The Little Things

Those things he loved that I would never do for him...
 I do them for you now, but you'll never know because you don't notice them
 because you don't realise that I'm there- just an outstretched hand away...
waiting for you to pull me in with just a little thing you think I haven't yet noticed.

I cherish the golden nuggets you send my way,
 hoping beyond hope that you're dishing them in hopes that I'd be able to take the hint...
 I do... if you do...
I will... if you will...

The Prisoner

“Bitch,” he smirked as I pressed my cold hand to my newest bruise. My cheek burned, even my tears couldn’t stop the fire his hand had created.

“They had better pay the ransom,” I know it would be better if I didn’t answer or suffer worse beatings. He thinks they’ll pay but I know better. My brother once said, just after our parents’ passing, that no matter how much a ransom was the hostage would never survive: “So why waste valuable money?”

So I sit on an old wooden chair with my ankles tied to the rickety legs, my hand on my cheek trying to soothe the inflamed skin, my tears streaming, my hair messed, my lip swollen and cut and my mouth shut, knowing no ransom would be paid. I will never make it home alive.

I know what you’re thinking right now: “Don’t give up hope.” But how can I have hope now if I never had any going into this.

“Who is this sadistic bastard? Is he some small time crook who saw an opportunity?” What would a small time criminal want with a trust-fund-baby, well twenty-something? Nope, not small time, he planned out the attack, just like you see on TV. But he miscalculated one thing: Big brother could care less about always-get-your-ass-in-some-sort-of-trouble-little-sister (his words not mine).

So you see there never was any point for hope.

I can feel the effects of the last dosage of drugs wearing off. I hear the sound of his footsteps echoing in the distance. Alone ...again.

---

I hate how time just stands still and rushes by all at once. What I am trying to say is: How long have I been here now? It feels like years, but he hasn’t been back yet.

A few hours ago my captor had me sit in front of a video camera, holding today’s newspaper. I had to state the date and time clearly, apparently this is how you force money out of stingy rich people; you barter for it with someone’s life.

I was on camera and for the first time in my life I was told not to fix my hair or to add another coat of gloss.

---

He’d said he’d give them 48 hours but I see his patience wearing thin. I really couldn’t guarantee he’d get the money so I didn’t try begging for him to let me go because I had nothing he wanted.