“This is the third time time I’ve been kidnapped this WEEK. This is getting old.”

“Well if you didn’t keep escaping you wouldn’t have that complaint.” I pull the sack of off the man’s head, finally getting a good look of the man I’ve been ordered to once, twice, three times kidnap. I take in his tousled, brown hair, green eyes, tired face and smile...

“I see you staring at me.”

I snap back to reality. “What...?”

“You took the bag off my head. I can see you staring.”

I don’t know how to respond. I don’t have experience with men being so blunt.

Fumbling with the sack, I stick out my right hand. “I’m Jordan.”

The man stares at me. “Okay... so... one, my hands are tied behind my back. If you are expecting me to shake your hand, I don’t know what you are thinking. Two, is it regulation for kidnappers to introduce themselves to their kidnappees?”

I stutter. This man is tied to a chair in the middle of a dim warehouse. He’s talking to me like we’re at a coffeehouse together, and I’m his date, not like I’m the lady who just kidnapped him from his home an hour ago.

“Do you normally talk aloud?”

Oops. I thought I said that only in my head.

“I’m tied to a spinny chair. A freaking spinny chair. How bad can the situation be?”

“You have no idea.” I glance around quickly, hoping this will make him nervous. Boss won’t like him acting so chill about this situation.

“Looking for someone?”

“You know what?” I grab onto the back of the chair, spinning the chair so it faces the big doors in the back. I start pushing that chair in that direction. “I’m gonna tell you what’s going on here.”

“Great, I want to hear this. And you should know, you didn’t give me a chance to turn the stove off before you kidnapped me. My house probably burned down.”

“I turned it off. Calm down.”

“I’d like to remind you that I am quite calm right now.”

“Okay, you know what-”

“Yeah, you know what what? What were you going to say.”

“Okay, this is the deal. I’m the newest possible member of the Black Mamba Gang here in Westpoint. Boss wanted to see the skills I’ve got, so he sent me out to kidnap someone, anyone, bring them here and act like I know all their deep secrets and OOF!” I trip over a rut in the floor, my arms flailing, sending the chair spinning away.

“So! You picked me to kidnap! You apparently aren’t that good at it, considering this is the third time you’re giving this kidnapping thing a try!”

“Okay, yeah I’m not that good. But it’s either this or working at Wendy’s, and I’m not about to do that.”

The chair stops spinning. The man looks like he maybe might be sick. Oh yeah, I still didn’t get his name. But maybe kidnappers don’t get the names of the people they kidnap. Will Boss ask about that?

“How did you ever come up with Wendy’s and the Black Mamba Gang as your two job options?” The man yells across the warehouse.

“Mom’s idea of a job, and dad’s idea. And what’s your name, by the way?” I’m walking toward the chair, with the man simply staring at me.

“Let me guess, dad is the leader of the gang?”

“No, mom is. Dad owns the Wendy’s on Brookster Street.”

“Oh. And my name is Alex.”

“Well Alex, that’s my story. Now when you meet Boss, can you act like you’re scared shitless, and maybe I’ll get to keep the job?” I’ve reached the chair, grabbing it by the back once again, redirecting the chair and pushing it toward the big doors again

“If your mom is the leader of the gang, why aren’t you automatically in? And who is Boss?”

“Mom believes in equal opportunities for all. That means even her own daughter has to go through what every other stranger as to go through in order to get in. And Boss is Boss. Aka mom’s boyfriend. He weeds through all the good candidate, and then mom picks the final people to join the gang.”

“Oh.”

“Yup. So do me the favor-”

“And act scared shitless so you get the job. Yeah, I got it.”

“Yeah.”

“So what happens to me then?”

“You go home.”

“Will we still talk, sometimes?”

“What? What... I don’t know!”

“Okay! Sorry! Just a question!”

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.” We’ve reached the doors. I stop, take a breath. “You ready for this?” I ask, looking down at Alex.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Okay. Here it goes.” I push open the doors, propping them open. “Let’s go and introduce you to Boss.”

I’m not expecting many people to read all this. I’m not. And I’m not trying to get attention. I’m not trying to say my beliefs are right. I’m just telling a story. My story.

When I was young,

Prayers were said before dinner,

Recited before sleep.

Church was attended on the “important days.”

God and Jesus talked about sporadically.

I grew up praying only when things were bad.

The older I got, the more I thought about God.

God-in-Heaven.

Heaven, so be exact.

I wanted to be there.

Months passed.

My head became hell.

I desired death for the absence of pain,

Heaven for the bountiful peace.

I’m not quite sure what was happening.

Arms and thighs were cut.

Pills upon pills were swallowed.

Less and less food was eaten.

Solid nights of sleep weren’t common.

Heck, sleep at all wasn’t common.

But no one knew.

There was no one to know.

No friends to care,

No family I’d open up to.

I was chaos in walking form,

And nobody had a freaking clue.

But at some point, I looked in the mirror.

I didn’t see walking chaos anymore.

Well, not as much anymore.

But that was good, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it good that part of me just sort of disappeared?

I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.

My second year of high school began.

I was in the midst of a rocky road with a friend.

That was weighing me down more than you could believe.

My elective for the semester was photography.

There was a girl in my class.

The only other girl who didn’t seem to have a best friend in that class.

We ended up sharing a box of paper to develop photos on.

Looking back, I think that was a miracle.

She saved me.

I didn’t know she would, then.

She didn’t know, either.

We started talking.

I asked her about the semicolon drawn on her inner wrist.

She told me:

The author could’ve ended the sentence, but he chose not to.

You could end your life, but you can choose not to.

We started talking, more and more.

I worried I was annoying her.

I worried I was being too clingy.

But she was a girl I wanted to know.

Spring came around.

The feeling of dark came back.

My arms didn’t go a week without being cut.

Thoughts of negativity swirled around my head.

What’s the point of all this?

What am I doing?

Am I even worth anything?

I took pills one night.

More pills than ever before.

Maybe enough to end me.

I wrote out my note.

Put it in my closet,

Somewhere my mom or sister would surely see it.

I cried myself to sleep that night,

Tears streaming down my cheeks.

My hand clamped over my mouth,

Hoping no one would hear my sobs.

I started to pray.

I prayed to God,

Don’t let this kill me.

Don’t let me die.

I don’t want to die...

But I don’t want to live, either.

Until now, I never told anyone about that night.

Not what really happened.

I’ve said, some pills were taken, I was fine.

You know now, that’s not true.

Easter came around,

End of March.

My arm was a mess.

I have scars, bad ones.

I was broken and realized I had to do something.

Something to make this all better.

That girl from photography class,

My now best friend,

She gave to strength to talk to people about what was going on.

I emailed my old therapist,

I told my aunt,

My aunt told my mom.

I got help

In more ways than one.

My mom said she was there for me,

She and my dad.

My aunt was there for me.

I got a new therapist.

My best friend gave me the strength to start saving myself.

Then I went to church with her and her family.

A different kind of church,

One with loud, live music,

A pre-recorded sermon.

It was unlike any other kind of church I’ve been to,

And I loved it.

My family started going there.

I started thinking about God more.

And not about God-in-Heaven,

Not about Heaven.

God-and-Jesus.

How much Jesus loved me.

How Jesus had died on the cross for me.

Because He loved me.

I thought about how God had created me.

How everytime I cut,

I was practically spitting God in the face,

And telling Him He was wrong.

And God is never wrong.

I started praying more.

And not only when things were bad.

But to thank Him when things were good.

It’s July now.

It’s been a year and a half,

Since the dark first came.

I’m better now.

So, so much better.

I’m still improving, yes.

But I have so much help now.

It’s all thanks to her, my best friend.

She ended up knowing everything about me.

She could tell by my tone of voice,

When the dark was back.

She, for a while, was the only one that kept me tethered to life.

The days I didn’t want to get out of bed,

I’d say to myself, she’ll be asking where you are.

I got out of bed on those days.

Whether she knows it or not,

And I don’t think she knows,

She saved me.

I owe her my life.

I’m so grateful to have her as my friend.

Thank you, Sav. I love you.

"you're crying. why are you crying?"

"i'm not crying."

"you're about to."

"... why was he like that?"

"like what?"

"why did he attack me on the phone like that? why did he start judging me right off the bat without even trying to understand me first?"

"... i don’t know..."

"and then why did he say he was gonna try it later tonight? tt was like he was mocking me."

"i don’t know."

"i’m hurt."

"i know."

"really, why?"

"i really don’t know."

"i would try to explain to him. if he asked differently, if he acted like, or at least pretended, to care. but he didn’t. he had me call him up so he could judge me."

"i’m sorry. that wasn’t fair."

"HELL NO IT WASN’T FAIR."

"maybe he gets that...?"

"doubtful."

"... you okay?"

*sigh* "i’m fine."

"are you?"

"i’m fine, ok? i’m fine, great, good, fantastic, extraordinary."

"more like sad, hurt, and pissed."

"yep."

"... what do you want to do now?"

"go to bed."

"what do you want to do now concerning him?"

"call him back. or not talk to him for a few days. either or. it doesn’t matter."

when the scarves and gloves are unpacked

when the leaves color and turn crisp

when the air is sharp, biting at noses and cheeks

when new books are bought for cozy evenings

when flames lick at the edges of the fireplaces

that's fall. that's that time of year.

I am that shy and polite girl sitting in the middle of chaos, yet, not noticed.

I am that crazy and weird girl, once you really get to know me.

I am that girl who got in trouble in elementary school because she was reading during class.

I am that girl who is still. Always. Reading.

I am that girl who writes what she feels, what she thinks, what she considers important.

I am that girl who thinks life is so much more than what people believe it to be.

I am that girl who never wants anything or anyone to be left behind.

I am that girl who slept with all her stuffed animals at night when she was younger because she didn't want any of them to feel left out.

I am that girl who puts her walls up around people, then takes the walls down if people prove worthy.

I am that girl who only laughs and smiles if she really means it.

I am that girl who expresses how she feels, and wears her heart on her sleeve.

I am that girl in which if you ask a question, you will always, always, receive an honest answer.

I am that girl who loves with her full heart, even if she barely receives any love in return.

I am that girl who learned more about herself by writing this entry to this challenge.

I am that girl who will say, "Goodnight, everyone, and thank you for reading!"

He's gone through hell

He's standing

Right now

At the doors

Debating whether

Or not

He should just turn around

And go back

To what he just made it through.

I stand beyond the doors,

Not in the patch

Of light.

No, not there,

Not yet.

I'm standing in the

Shadows

Trying to pull

Him

Past those doors

Into the shadows

With me.