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Taken Passion

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Part One: Taken Passion
October 1st, 1995

I was in the park with my older brother. It was a particularly windy day, perfect for flying kites. They sored through the air, brightly coloured streamers following close behind. I watched with glazed eyes, fascinated by the way the kites’ danced.
I was seven, still young and adventurous. My brother was much older than me, at sixteen he was like a father to me. The wind grew stronger, making it hard for me to hold on to my kite. Finally it got too hard to hold on and I let go.
“Mark, my kite flew away!” I cried.
My brother handed me his kite. “Here, just use this one.”
I gave him my best puppy dog face. “But I want my kite. Pleeease.”
Mark sighed, “Fine, which way did it go?”
I pointed to a nearby tree. My kite was tangled in one of the branches. Mark walked over to the tree and started to climb it. I watched, hoping that he didn’t fall.
“Abby, it’s stuck pretty well in here, I don’t know if I can get it out.”
“And you won’t have to.”
“What did you say?” My brother hopped out of the tree. A man had his arm wrapped around my neck. Tears streamed downed my face. “Let go of my sister!”
The man laughed. “That’s not going to happen. You are going to come with me, if you make a sound, she dies.”
Mark looked into my eyes. “I won’t let him hurt you.” He mouthed. “Fine, what do you want me to do?”
“Come with me.”
The man picked me up, Mark followed close behind. “Get in the van.” Mark and I got into the van.
“Why are you doing this?” my brother asked.
“Tie her up.” He said.
“Excuse me?”
“Take this rope and tie your sister up.” The man pulled out a knife. I had never seen my brother so terrified. Not in my whole seven years on earth.
“I’m so sorry, Abby, I would never hurt you.” Mark repeated the words over and over as he bound my hands and feet. The van began to move. I wondered if anyone had seen us, if anyone would come to the rescue.
The drive was long. Too long. Even though the worst had yet to come, I had already lost all hope. Mark began to hum softly.
“Shut up and get out!” The man screamed as the van came to a stop. He dragged Mark out the back doors.
“Wait, isn’t my sister coming? Where are you taking me?!” The back doors of the van were still open. I saw the man push my brother to the ground, repeatedly kicking him in the stomach with his steal-toe boots.
I wanted to check if Mark was okay but I couldn’t. I had to close my eyes; I couldn’t bear seeing him get beat like that. When I finally opened my eyes, Mark was gone. The man was coming towards me now and I saw the hunger in his eyes.
“C’mon, little girl. You’re mine now.”
He brought me to what seemed to be an old abandoned farm house. And that was the first time I actually saw his face. His black eyes were sunken and his chin stuck out too far. A long cut gleamed red on his left cheek. I knew Mark had done that. At least he left a scare on that bastard. His back was hunched and his hair was a long tangled brown mess.
“You will stay here and you will watch.” Hunchback said.
I wanted to ask what but was too afraid. He placed a laptop with a webcam in front of me. On the screen was Mark, beaten but still breathing. Hunchback left.
“Mark!” I screamed.
He was sitting in a chair, his head lowered. But as I spoke, it lifted. He could hear me!
“Abby, oh I’m so happy you’re okay. Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you outta there. You’ll see.”
His breath was labored. I knew my brother was in pain. He was good at hiding it though. He’d never want me to see him as weak, not then. Until Hunchback showed up on the screen behind him.
“Mark, look out!” I cried. The man pulled out his knife again and held it to my brother’s throat.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry, I’m gonna sing you a lullaby.” He sang in a scruff irritating voice.
My brother held back tears but kept strong. “I love you.” He mouthed as the man slit his throat.
And I watched. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the horror I had just witnessed. Mark, my one and only brother, was dead.
“Life is not fair, my dear. Ugly is not always beautiful.” I heard that bastard say behind me.
While he was gone, I had managed to break free of my restraints. I took a piece of glass I had found, and before he knew it, I stabbed him. A little seven year old girl was all I was. But that didn’t stop me. I killed him, stabbed him over and over again.
“Life is not fair,” I said, “Life is not fair.”
Now that I think back on it, I enjoyed it quite passionately




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