1 One - Taken

I wake up and all I feel is cold air. I'm in a pitch black room and I can't even make out the chair that I am tied to. I hear a voice and it isn't necessarily a masculine or feminine voice, it was almost androgynous. They sounded like they were talking on the phone. They say bye and then I hear footsteps heading towards the door of the room. I squirm, then feel a sharp stabbing pain in my right arm. I can hear the doorknob turning and I panic more. They open the door and the light from the other room comes in and blinds me.

"You're awake," they say as my eyes are still adjusting to the light, there is blood on the floor and the walls. I look down at my arm, where the pain was and realize that something had cut me. I can make out their face and clothes. They had pretty short hair and a square face. They were cute but I have to remember that they kidnapped me! They were wearing a Star Wars shirt with jeans and a belt. They walk up to me. "You look better than the others"

"What do you mean 'the others?'," I say, getting worried.

"In the other rooms," they pause and reach into their pocket and bring out a pocket knife. "But this room -- this room is my favorite."

"Why is it this room specifically? Is this the room where you've killed the most people?" I say, trying to distract them. It doesn't work, they walk closer to me, not saying anything.

When they eventually get to me, they begin to talk, "The most screams come from here." They take the pocket knife up to my neck as I start to breathe heavier, feeling the tip of the blade poke me with each breath. I don't want to say anything, as they would cut my throat. They laugh and continue to laugh, not stopping until I look at them. "You're so pathetic," They say as they slide the blade horizontally on my neck, not enough to threaten my very existence, but enough to make me bleed. The blood was pulsing out rhythmically, as I gasp for breaths. The knife was so sharp that they didn't even need to put almost any pressure to make a cut. They laugh as I feel the warm blood hitch and slide down my cold skin. I wanted to ask so many questions to them, 'why are you doing this?' 'why me?'

"Why.." That's all I could get out because of the pain of the cut. They face away from me and chuckle.

"Why not?" They slowly walk out, slamming the door. The cold air whisps against my face, causing me to shiver. I have nothing to do, no one to call -- nowhere to go. I had no choice, I start crying; the tears running down my face and eventually to the now-dried blood. I cry for what feels like an eternity until I smell something acrid. I start to freak out because who knows what they'll do next? I start to drift into sleep.