Kidnapped
One-shot
The scent of daisies hit me even before I opened my eyes. It was soothing, like a calming hand running through my hair- but I hated the smell of daisies. It was repulsive and gruesome. My bad memories of the flower my mother used to love, had made me hate something so beautiful and pure. And just like my mother, who I was very much alike in so many ways, I used to love daisies. They reminded me of summer, of times with my mother and of a fresh start. If she hadn't betrayed me like she did, I would not find the scent so heartbreaking.
My eyes opened, but yet I could see almost nothing. The walls were distant, the nightstand seemed far away. Second by second, my vision cleared and darkness disappeared. After seconds of blindness, I realized there was someone in the room with me. My muscles tensed, and I could feel the aching of my neck and back as clear as I could smell the scent of that disgusting flower, hidden somewhere in the room.
“Who are you?” I whispered, my head spinning as I sat up straight too quickly for a person who just woke up. The person didn't move, not a muscle, not a finger. I realized that it had to be a man from the way he was sitting in the old dining chair. It must have been uncomfortable, depending on how long he had been sitting there.
“Who are you?” I repeated, and this time my voice was loud and clear. The man moved his head in my direction, as he had been looking out the open window. His hair fell in his face, and I couldn't see his eyes, therefore, I didn't recognize him. Eyes are what makes you recognize a person, because that's the part of a person you study the most. Eyes hold many secrets, truths and lies.
I tried to move my legs, but they were frozen. My position wasn't very comfortable, and I felt trapped. A small whimper escaped me, as I tried my hardest not to cry. Small spaces, being held somewhere against your will and heights were my weaknesses. I heard the man hush me, in the way my mother would whenever I whimpered like that. He was comforting me, from the dining chair in the corner. I looked over to him. He had pulled his hair away from his face, and I still didn't recognize him. Not that I thought I would. He looked guilty, sad even. Like he almost wanted to reach out and hold my hand.
“Why can't I move?” He didn't answer, nor did I expect him to. Although he did look extra guilty at the sound of my voice.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice sounded hurt and guilty. His eyes were glossy as he stepped over to the bed where I lay. I shuddered at his touch, as he let his hand touch my cheek, as if seeing whether I was real or not.
“Don't be scared, princess.” I held my breath as he sat down next to me. He retracted his hand and watched me. I turned my head towards the window, wishing that someone or something would close it and stop the disgusting smell of daisies. Before I knew it, the weight on the bed lifted, and the man walked over to the door. He turned to me and said, “forgive me,” once again, before walking over to a dresser. I watched him pick up a gun and turn around to look at me. That's when I let the tears fall. Out of fright, frustration, and because of the revolting smell of daisies filling the room.
My eyes opened, but yet I could see almost nothing. The walls were distant, the nightstand seemed far away. Second by second, my vision cleared and darkness disappeared. After seconds of blindness, I realized there was someone in the room with me. My muscles tensed, and I could feel the aching of my neck and back as clear as I could smell the scent of that disgusting flower, hidden somewhere in the room.
“Who are you?” I whispered, my head spinning as I sat up straight too quickly for a person who just woke up. The person didn't move, not a muscle, not a finger. I realized that it had to be a man from the way he was sitting in the old dining chair. It must have been uncomfortable, depending on how long he had been sitting there.
“Who are you?” I repeated, and this time my voice was loud and clear. The man moved his head in my direction, as he had been looking out the open window. His hair fell in his face, and I couldn't see his eyes, therefore, I didn't recognize him. Eyes are what makes you recognize a person, because that's the part of a person you study the most. Eyes hold many secrets, truths and lies.
I tried to move my legs, but they were frozen. My position wasn't very comfortable, and I felt trapped. A small whimper escaped me, as I tried my hardest not to cry. Small spaces, being held somewhere against your will and heights were my weaknesses. I heard the man hush me, in the way my mother would whenever I whimpered like that. He was comforting me, from the dining chair in the corner. I looked over to him. He had pulled his hair away from his face, and I still didn't recognize him. Not that I thought I would. He looked guilty, sad even. Like he almost wanted to reach out and hold my hand.
“Why can't I move?” He didn't answer, nor did I expect him to. Although he did look extra guilty at the sound of my voice.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice sounded hurt and guilty. His eyes were glossy as he stepped over to the bed where I lay. I shuddered at his touch, as he let his hand touch my cheek, as if seeing whether I was real or not.
“Don't be scared, princess.” I held my breath as he sat down next to me. He retracted his hand and watched me. I turned my head towards the window, wishing that someone or something would close it and stop the disgusting smell of daisies. Before I knew it, the weight on the bed lifted, and the man walked over to the door. He turned to me and said, “forgive me,” once again, before walking over to a dresser. I watched him pick up a gun and turn around to look at me. That's when I let the tears fall. Out of fright, frustration, and because of the revolting smell of daisies filling the room.