The soft sound of a pencil scratching against the surface of the paper filled the room. That was the only sound that could be heard. Which was weird considering there were ten people, including myself, were present. There was, ofcourse, the boss who was writing at the moment and his lackeys: four of which lined the wall on my right while, the other four leaned against the opposite one. I believe they are all deaf because, none of them seem to hearing my screams to untie me. I am bounded against a chair in the centre  of the room. Seeing as my efforts are going wasted and my throat is gatting site, I cease my yelling and flashback to how I found myself in this situation.
    
    I wonder if anyone would believe me if I told them that me helping my mom clean out the attic started the chain of events that landed me here on this chair. They, probably, won't but, that's what happened.

     Just this morning, I stood in the dusty and moth-laden attic of my fifteen year old house. It's surprising how much junk and moths you can fill your attic with in five years. It hadn't been cleaned in those five years. Piles and rows of boxes hid every corner of the floor so that, even the dust had to settle on top of the boxes instead of the attic floor. 

     So, my mother and I began the tedious process of opening every box, taking out the items and then separating them into useful and non-useful stacks.
   
      We had been going on for a while and I had accumulated quite a treasure consisting of old books and photos. That's when I found a pretty little locket stuffed in the corner of a rather large receptacle.

  I was admiring it when, I saw the opening. Pulling the locker open, I looked at the picture embedded there and then dropped the necklace as if it had burned me.