Dogs of the Government

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her!" My father screamed at the mysterious man who'd broken in to our home. His eyes scanned the room sporadically before he met my father's. Indecision played across his features before he finally tightened his trigger finger and straightened his aim at my mother.

My breathing stayed level as my mind began to come up with possible outcomes. How could I have been so naiive? I knew I'd seen a figure outside of the window in the bushes during dinner. Why hadn't I voiced my concern? Because, like everything else I say and do, it would have been ignored, my conscious supplied. Oh yeah, that's right.

Susan, my adored older sister, stared hard at the man in defiance. He'd already threatened to shoot her if she said another word. So far her mouth has been sealed shut. Susan lay huddled near the fire place, her hands propped above her head like the man had told her to. Bobby, my neglected little brother, sat on the couch clutching his Gameboy. He hasn't said a word since the man entered our home and took us hostage. I could see it in his body posture, in his eyes, that he wanted to be a hero; he just didn't know how.

Let me ask this question: What does a guinea pig do to stop an intruder? My answer to that, is not a damn thing. You know what it does? It rolls around in its ball faster, like what it's seeing is some sort of game. But no, don't listen to me when I suggested we get dog for a pet, more specifically a Great Dane.

The trespasser turned his gaze on me. His eyes were stone cold and glinted with a hint of uncertainty and patience. He was waiting for me to show some sort of emotion like the rest of my family; my father in hysterias, my mother frightened, my sister defiant, and my little brother clueless and scared. But I didn't show anything other than indifference. And if he saw something in my eyes, it was utter bordom.

Bobby plays basketball and often doesn't do well because he's a slacker and wants Mom and Dad to notice him. Susan is captain of the Girls' Lacrosse Team and always brags about being the best player. Mom owns her own fabric store and Dad is a lawyer. Pick any of their lives, and I easily gurantee you they're more exciting than my own. Me? I manage the books in the library and play videos games immediately when I come home.

See? Not as exciting as getting hit with a basketball or aruging over whether a man who slaughtered an entire family should go to jail for life or get the death penalty.

Suddenly, without warning, he started to walk to where I sat on the steps. I leaned my head against the railing and internally sighed. Great, just what I needed; the invader to come and kill me for whatever reason he saw fit.

He pointed his gun at Bobby and leaned down toward me, stopping a few inches from my ear. I barely heard him speak.

"Go outside and get in my car; you'll know which one it is," He whispered. He lifted his head up and stared me directly in the eyes. From the books I've read and the games that I've played, I knew what his look meant: That I should shut up and not make a word, and that I understood what he was telling me.

I didn't make a sound, but showed him with my eyes that I understood what he wanted me to do. Shit, I didn't want to get shot. And I could already tell that this guy wasn't a rapist. Sure, he had the feel about him that he'd kill anyone of us without a second thought, with the exception of Bobby since he's still a child, but molesting and raping? It just didn't seem like his MO.

I got up off the step and made my way over to the door. I began to open it when I heard my Dad's voice.

"Where is she going?" He asked. Not a hint of anger nor fury or grief of having one of his daughters leave his sight. I laughed as I left the house.

As soon as I scanned the yard, I spotted his car instaneously. Each step that took me closer to his car and farther away from my home, I felt a bit of relief. Why? Why did I suddenly feel relieved and easy-going about leaving my family behind? They were, of course, my family. A daughter and a sister should love her family, right?

But I didn't feel that way. Of course, I loved Bobby; he never did anything wrong. Susan; I've already written off and decided to ignore her every comment and accomplishment because she flaunts her perfection. Mom and Dad are just two parents who pay entirely too much attention and adoration to one of their kids, and never even try to praise either of the other two. Slowly, over time, I've come to harbor a growing dislike for them. I wouldn't call it hatred, but I may be wrong.

Ha, well doesn't that description sound wrong? It sounds wrong to me, from a distant point of view.

The car was a sleek, black Viper convertable; I could smell the recent paint job. Twenty inch custom rims with Michelin Tires. In the darkness of the night, no one would be able to tell that the windows were tinted darker than the legal darkness. But then again, who would be looking for it at this time of night, with deer running across the roads?

When I opened the door, the least I expected was for the alarm to go off, but it didn't. I sat in the passanger seat and shut the door. The seats were covered in leather, along with the steerring wheel; which said that it was built for both comfort and style. The dash board was decked out in a nice dark finished wood. The normal human naked eye wouldn't notice that the wood was actually the top of a hidden compartment.

My eyes visually searched the rest of the car, and found other places where things could be hidden. What intrigued me most, however, was the elaborate stereo system that was installed that doubled as a high-tech GPS. Whoever this dude was he had money, and lots of it.

An idea struck me. Was he a hired killer to shoot Dad? Dad was, coincidentally, a lawyer who handled big law suits all the time. Could taking me hostage help sway his decision on an important matter? Then again, who was I to him? What was I to him? After all, being the ignored daughter didn't gain much leverage.

For all I knew, I could be adopted. My parents would be the type of people that you see on reality TV shows that hide the fact that they've adopted their son/daughter. But it wouldn't surprise me if my parents just so happened to be one of those types.

By the time I was done with thinking and had resigned myself to staring into space, the familiar slam of the front door to my house resonated through the small clearing our home was built in. I watched as the man walked from the front door to the car. He swiftly got in and without hesitation turned on the radio like we were just old friends about to take a car ride. He put on his seatbelt and, in a flash, started the car and zoomed down the driveway.

I didn't care to look in the rear view mirror to glance at what I was being taken away from. The only thing that I would miss about living there was Bobby. And that's only because it was funny to watch him try and suck up to my parents.