𝗰𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮 | 𝗷𝘂𝗷𝘂𝘁𝘀𝘂 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗻

𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁

Nothing makes sense anymore. (You think back to those dull early summer days you'd spent wandering aimlessly around the city. Living with this kind of adventure felt more exciting, but it sure was miserable having no idea what was going on.)

"Who's there?" Your head is shoved down by the invisible forces that have bound and captured you. You must be crazy. Crazy, or dreaming. (The crick in your muscles from your rough treatment is a little too realistic for this to be a dream.) You are (if you can trust the information your eyes are relaying to your mind) floating above the air, bound at the wrists and ankles and unable to move independently.

This is impossible, by the laws of physics, or by any other reasonable train of logic. You want to try pinching yourself awake but your kidnappers were quite meticulous in tying you up, so the best you can manage is digging your nails into meat of your palm. (It is not very effective.)

You can definitely feel a presence, though you cannot sense a physical body lifting you. It's more like you're floating atop a dense cloud of cold wind. (Ghosts? No.) (Unless?)

"If I've offended you somehow spirits, I really am sorry, but please put me down!" You're still in your pajamas for goodness' sake, having woken up this morning tied up in this conundrum. You have to be imagining this. How could the townspeople not notice you flying and make a scene?

(The curses beneath you cackle amongst themselves. Humans were so clueless.)

You vaguely recognize the path you're floating along, and that familiarity helps keep you calm, though you're really more numb from shock than truly calm. (Who could you call for help? Did you even have your phone with you?)

A chill rips through you. (How was anyone supposed to find you?)

That chill shakes you violently as your kidnappers veer into a side street. Nothing good could come from this.

"Help! Help!" You start to shout frantically, thrashing about violently. You can at least use the element of surprise to break free for a moment.

The grip on the back of your neck turns bone-crushing. A strange sensation, not unlike long spindly finger bones, wraps around your throat like a cage, squeezing tightly. You hiss out air like a leaky balloon, until you cannot breathe, much less speak. Your chest burns as you try to heave in a breath, the irritation only growing worse with each failed attempt. It hurts, it hurts so bad, it hurts.

The world turns purple, dotted with electric colors that you hallucinate dart through the sky. (Is this it?)

The pressure on your throat lets go slowly, as though testing your compliance. Each gulp of air leaves you begging for the next, though you remain dead silent. The world stays purple. (Why would someone want to kill you—what was there to gain from going through the trouble of breaking into your family's home undetected and sneaking you out only to murder you? You were nothing but average. Plain. Boring.)