Dear Journal,

It’s dark, wet, and gloomy here in my cell. I had spent the better part of the hour trying to reason with my kidnappers. They had accidentally captured my best friend, Rosie, along with me.

Their demands were simple. I die, and save her along with a multitude of other children, for reasons that my kidnappers won’t divulge, or I live and sentence them all to death. But there is a little catch to all of this. I choose to live and I’m free to go. I can identify my kidnappers, or I could die and sentence the others to die anyway. The demand was simple, but the choice was not. Let me reconstruct the days of before while I ponder my choice.

It was Thursday, the sun was shining, and we had Friday off from school. What could be better? I was taking Rosie over to my house so we could spend the weekend together, because my parents had gone on a vacation and said I could have one person over to spend the night. I was ecstatic when I found out so I had immediately called Rosie, she was just as happy as I was, and soon we were on the road. We were about five minutes away from my house when I realized that I had left the door unlocked, as usual, but I thought nothing of it. I mean, after all, I live in Springfield, what could possibly go wrong? So, we drove along laughing and singing along to my radio.

Now, I figured that I could probably take on anything that came my way, because I was taking jiujutsu and I was fairly proficient with a staff. But I was wrong, dead wrong.

We drove up to my house and I told Rosie to grab her junk and we’ll head on inside. But, when I walked around to the porch, the door was wide open and the hair on the back of my neck prickled up with suspicion. I snatched my staff up and uneasily told Rosie to wait in the car while I checked it out. It turns out, that was the worst mistake I could have made.

I clutched my staff tightly in my hands and crept along trying not to make the porch boards squeak. I eased the screen door open and stepped cautiously inside. My senses were preternaturally alert as I scanned the room looking for any sign of movement and life, and strained my ears to catch even the slightest sound. My brain idly wondered why my mother’s dog, a Chihuahua named Bonnie, wasn’t barking. I soon discovered the reason for it though, a few feet in front of the door her body laid broken and bleeding into the carpet. I stood there, mind numb from disbelief, when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled again, but this time I didn’t care. I dropped to my knees and wept broken-heartedly over her still form. I stood up a few moments later with tears coating my face, trembling with rage.

“Whoever you are,” I had said in a sick voice, “Come out and face me like a man instead of hiding in the shadows like a coward!”

Almost instantly a male figure materialized out of the gloomy interior of my mother’s bedroom.

“You have guts kid.” He said to me in a slightly boyish tenor with an Irish accent, “Too bad it won’t help you.”

“That’s what you think.” I seethed with unleashed anger.

I lashed out with my staff and knocked the gun he was holding out of his hand. He tensed and I noticed how he shifted is weight and out of pure instinct I ducked. With a savage cry from my kneeling position I delivered a vicious kick upward, aimed at his groin. He went down with a hoarse cry and in a move of borne out of pure desperation I ran to my room and grabbed my Lord of the Rings sword, the elfin sword Hadafang. It was my favorite decorative sword in my collection, it was lightweight, easy to swing, and very sharp.

I ran back to where the intruder was struggling to rise and I put the point to his throat.

“Give up and I won’t cut your throat.” I said, sounding braver than I felt.

“Do it.” He taunted me, and I remember now the fierce cruelty of his face and his mocking green eyes and the startling flame color of his hair. I pressed the tip harder into his throat and a small drop of crimson colored blood welled up on the point. I stared in horror at it and his face twisted in to a parody of a grin, “Go on and kill me.” His smirk widened when I didn’t move, “You can’t, can you?” His eyes flickered to a spot behind me and I knew my time was up, “Do it.” He ordered softly.

I suddenly felt the cold metal of a gun barrel against the back of my head at the base of my skull.

“You put up a good fight little one.” A man’s deep bass came from behind me.

“I’ll never give up. Give me a reason and I swear I’ll run my sword through his throat.” I said fiercely.

Anger flashed thorough the other’s eyes like lightening.

“We’ll take her John.”

“But Rob!” The man’s gravelly voice said.

“Just do it!” He shouted with anger flashing through his eyes again.

“Sorry kid,” The man behind me said as he pulled the gun barrel away from my head, “You should never have messed with the Green Life Gang.” I felt the butt of the gun connect with the base of my skull and stars exploded before my eyes as blackness engulfed me.

When I awoke I was bound, gagged, and blindfolded. I was slung over John’s shoulder and he smelled of horse and another odd animal. I caught the scent of the wet earth of a forest and I heard the sounds of sparrows and meadowlarks. The sound of crunching leaves reached my ears and I winced when I heard someone singing horribly off key.

They carried me for an undeterminable amount of time and the fresh smell of the forest changed into the damp smell of the cell and they dumped me on the cold, wet floor. I heard Rosie scream as they unceremoniously dumped her in a cell down the hall.

A few minutes later my captors reentered my cell and as they unbound me, they presented me with my dilemma.

Now that I have caught up to present events, let me describe my captors. Rob was tall, pale, and very handsome. His eyes were emerald green, his hair was the color of fire, and he’s got a round boyish face that has seen far too much. A cross-shaped scar on his right cheek and a small pink one above his left eyebrow gave mute evidence that he was no stranger to pain. He also has a thick Irish brogue that makes it difficult to understand him sometimes. His tall, wiry frame looks fragile, but as I found out the hard way, isn’t.

John however, is the complete opposite. He is a big, burly, bear of a man, with eyes that are almost as dark as his hair. His swarthy face shows no emotion, except when he looks at me, and then his eyes show me a nauseating mix of awe and lust.

They came to me a few minutes ago and asked me for my choice. I told them I want to live and be set free. The sounds of gunfire and people screaming are coming through the walls and I’m trying to block them out.I see blood leaking under the rock wall beside me and my stomach islurching.I hear footsteps and my hopes are soaring because I know they are coming to set me free. I’m going to tell the world of this and I hope someone will believe me and arrest them.

He shot me in my stomach… I only have a few moments. Please, whoever reads this, do justice for all of the lives lo