I remember that day like it was yesterday, the day I was Taken...
It was late December, the town covered in a blanket of snow. It hardly ever snows where I was from so I couldn't wait to get outside. I went into my backyard, telling my mom I could handle myself, I could be outside alone. Apparently I was wrong.
After so many crime shows she was totally untrusting of the outside world. Not to mention the fact she was crazy worried I would get hypothermia, even though the sun was already out, starting to melt the snow that had just fell a few hours ago.All bundled up from head to toe in the thickest clothes I owned. I went out to our front yard, to do something I'd never had the chance to before, make a snowman. I looked so round from all the clothing and could hardly walk on the ice in my one pair of tennis shoes. I guess that all contributed to the fact that I couldn't fight back.They came in a black car. I didn't think much of it, just someone trying to get home to their family. Not thinking they would take me from mine. I waved at the car, just trying to be nice. It was an old woman, she was pretty and looked harmless. I remember the opening of the back door which revealed two large men. At this point I was getting kind of worried but couldn't let that show. Until they grabbed me. I tried to scream but they covered my mouth. It was obvious I wouldn't win this battle. I stopped trying, hoping that someone would rescue me. And that's how the journey began. Good memories and bad ones. I was lost in thought but one thing stayed on my mind. Someone will come to rescue me. After all I am loved.

Three months since it happened. Three long, boring months. After I was in the car, the men tied my hands, gagged me, and blind folded me. Now I sit in my 6 by 6 room with no light, heat, or water. The first week I was here I continuously screamed, so in efforts to keep me quiet the old woman gave me two things:

A journal and a single pen.

At first I resented it, who was she to give me a gift after taking me from my home. I threw it in the corner, but every day the woman would come, pick it up, and set on my lap. All with out a word. I now think that this is truly the end. I used to to tell myself  " I'm loved, someone will come get me" but that's  changed to "Am I loved?Why am I still here?When will I get out?"

Since I figure I'll be here a while I may as well write in this journal, it's all I got. You could say it was a dumb idea to give me a journal, if this is found they'll be in jail within a week...well hopefully...if they're in jail that means I'm free...I don't think I'll be free for a while....if ever

So I'll use this journal till the pages run out. Or the ink in my single black pen goes dry. I'll write my story, though I don't think it will ever be read. Maybe it will  though, maybe someone will find this, pick it up, and start to read it, the diary of one who's been taken from her home.

I didn't think it would happen to me, I'd read the articles, and seen it on tv. I just figured "I live in a safe neighborhood, that's never going to happen to plain old me." I was just a normal girl, I lived in a normal neighborhood, with a normal family, really I just lived a normal life.

Sometimes I wonder what people thought, what they did when they found out I was kidnapped. Did they help look for me? or just keep living their lives like it never happened? Probably the latter.

My people in my town were pretty nice but most everyone just kept to themselves, maybe a wave or slight smile would be exchanged between two neighbors, but other then that it was almost always quiet.

I used to hate that quiet, always wishing for another human to talk too. Or at least sounds of a lawn mower or a bird chirping. Now I wish nothing more for that type of quiet. In my town it was a peaceful type of quiet here it's an eerily quiet, like if I make one sound the whole building will burst into flames.

Though with the rain here, the flames would go out in minutes. The quiet would return and I'd still be here. I'd still be in this little room with nothing around me, chained by the ankle, freezing in only my leggings and short sleeved shirt. Though I may get to see the slightest spot of color from the flame, I haven't seen color since my arrival at this place that I now call home.

Well you've read this much and by now ,whoever you are, I kinda trust you. Though since my kidnapping I don't fully trust anyone, but you've given me a chance to tell my story so I'll share with you one of my clearest memories.

I was about 5, sitting inside from recess with my teacher after getting in trouble during story time.  She looked at me for a minute and said real thoughtful, "Some people read to forget and others to remember." I hope you remember this:

I'm not some character in a book or the imaginary friend of a child. I'm real, and though I wish it wasn't, this story is real.