Monday, 22 June 2009
03:24:54 AM (GMT)
(Written in Courtney’s Point of View)
With an almost childish groan escaping from my chest, I felt my head begin to
swirl back down from whoever-knows-where and into my consciousness. My eyes took a
minute to regain any focus, so I sat there, blinking up a storm and squinting until I
could finally see again.
What happened? Where was I? …No reply from the top of my brain. I could
remember running down the street, and I remembered looking behind me, and…
Oh. I remembered that, too.
His face. My attacker’s. His paper-colored skin, his deeply-set eyes… staring at
my surprise with a glint of excitement. That was the last thing I had seen before
“Are you okay?”
I was startled a bit, to say the least. The question came from a man sitting directly
next to me, on the floor, no less! He turned his tilted head and stared into my eyes
for a second, awaiting a response.
Yep. That was him. Positive.
“I guess not!” my attacked said, attempting to sound cheerful as he stood up and
helped me stand.
“Mm…mmph…” I struggled to form words, but my throat seemed to close upon
itself for a brief moment. After successfully looking like a bloated goldfish for a
few seconds, I managed to choke out the words “I’m fine.”
“Good!” he said. And for some odd reason, he seemed honestly glad that I
was doing fine. Hmm. Weird.
My captor was significantly shorter than the rest of the men I had seen before.
Covering his forehead was bright white hair that stood upon end in all directions,
giving him an adorable, natural bed-head look. His eyes had a little bit of black
surrounding them, giving him the odd appearance of a raccoon that was actually
flattering. He was wearing a casual black jacket and black jeans with (get this)
about twelve belts wrapped around his skinny waist.
The belts were what drew my attention first. There was quite the assortment
clinging to his waist, from thick metal chains to studded white leather, overlapping
each other in an artsy way.
Hmm…He has gained my respect, at least, I thought to myself. A true belt
connoisseur. If there was one thing that was a hobby of mine, it was definitely belt
But anyways. Enough about him.
I managed to wrench my eyes away from the stunning person in front of me to
look around the room that I was in.
Everything, down to the last speck of dust, was painted a brilliant snow-white.
Underneath me was a soft white carpet; above my head hung a shimmering white lamp. On
the wall even hung a white frame with a sheet of white paper inside it. Okay, maybe
that was a bit extreme, but it was the truth. I felt as if I had woken up in the
north pole, or something.
“Hmm.” My captor began talking, “I was told to take you downstairs to get with
the others whenever you woke up, but…”
He was eyeing my dress, which could now be called a “purple mess.” The bottom was
torn to shreds from my running, plus there was a huge brown stain running down the
“You need, need, NEED something else to wear.”
(Written in Rachel’s P.O.V.)
The atmosphere in the room was oddly fashionistic and, overall, a very
beautiful piece of artistry indeed. Okay, as they may be a bit of an exaggeration,
I’ll say that the room was, at the least, quite pretty. The walls were adorned with
black and dark blue lace, and dark mannequins sporting psychopathically-complicated
outfits were placed in all the open spaces of the room. A huge black-light was
hanging from the wall, making everything glow with an eerie sparkle.
This was the scene I awoke to.
To this day, I can’t remember exactly how I got into that room, or more
importantly, where the hell I was in the first place. It was like I had gone into a
mental shock when I saw the man standing outside the dumpster I had been hiding in.
Speaking of the man himself.
My captor, the one that sounded like a man but definitely didn’t look the same, was
sitting at a small table in the shadowed part of the room, hunched over
something-or-other. I heard the sound of a sewing machine running a couple times,
along with scissors snipping away at fabric.
To put it bluntly, it looked as if my captor was in his own little world at the
I saw my chance.
Slowly, I crawled across the dark floor, careful to hold my breath in on the
way. Quietly, I reached upwards to the doorknob above me, grasping it, turning it,
My ears perked up at the sound.
“Don’t even think about it,” a deep voice mumbled behind me.
I turned around to face him and almost gasped; Pointing at me was an R-S4 model
handgun, held in the man’s surefire grasp.
I sighed and stood up, backing away from the door. Busted.
The man stood up, pushing his golden ringlets away from his face to reveal glowing
eyes and aquamarine lips. I smiled at his beauty; his expression was that of a
Wordlessly, he walked towards me, something black and heavy dragging behind him in
his free hand.
“Put this on.” His words were almost inaudible. He handed me the huge black
monstrosity, and I immediately sagged under its weight. Upon closer examination, I
realized that it was actually an intricately designed dress.
“Why?” I asked, but I instantly snapped my mouth shut. It was pretty dang obvious
why. My original dress smelled nothing short of terrible, like sewage water mixed in
with rotten eggs.
“Um, anyways,” I said, “Did you make this yourself?”
He nodded wordlessly.
“Really? The whole thing?”
“Okay.” This conversation was going absolutely nowhere for both of us. “So,
what’s your name?”
This time, I was surprisingly graced with a response: “Mana.”
“Cool name. I’m Rachel.”
After that silence, I gave up. Dragging the huge dress over to the closet, I said
“I’ll get dressed in here, okay?”
(French’s point of view)
Where was the floor?
I wiggled my feet around, feeling empty air.
Slowly, my eyes creaked open. My head felt as if it had been split open through
my skull, and my hands felt as if they were on fire…Wait, what? I don’t remember
hurting my hands. Why were they hurting so much?
I looked up. My hands were being constricted by rope, hanging high above my
So let’s see. No floor. Tied hands. Feeling of odd weight-ish-ness.
I was hanging from the ceiling.
“You looked very pretty with blood on your face.”
I jumped at the voice. Or, well, I jumped as much as I could while still swinging
from the ceiling.
About a yard away stood my personal attacked, who was staring at me through dark
bangs. He was slightly pale (but hey, what person in this story isn’t?), with
shadowy eyes and tinted lips. He wore a bright red, long-sleeved shirt made from
satin, plus red leather pants, showing off his immensely fit figure.
Kind of a walking fire… I thought to myself.
“Um, thanks. You look quite attractive while bloody as well.” I replied
He smiled slightly at the reply, and then walked over to the opposite wall. Right
around then, I fully regained my consciousness back as I looked about the room.
I just realized how odd the room was in itself.
On all of the dark red walls that surrounded me hung an assortment of varied weapons,
ranging from huge to small, sharp to dull. They took up every square inch of the
area, sitting on pedestals or strapped with Velcro.
I think I had the right to get a little worried.
The man was over in the corner now, murmuring to himself.
“The chainsaw? No, probably to inconvenient…a nice claymore? Oh, too heavy for
this…AH!” he suddenly perked up overdramatically, as if having an epiphany. “I
know which one!”
And with a quick hop, he reached the handle of a huge metal scythe that sat on a
“What…What’re you gonna do with that?” I shook nervously. He grinned.
“Now, hold VERY still, okay?” he said cheerfully.
“WAIT, HEY! NO!” I screamed, but in vain; he reared back, lifted the scythe over
My knees hit the floor first. All the weight on my hands was suddenly lifted. I
looked up and saw the severed rope swinging above my head.
“Sorry about that!” I heard his happy voice from the corner as he replaced the
scythe. “Just couldn’t help myself! I get into such a good mood when I use a good
ol’ fashioned sharp object, see?”
I had no clear idea how to respond. So I just shushed up.
“So…I picked out an outfit to replace that… Erm, if you can call it a dress.
Anyways, the clothes are on the bed. When you’re ready, come outside, and we’ll
head down to homebase!”
I nodded, showing that I understood.
Without another word, he paraded out the door, singing a tune frighteningly similar
to “Blood” by My Chemical Romance.
Hmm. I shrugged. I guess I’ll just follow his orders for now.
“Oh, and by the way-.”
His head had popped through the doorway.
“I’m Kozi. Nice to meet you, new torture victim.”
Out of all the “awakening” scenes mentioned so far, I definitely felt as if I had
the most anti-climactic of the bunch.
I woke in a similar fashion as the others; head aching, vision teetering, etc. I was
lying in the middle of a soft throw rug, placed exactly in the middle of the room I
was inside. The walls were made of shining wood, as was the floor. Dark brown
butterflies adorned the walls, hanging from above as well. Small lamps were placed
along the ceiling, casting a warm glow upon my face.
Well, to tell the truth, it seemed quite warm in the room itself. I was starting to
But anyways. I digress.
I sat up slowly, only to feel something flutter off my face (Yes, my FACE) and onto
the ground. The ‘something,’ I realized as I picked it up, was actually a piece
of folded paper, with the words “VICTIM” written in fancy script across the
“Subtle,” I murmured to myself, rolling my eyes before opening the letter up and
This is your captor writing.
(“No dip,” I said aloud sarcastically)
When you wake up, put on the clothes on the dresser, then follow the map on the back
of this letter to the room where we all will be waiting. If you do not arrive at all
or attempt to run away, we will be sure that your friends will suffer the
consequences as such.
Hugs and kisses,
For some reason, I was blown away by the pure idiotic letter that sat before me.
But I had to consider the girls. I wouldn’t have them hurt on my account. Plus,
I’d put money on the fact that my captor probably is the only one doing the whole
‘letter’ thing. The others are probably with the girls, hopefully.
I shrugged on the slightly oversized clothes. And, grapping the psychopathically
stupid letter off the ground, I followed the small map out the door.
Oddly enough, the four previously-unconscious girls reached the living room door at
nearly the same time.
“OH MY GASH, is everyone okay?” French mumbled, grasping the entire group in a
“Is that all you do? Hug things?” Kacie murmured, unwilling to admit that she was
quite grateful to see them again.
A quick chorus of “I’m fines” echoed trough the crowd.
“…Wait. There are some people missing.” French said, worry escaping onto her
normally bright features. “There was Kacie’s captor-,”
“-and he’s probably inside,” Kacie cut in quickly. “He never showed up in
“-but, predominately,” French continued, “Where’s Katie and her OTL?”
“OTL?” Kozi questioned in the background, but nobody paid attention to him at the
“Hopefully inside,” Courtney said resolutely. The others nodded.
“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Yu~ki (Courtney’s captor) said, pushing his
white hair away from his eyes.
And he shoved the double doors open. The girls filed inside.
~End of Chapter 2~