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” 

Dammit Mom, why don’t I know these things?

The officer nods, “We’ll do all we can to find your mother. In the meantime we have everything we need from you. You’re free to go. We’ll give you a call if anything turns up.”

“I can’t stay here?”

“I’m sorry but until we know for sure whether or not this is a crime scene, it would be best if you do not interfere.”

I nod then go to my car and sit. Frozen. I remember that sticky note. 

Go with the flow. 

No. I shake my head. That had to be one of  Wallace’s jokes. 

My phone vibrates. My sister's goofy face illuminates the screen. Thank God she’s safe! My finger dashes to the right of the screen. 

“Mom’s missing???” 

“I don’t know, Shay. I - I came over to help her unpack and she’s just, not here. Can you meet me at mom’s house now?”

“Yeah. Stay there, I'm coming!” She hangs up. 

The glow of the red and blue lights becomes more saturated as the night grows darker. Shay pulls in. I stand in the driveway waiting while the police question her. My eyes stare at mom’s house but my mind is not in sync with them. 

I find myself remembering everything I’ve pushed down all week. One parent disappeared from my life with little explanation as to why. And now, so has mom. But this time, it was not a choice. It couldn’t have been…

Shay walks towards me. She’s hugging herself, and holding back tears. 

“How could this happen?” She cries. I fold my arms around her. 

“We’ll find her, I promise.” I release the embrace, “did the police tell you anything else?”

Shay shakes her head, “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“I know. I just don’t know, Shay. I search every room! I can’t imagine what might have happened. I don’t want to get in the way of the police!”

Shay focuses her eyes, the same way she does every time her mind is determined, “Have you talked to Wallace about all this?”

“Not exactly. I-” 

Shay pulls out her phone and dials Wallace. I offset my jaw. I don’t want him involved in this. Today is already complicated . Before I have a chance to protest, she explains the entire situation to him. 

She gets off the phone. “Wallace wants to meet us. He’s gonna help us find her.” 

I take a deep inhale, “Okay.” if it has to be him, it has to be him. 

My stomach now feels like it's eating itself. I still have not eaten dinner. “Could you ask him to meet us at La Cantina?  I haven’t eaten since lunch.” 

Shay agrees. I get in my car and start it but I cannot bring myself to pull out of the driveway just yet. I have to call her. Just one more time. 

It tones. It tones. It tones …. No answer. Now that the adrenaline has worn off I can feel the full weight of the situation. Mom isn’t standing in the doorway waving goodbye as I prepare to leave. 

She isn’t here. 

My eyes fight to stay fixed on the scene, but eventually I bring myself to pull out of the driveway. 

I pull into a parking lot tucked tightly between two buildings in the downtown area. I exit the vehicle and make my way inside to one of mine and my mom’s favorite hang out spots, La Cantina. I go inside and am greeted by my sister and Wallace. We all sit down at a booth. We fill him in on every detail. 

“Do you think you can do it?” I ask Wallace. He is a private investigator, though he doesn’t look the part. His job at the art institute is only part time. 

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ll do my best. And don’t worry, I won’t change you.” He winks. I roll my eyes. He’s always been so ridiculously cheeky. 

“So what’s the plan?” Shay asks. 

“Well, I definitely don’t have one yet, but I’ll be up all night thinking, I’m sure.”

We all talk about the good times we’ve had with Mom. Even Wallace. Sometimes I think he loved her more than me. When we finished our meals, Shay and I decide that I should stay at her place tonight. If someone did take mom, it’s best that neither of us are alone. 

We go our separate way to our vehicle. I load my left overs into the passenger seat. 

“Miss!” I hear a voice call out. Before I even have time to fully turn around a force yanks me and pins me between their body and my car. 

I  scream. 

A cloth covers my mouth and nose bringing with it a burning sensation. I fight their grip but the more I fight it the tighter their hold around my small frame becomes. I try to hold my breath so as not to breathe in any more of the burning compound, but soon I grow weak and succumb to the darkness. 

Chapter 2

The workings of an engine and the sound of wind beating against the sides of a vehicle are all I hear. I lay half awake. I don’t remember falling asleep. I continue in this half awake state for a moment before it hits me… I don’t remember falling asleep in a car! I jolt upwards. My eyes bounce in every direction. I don’t recognize this place. It looks like I’m in the back of an empty van. I try to scurry to my feet but my wrists catch around a pole. I am chained and surrounded by nothing but metal walls. I slide my wrists up the pole to stand then pound on the barrier between me and where the driver should be, though I cannot see them. “HEY! WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?!”  No response. “HEY!” I keep pounding. “HEY!!!” 
They just keep driving. I slide back down to sit.
I feel around my pockets to see if my kidnappers left my phone or anything in my pockets. They did not. I reach up to feel my hair, it's still up in bobby pins! I bring my hands to my head and pull one out of my hair and try my best to use it to pick the lock. Dammit!  It won’t fit!

I shrivel up, tremors overcome me. I remember, Mom…. Am I about to find out first hand where mom is? It can’t be a coincidence. Mom goes missing, now this. I can’t help but wonder, if somehow, someway, Dad is involved. What feels like hours go by. I do not sleep. I just sit thinking. I can’t get stuck in my head right now; yet I find myself there. Wondering if mom is alive, and when this is all over, will I be? 

Eventually the van slows to a stop. A clunky step leaps out of the van. The doors on the other end of the vehicle finally swing open. Blinding sunlight floods the van. I’ve been in here all night at least. 

A large figure steps in. When my eyes come into focus, I see a familiar unsettling glare. He is the man from the Hallway. The “exterior design specialist.”

“You!”  My chest tightens. He steps closer. “GET BACK!” I scream. He keeps coming. I kick at him with all the strength I have, though it is next to none. He doesn’t react but reaches down and begins to unlock my chains. 

“Shhh, Just go with it. You’ll be okay.”

I cock my head, “YOU KIDNAPPED ME!” 

He grimaces. 

The chains come undone. I could escape. He doesn’t have a weapon and now my hands are free. But I’m so weak. The man reaches down and firmly grabs me by the arm. He hurdles me to my feet and carries me out of the van. My feet hit the ground. He is no longer blocking my path. I try to run but I lose my footing after a couple steps. I push myself up but don’t get far before those same arms that grabbed me last night grab me again and carry me the opposite direction of where I was trying to run. I kick and scream, but it does nothing. He brings me inside a house and sits me down on a couch in a large, open family room.

“You’re not going to outrun me.” He says, pulling back. He backs away several feet, to my surprise, giving a reasonable amount of space between us. I catch my breath. 

He’s right. He is lean and strong, I am just an artist who does pilates a few times a week. If I am going to get away, I will have to outsmart him. 

I scan my surroundings. The room is modern and luxurious. Grey and white overtake nearly every surface. Small pops of color are brought in through decorative accents. A loft overlooks the family room and large pointed windows cover the entire north face of the home. I turn my eyes to the window. I’m in a desert, far different from the lush hills and valleys of Virginia that I grew up in. 

“Where are we?” I ask

“Albuquerque, New Mexico,” He states. 

“Albuquerque? How long was I out?”

“Long enough.” 

Albuquerque. I haven’t been here since the last time I saw Dad. Looks like I was going on that trip whether I wanted to or not. 

The man shifts his weight, “Let’s get you settled.” 

“No! I want answers!”

A hint of impatience flashes across his expression,“Not now.”

I look at him, now with more confidence than I had in the hallway knowing for certainty that he is a snake. “Did you know my father? Is that why I’m here?”

His eyes narrow,“In a way. I knew of him.”

“What does that mean?” I scoff. 

He holds his breath for a moment, then a long exhale. He does not speak. 

“Where’s my Mom?”

His eyes look deeper into mine. “Your mom hasn’t been honest with you.”

I glare at him as though he’s not just a snake, but Satan himself, “Are you accusing her of something?” 

He draws closer to me, kneels down on my level and grabs my shoulder. He holds my gaze, “How do you think she was able to afford that house and that brand new car?” He raises his eyebrows. 

I stare blank. I can’t think about this right now. 

He shakes his head,“Come with me. You should sleep.” He pulls me off the couch and leads me down a hallway with a hand hovering behind my back and a firm hold around my arm. 

“Can you at least tell me if my sister is safe?” I ask as we walk.

“I can’t make any promises.” He states. 

I instinctively pull away but his grip combats my movement. 

Shay, please be alright. 

We stop at the entrance of a bedroom. I peek inside. Its tones are warm. Silk bedding and a private bathroom add a layer of luxury to the room but bars cover the window, bringing the whole room down a notch. He guides me across the threshold. I am too exhausted to fight him, though I am unsure of when I will cross over it again. The door closes behind me and the lock immediately clicks. For the moment I ignore the fact that I am in captivity. I just want to sleep. I curl up on the welcoming mattress and before thoughts have a chance to overtake me, slip into the deepest sleep of my life. 

My eyes flutter open. I breathe deeply taking in my new reality. Slowly, I rise from my heavy slumber and turn my head to the window. It is sunrise. A desk sitting on the narrow side of the room across from the foot of the bed catches my attention. A small canvas sitting on an easel and a jar full of brushes clutter the surface. I inch my sore, stiff body to the desk and explore its drawers. There is a full spectrum of paints and paint palettes. I have a number of questions for that man when he comes back. Why does he want me to paint?  Will he get something out of it? None of this makes any sense. I ignore the paint supplies for now and resolve to take a warm shower.  

When I get out of the shower I wrap myself in the soft plushy robe hanging in the bathroom closet and tie my hair up in the towel. I hear a knock on the door. My heart stops. Could now be the time to escape? Or at least, get some questions answered?

“Hello?” I call

The voice of a woman responds, “Hello Jana. The Big Man wanted me to bring you some things. May I enter?”

Dammit. It's not him. 

I sigh, “Yes.” 

The sound of keys fumbling and scraping the inside of the lock brings me hope. The door opens and the  woman enters. She wears a brown leather jacket over black clothing. I recognize the jacket as being one commonly worn by those who conceal cary. I can only assume she has a gun. Maybe I can get my hands on that jacket somehow.

Her arms are loaded with a tray of breakfast foods, and numerous outfits. I eye these things confused. These are the people who kidnapped me?

“Would you please tell me what’s going on?” I demand. 

The woman stares for a moment, “What has he told you?”

“Nothing.”

The woman gulps down hard, “I’m terribly sorry. I know this is scary for you. Please take comfort in knowing we will give you everything you need while you are here.”

“Yeah? And why am I here?” I blurt. 

She sighs,“I know it's hard for you to believe right now, but it is better that you are here than in Virginia.” The woman hands over the things. 

I look down at my breakfast. Two pieces of bacon and two waffles topped with whipped cream - real whipped cream - and homemade strawberry puree. This is lovely. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I can’t be sure of how long it's been since I’ve had a meal. 

Mr. “Big Man,” kidnapped me before I had a chance to eat my dinner. 

“When can I talk with that man again?” 

“He plans to check on you this afternoon. I can’t promise he’ll tell you much though. Again, I’m so sorry.”  She leaves, relocking the door. Heavy footed steps echo down the hallway. 

I plop the items she gave me down on the bed then yank the towel off my head, nearly pulling out my hair.  

I’M SICK OF BEING LEFT IN THE DARK. 

I close my eyes and let out a sharp exhale. I need to calm down, or I’ll never escape. 

I look at the clock just above the desk. It reads nearly eight. I have at least four hours to kill. I glance down at the art supplies. I wasn’t going to paint. Not until I knew these people’s motives, but I can’t stop myself. 

I pick a paint brush and begin mixing paint colors. My breathing and heart rate slows. My thoughts become clear. I need that woman to come back in here. 

I pull back from the painting and find myself satisfied with the result for now. Blurred splotches of lighter and darker greys fill the canvas. There are no clear lines. No clear perspective. Only uncertainty. Water droplets accent the painting. They are the only clear focus. I lean back in my chair and exhale. Now the clock reads just past noon. 

He’s supposed to come see me soon. I’ll have to be quick. 

I pull down the shower curtain rod and remove its curtain then position myself by the door. Confirming what I am about to do by letting out the biggest scream I could conjure, “HELP!” I yell, “HELP!!!” I keep yelling until I hear the woman run to the door and open it. Instantly, I give her the biggest blow to the head I can muster. She falls to the floor but is not unconscious. She leaps up and tackles me to the ground. We struggle but I have the edge and give her another good hit to the head with the rod. She is still conscious but disoriented. I take her jacket and her keys, run out of the room and lock her inside. I quickly feel inside the concealed pocket. 

Bingo! 

I run from the room towards the home’s front door before taking any time to think. 

I need to hide until I know where he is. 

There is a staircase in the entry way. I take cover behind it then peer out a window to see the driveway. There are two cars. 

He could be here. 

I think through my options. I can’t go through the hallway behind me. There are too many rooms. I could be cornered. The living room past the entryway is too open. My best bet is to leave through the front door. I run and try to open it. It doesn’t open. My eyes scramble. There’s a padlock. 

I spin in circles trying to plan my next move, but before I take another step, I see him. He’s walking towards me from the family room. I pull out the gun and point it straight at him. 

My eyes widen, I’ve never shot before. 

“STOP!” I demand, “Give me the code or I will shoot you!”

He does not stop. He keeps walking towards me. There is no fear in his eyes. 

“Jana, you are here for protection. Let me protect you.”

“Really? You sure have a funny way of ‘protecting’ me!”

“Put the gun down. I will explain everything. I think once I do you will choose to stay here.”

“Why didn’t you explain before?”

“There was no time!” His voice escalates. He is still walking towards me. Now he is under the door frame of the entryway. 

“Stop! Explain now!” 

He does not stop, he keeps coming closer. He’s too close. 

I pull the trigger. 

Snap. 

DAMMIT THE SAFETY!

He moves. The gun shifts from my hands to his. 

“YOU BASTARD!” I yell out as he wraps his arms around me. I struggle, again to no avail before he whisks me to the other side of the house. 

The silence is louder than the screams that echo in my mind.

The factory smells like old metal and sadness. The hum of a machine, and the quiet sobs of the other girls is the only thing you can hear over the ringing they play so we can’t sleep. One thing to bring us joy and we can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. 

Even with the ringing, it’s so quiet. How can it be quiet and loud at the same time? 

I don’t know. 

All of a sudden, every single girl looks to the door. They’re nervous. I am too. 

The familiar stomp and tap of the king and queen’s shoes echo through the metal chamber. That noise that makes my breathing uneven every time I hear it. Everyone freezes. “Who should we pick today, my lovely wife?” the king booms in his gruff voice. The queen points to a selkie (one of the newer additions), an elf and… me. 

Shoot.

Not again. “No no no no no no” I whisper under my breath. “What was that?” A guard asks, grabbing me by my waist.

I fight the urge to shove his hands off of me and scream. 

“Glory to the royals.” I say instead.

We are led to another gray cold metal room. Before any real torture, we have to listen to the queen lecture us on why we are horrible and magic will be the end of humanity or whatever stupid thing she decides today. The Royals hate magic and anything that has to do with it because it makes them feel like they aren’t in control. That’s why I’m here. That’s why my parents aren’t.  I still hear the laughter. 

I still see the pitchforks and torches. 

I still feel the heat as I press myself against the wall.  I still smell the ash.

I’m a witch… and one of the king’s favorite toys. He likes to watch us step on hot coals or be locked in a bathtub filled with water. It brings the psycho pleasure. As we walk down the bright hallway to the torture room, the elf girl trips! I catch her just as a guard cocks his gun. No sudden movements are allowed because it seems like we’re trying to escape. As if we could even escape.

DING DING DING!

I snap my head up at the noise. It’s the auction bell! A sharp, memorable ring carries through the factory and the king rolls his eyes, disappointed he can’t torture us today. 

We hurry to the auction room and are put in boxes like some kind of doll. Some kind of plaything that they can do anything they want with. I haven’t been sold yet. The king and queen sell us for gold because only young magic users sell well. Older ones aren´t as easy to keep and they have more experience with magic which makes them more dangerous. I haven’t gotten picked because people want more interesting magic users like fairies or elves. A few girls are bought, including Paige, an elf I made friends with before in the factory. She has muted blonde hair and freckles sprinkle her face like cinnamon. When she is sold she seems sad, putting on a broken facade, but there’s a special twinkle in her eyes. Defiant. 

I see a man eye me and he writes something down. He smiles a sinister smile that shakes my spine and bids one hundred thousand gold to buy me. My heart drops to my stomach. A few others bid for me but he continues to up the amount of money. He ends up being the highest bidder, so I kneel next to him. I notice his maid glancing at me. Almost like she’s trying to get my attention. 

I shake the thought out of my head as a few more magical beings are sold and the auction ends. The man chuckles to himself as he drags me outside. He drags me and I’m tired. So tired of being treated like an object. Like a toy with no feelings.

His maid stops, looks at me with distaste, and says with a snarl, “Can I warn the witch about you to put her in her place?” He nods, grumbling a yes and walks to the carriage. The maid turns to me and cracks her knuckles. I flinch, expecting a slap to the face or worse. “Hi I’m Caty! What’s your name?” She asks and tilts her head. The kindness in her voice…it startles me. I haven’t heard that in a long time. It brings a small tear to the corner of my eye. I want to say, I lost my identity so long ago that saying my name does nothing for me. I’ve been broken-in, used, abused and all I want is my little house, with my little family back. Where everything in the world wasn’t wrong and I smiled. I actually smiled. 

“Luna.” I mumble instead.

“Hi Luna! Listen — I don’t have much time, but I’m gonna help you, okay?” Caty stares at me with kind eyes. She gives me an awkward hug and says, “Quick! Act like I was yelling at you!” I pretend to be scared of her as we walk back to the carriage. Two horses await at the front of the carriage. One of them has pure white fur whereas the others fur is as dark as the night sky. The man glares at us as we ride to who knows where.