So, I participated in this event called National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for short), which takes place every November, every year. You are supposed to write at least 50,000 words in the adult program, and you can set your word count with the youth program (which is what I did). I set my word count goal to 32,500, and you know what? I completed it! I got 33,062 words by the time I submitted what I had to submit to “win” NaNoWriMo. This youth program really helped me focus writing and as well discover new things about my book/characters that I never thought about before.

Of course, my book isn’t done. I still have a long way to go, but I am confident that I will finish this thing. In the meantime, check out this program at if you want to learn more! It really gives you a challenge that you thought could not have been done.


You Make Beautiful Things

You make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of us, no matter if we are weak or strong. We shine through you, and we live through you. Even after many struggles, after all this pain. Even if we never can find our way. We wonder that sometimes, don’t we? Whenever it feels like we are on a long, endless road. The endless road of pain, struggles, and suffering. We wonder if we can ever find our way; our way through the thorns and spikes that our enemies have laid down on our paths’, forcing us to take routes where we become lost and hope to be found. We wonder if our life can really change from that at all, for the rugged path is all we see, We seem to forget about all the good things that could set us on the right path, even if we try really hard.

But then we remember. We remember that you make beautiful things. Even after everything that has happened, even after everything that we have been through. We remember that with you we can step over the thorns and spikes, we can find our way to the right path, for you do not fail. We remember that you make beautiful things out of the dust where we came from, the dust where you made us from. The dust that shines and created a beautiful life for us. The dust that made us who we are. The dust that lives through all the amazing things you have done. The dust that remembers that you make beautiful things out of us.

All around we see hope. Hope that is springing up from the old earth, hope that destroys the chaos and makes us the beautiful things we are meant to be. But in the chaos there again is pain and struggling, but out of the chaos life is being found in you, where you make beautiful things.

Then again, we remember. You make beautiful things. Things that watch over us and take care of us. You make beautiful things out of the dust. The dust that surrounds us. The dust that began our life. You make beautiful things out of us. The beautiful things that we were meant to be.

Then we boast about you making us new, and are continuing to make us even newer. Newer after all the challenges and hardships. Newer after all the pain and struggle, because through the pain and struggle is where we learn and remember.

Always. Always we will remember. And forever we will remember that you make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of us.

Penmen Project

So, a few weeks ago I decided to join this project on this other blog, The point of it was to make a story; the owner of the blog started off with two sentences, people sent in paragraphs related to the sentences (which was the first two sentences of the paragraph), and people voted on the best paragraph. After the paragraph is chosen, everyone starts to send in paragraphs again, except that they continue the paragraph that won. Round one finished, and I decided to send in a paragraph for round two. Check out this project, it’s interesting! My part of the story is the second paragraph. Hope you guys like it!

I woke up this morning with a strange feeling. I think I had a lucid dream last night or maybe not. I don’t remember everything exactly but I began my normal morning routine still half asleep; take a piss, feed the cat, make coffee and toast. I sat down to partake in my morning coffee ritual when suddenly a cold sweat came over me, the taste of metal… I ran to the toilet and threw up. Except there was something strange… Something metal floating in the bowl… I stood there staring at it, just floating there in the vomit. Trying to remember what I ate. Trying to remember where I was last night, who I was with. Was the dream really just a dream? Then with a quick swoop I grabbed the metal object and rinsed it in the sink. What the hell was it? How’d it get in my body? Then suddenly jolting me out my trance, the phone rang the same time someone urgently starting banging on the door.

I picked up the phone and looked at the contact. Unknown number. The person banged on the door again. A loud voice came out of nowhere, “Police! Come out with your hands in the air where I can see them!” I panicked. What did I do? Should I run or should I stay? The policeman banged on the door again. I picked up my backpack and started going for the back door. Suddenly, the front door was kicked down and then there was footsteps. No time to find out. I grabbed the handle and ran out the back door. A police officer jumped at me but missed by that much. Leaping over the fence, I started running. Running like I never had before. I don’t remember what I did, but I don’t feel like I should stick around to find out. A few seconds later, police sirens filled the air and I still ran. But I never stopped. There were things I didn’t know, or at least thought I didn’t know. I had to find out what was going on.

Six Word Short Story

This is one of the most powerful pieces of writing I have ever read. And it is only six words! Apparently, Ernest Hemingway and his friends were at a bar, drinking one night. Hemingway, as great of a writer he was (and drunk at that moment), made a bet with his friends. He told them that he could write an entire story in only six words. They laughed at him and told him that it wasn’t possible, but they accepted the bet anyway (probably because they wanted the money). So Hemingway gets a piece of paper, writes down six words, and shows his friends this:

“For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.”

His friends were shocked, and I am pretty sure it was hard not to cry. So Hemingway (I assume) won the bet.

The reason why this is so powerful is because you can read it and imagine an entire backstory in your head. You don’t know exactly what happened, but you can probably make up an idea. Now, I challenge YOU to write your own six word short story. It can be anything. Below is my own “story.”

“The people screamed. Everyone ran away.”

Good luck!

Green Dress and Tears

Bennie ran down the street. Barefoot, green dress and black hair caught in the wind, never had anyone said anything like that to her. Tears flooded down her eyes, washing the makeup out of her face. The words repeated themselves over many times, “I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to live with you. And most importantly, I don’t love you.” The tragic event a week before her wedding forced a knife into her soul. Her heart, as it fell into the pit of her stomach, felt beaten and bruised.
She ran and ran and ran, vividly remembering the day he proposed to her. They were on a ferry riding up the river; watching the beautiful city brightening up the night sky, the lights reflecting off the clear water. They were leaning against the rail, pointing out strange things that stood out of the normal crowd. Of course, they were in a foreign country, so everything looked strange to them. Then suddenly, he turned to look at him, but then he wasn’t there. Looking down, she gasped at him on one knee and saying, “Bennie, will you marry me?”
Then came today, almost six months later. They were at a party, and her and her fiancé started to argue in the backroom… it was then he said those awful things. When he showed his true colors. She ran out the door, running with her heals in her hand.
A loud honk filled her ears, and she suddenly came back from the past and looked up to see where the noise came from. Light instantly flooded her eyes and she fell into the cold abyss, floating away from the world and the pain it gives.


Words. They bounce off the tongue of every human being. Sometimes intentionally. But most of the time, aimlessly. The words just come out of our mouth and we don’t seem to care. They travel to the eardrums of other people, attacking the hearts of those the words are aimed towards. The heart fights off those words, but the mind tells the heart they can’t win the fight. The mind says that the words are true. The words then win the battle. They successfully take over the heart. Then, they go for the rest of the body. The body hurts itself, knowing that the words would hurt it anyways. Eventually, the words will kill the body. Then the words win the war.
Is that what the body really wants? What if it was given a chance? The words almost always win. Many people die everyday because of the words that come out of our mouths. Even if we try to fight them off, we are never given a chance. They get stuck in our brain, and we eventually believe those words.
Sometimes we can fight the words. What if we can defeat them? What if we can tell the words no? We can fight the words if we chose to. Then we are able to defeat them. We are able to tell the words no. But it’s hard to fight, so most just choose to take in the words. The words take over the heart. Then the body. They believe every single thing that comes out of people’s mouths. Then, the words finally kill the body. Just because of something somebody said.
The words are true though, aren’t they? What people say about us is how they think about us. Most of the time, the words they say set fire to our hearts. They puncture our minds. But other times, they bring joy. The words people can say, they can bring life. Words of hope. Words of peace. Words of prosperity. Words of life. They all can come off of the very tongues that are designed to speak good, but are controlled so they can speak evil.
Words that are good are the best. They not only bring life, but they bring hope. Words can bring us up, but they can also bring us down. They can set fire to hearts, or they can burn it out. Now-a-days, there are not that many people out there who speak only good. They are the people who try to change the world into the perfect place it was meant to be in the beginning. But words can be deceiving. The very first deceiving words spoken on this earth were used to take the good out of the world. We were once perfect. No bad thought came to our minds. Then one mistake took out the good mind and replaced it with a mind filled with good, and filled with evil. The question is though, can a single person make a difference in one’s life if they choose to speak good things instead of deceiving things? I believe so. I believe that someday we will be able to walk together and speak good things. That is, if you believe what I believe. And my hope is that we believe in what is right, and that we know the difference between the truth and the wrong.

Prolouge to The Tales of Camellia Trilogy

This is the prologue to my book. It may need some editing, but I am not going to worry about that right now. Enjoy the story! This actually is happening during World War III, a little over 500 years before that actual story. This is how Cam (my character) is alive.

I looked behind me to see if we were being followed.
“Come on Iris, we got to get out of here.” I heard my friend say quickly.
The sun was setting deep into the horizon, revealing that it will be dark at any second. Sweat was dropping down me and my friend Reagan’s faces like heavy raindrops. Our legs were tired and the ground was waiting for us to collapse. Any mistake could lead to our death. I felt something kick my stomach from the inside.
We were being hunted by a group of young men. They weren’t after Reagan, she was only helping me. The men were after me; at least my family’s name. Almost everyone in my family are great warriors. The war is how we became well known. Ever since the blackout, everyone apart of the war had to start using Stone-Aged weapons. Guns weren’t even an option anymore. And since most of my family were soldiers before the blackout, most of them decided to keep on fighting and specialize in certain weapons. My father was one of them.
“I hear footsteps” said Reagan, “c’mon we got to hurry.”
“You reckon that they will catch us?”
“Not if we are quick. And smart if they are really stupid. Cause they have to be stupid to go after us.”
Reagan and I were excellent swordfighters and experienced knife-throwers. We had our weapons out and ready, waiting to plunge them into the flesh of our predators.
There was only one problem. As I stared down at my stomach I could only imagine me fighting the men. I could hurt myself easily if I do end up fighting. Being pregnant made me very vulnerable. The thought of dying with an unborn child inside me was terrifying. If I die, then the Rose family would cease to exist. So I had to stick with knife-throwing.
“If we have to fight, make sure we leave no survivors. Just seeing us is too much information for them.” Reagan was shaking as she said that. We may be skilled-fighters, but what is happening right now is very scary.
We were aiming to get to this forest. It is the safest place to be. If they have dogs – and we were pretty sure they do – the scent of all the forest smells would make it a lot harder to track us. The forest was about a ten minute walk from here; five minutes if we walked quickly. At the other end of the forest was the English Channel, and once we crossed it, they will never be able to catch us.
“I think we lost them for now,” panted Reagan, “let’s hide in this building for a little bit so we can rest. We have protection so I think we will be ok.”
We were in this city once called London. The buildings were tall, although most of them crashed to the ground many years ago, making most of the city ruins. The building we were in right now was small and was mostly rubble, which did not help us at all. It smelt so bad that I thought that somebody killed a bunch of people and left the bodies under the wooden floor to rot. You can tell that the walls of the room used to have a blue color to it, but having never been repainted in years and the lack of it being taken care of it is now turning into a mix of green and yellow. You can only imagine what this place looked like before the war.
“This place must have looked beautiful.”
Apparently Reagan’s mind was thinking something else, “Eh, I’ve seen better.” I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I keep a lot of my thoughts to myself usually just so nobody can ruin what I think about, but lately I have been trying to not do that.
“How could you have seen anything better than this?” is all that I decided to say.
“Anything can be beautiful if you look at it from a different point of view.” Reagan applied.
I decided to be quiet after that. There was nothing more to be said.
After a few minutes Reagan finally spoke, “We should get going now. It is too dangerous for us to stay here for a long time.” Reagan was about to open the door when we heard a sudden movement. Footsteps pounded the streets like wild dogs. We rested for too long.
“There has to be another way out.” I said quietly.
“Someone told me that years ago a lot of people in London dug underground tunnels to escape the group that took over the city. Maybe this house has one of those tunnels.”
“What if the tunnels don’t lead to the forest?”
“Let’s just hope that they do. We will just have to go south anyways, so we will check if the tunnels can actually move that direction. All we need to do is get to the English Channel. C’mon, we need to find an entrance.”
Reagan and I concluded that an entrance to an underground tunnel usually is found on the floor. We moved tables, chairs, couches, and many things that I couldn’t even name. There wasn’t any hole in the ground. All this building had was a plain wooden floor. We heard the footsteps get closer to the house.
“Well, it looks like we are going to have to fight.” I said.
Reagan pushed two chairs against the front door. “I guess so. Get your knifes out and lets go up to the second floor. We would have a better chance there.” Reagan started climbing the stairs when it collapsed beneath her. I heard a bang on the door.
“Reagan, are you alright?”
“Yes I am fine.” I heard another bang on the door. “Well, looks like we will have to fight down here. Hide behind these broken stairs just in case they have bows and arrows.”
Just as I was getting behind the stairs, I heard the chairs move and the door slammed open.
“There are five of them!” Reagan yelled. I turned around quickly and threw a knife at the guy in the front of everyone else. He dodged it but unsuccessfully, as it gashed his scalp and got the guy behind him in the eye. Reagan drew her sword and took out the guy I scraped in the head. The third person who came in slashed a knife at her, but she blocked his hand with her arm and jabbed him in the stomach with her fist. I watched her hand make a karate chop at his neck, making his body drop down the ground as good as dead. Around the same time I felt myself releasing another knife to hit the second guy again. Bulls-eye; literally.
The fourth guy drew his crossbow and aimed it at my head. Time slowed as I watched myself throw another knife at his arm, but instead the knife caught his shirt and he got stuck to the wall. The last guy who came in was large; too big to be taken out by a knife. In his gigantic hands he held a large, double-headed battleaxe. From the looks of him it will take about a dozen knifes to end him. Looking down at the three knifes I have left it would make sense why I mainly used my sword. In the corner of my eye I saw Reagan slash off the fourth guys head.
The big guy lifted his axe above his head, ready to bring me down. It looked like he has been waiting for this moment ever since he started hunting me; you can tell it in his deep blue eyes. But because I am just not ready to die, I had to act to stay alive. Luckily he was slow, which helped me extensively. I felt the small thud that hit the ground when he swung his axe at me. I probably should not do summersaults to dodge his attacks; it made my stomach turn. Dizzy from the first attack, I was too tired to move to dodge the second. Slowly, I watched the man raise his battleaxe for a second time to finally put me out of my misery. I put my arms up to protect myself, but instead of protecting myself from his axe, I was protecting myself from the soulless body falling down helplessly. Reagan, as small as she was, used all of her strength to make sure his body didn’t crush me like a pancake.
“You alright?” Reagan asked heavily. She was almost out of breath.
“I am fine. Did you get the third guy?”
“Yep! Snapped his neck like the twig he was!”
I chuckled. My friend always knew how to make me feel better. No matter how disgusting she was.
“That was close. Are you sure everyone is dead?”
“Reckon so. If that guy who is now completely blind because of you is still alive, I don’t think he saw enough to see everything.” Reagan said as she threw a knife at the guy’s stomach. No sound came from him. “Just to be sure.”
I sat down to take a big breather. I was lucky to have her as my friend. If I didn’t have her, I would be dead by now.
“Those were the slowest ten seconds of my life.” Reagan said wearily. “So I think that meets a new record! It beats our last battle by 4 seconds.”
“Well it beat our last one because this battle had one less man. Plus, the last man who died our last battle was a skilled swordsman. It took three knifes at once to actually get him.”
“Yeah, but one man is not that big of a difference. That big guy almost sliced you in half!” Reagan started walking towards the stairs. “I saw something on the floor when the stairs broke. It looked like some kind of door… maybe it goes to the tunnels.”
“What if it is just a basement?”
“I am pretty sure a basement entrance isn’t hidden under a stairway.”
After looking at the supposed doorway for a few seconds, Reagan grabbed a handle and pulled the trapdoor open. Thankfully, it led to the tunnel.
“Alright then, ready to go tunnel exploring?” Reagan said happily.
“I guess so if it is the only way to go.”
“I think there are more than 5 people hunting us. This actually may be the only way to go. Let’s just pray that it leads to the forest, like most of the tunnels did. Pick up your knifes before we go Iris.”
The ladder was made of metal and was very rusty. Reagan and I had to put on our gloves just to make sure we didn’t catch some kind of disease. The ladder kept going farther, and farther, and farther, until I could barely breathe. The lack of oxygen made me cough like an old man dying in his bed. We got to the bottom when about a minute had gone by. The tunnels were lit with torches against the walls, which was strange. Nobody has used the tunnels in over a decade. There was barely enough oxygen to keep the flames going. After thinking about it for a little bit, I finally came to a conclusion.
“Somebody was just here recently. Who else could have lighted these torches?”
“Probably someone who was running from people as well… You don’t just come down here for fun. I bet he or she was running from who we are running from.”
This made no sense at all. London is one of the Cities of Ruins, which means that nobody lives here and all of the buildings are just ruined. It would only be logical if the person who lighted these torches was running from somebody.
“The way that these torches were set up tells me one thing: the person was struggling as they were running. All of the torches are crooked. Whoever did this had to be running.” Reagan was really concerned about these torches. She was very good at looking at things and then picturing what happened.
I had to stop her thinking so we didn’t get ourselves killed, “Hey we have to get going. Don’t want to get caught, right?”
“I guess so…” Reagan said as if she really wanted to find out what happened here.
The tunnels were dark even though they were lit up with torches. The paths seemed as long as a highway. I just wonder what it was like to make these tunnels and how long it actually took to make them. The tunnels were actually made out of the cave system that sat here way below London. You can hear the bats flying around like a free man who doesn’t have to worry about death. There was a small freshwater creek flowing at the bottom of the cave. The sound made me feel so close to freedom. Another noise ruined the peace in the tunnels. I felt the small thud on the ground; I heard footsteps. We were being followed.
“Did you hear that,” I asked.
“If you heard that small thud on the ground, then yes, yes I did.”
“We need to hurry up then.”
“Don’t worry; we are almost at the end of the tunnel… I hope.” The footsteps got closer.
Fortunately, we were at the end of the tunnel. It was another ladder that led to the surface. The footsteps got closer. We heard an echo in the distance.
“Climb up! Hurry! We need to get out of here, fast!” she made me go first. I wish I could have argued, but our lives were at its climax right now. The ladder was just as old as the last one, and I hoped that it wouldn’t break on me. As we kept going up and up, the oxygen started coming back to me. I heard people start climbing up the ladder.
“There is the exit! Hurry Iris, we need to get out of here!”
I broke free from the tunnels grasp. Fresh air burst into my lungs like the air you blow into balloons. We were in the forest; away from the city. The sun was still setting down into the horizon.
“The sun sets to the west. If we want to go south, we need to head this way.” Reagan said excitedly. I laughed as she got a big stick and threw it down the hole. “Let’s hope that gets them!”
We walked and walked. The forest seemed as if it would never end. The setting sun made it seem like time was slowing down. You could hear the waves from the English Channel get close. The wind was getting stronger by the minute. I heard footsteps and dogs on leashes.
“We’ve got to move quickly, we are almost there. It sounds like there are about twelve people, two dogs.” Reagan said.
By listening to our surroundings, Reagan and I can tell about how many people are near us, if we were alone. In crowded placed we could not tell because it’s just noisy everywhere. When we are alone together, or even if we had a few friends with us, we could almost tell the exact amount of people when we are all quiet. The footsteps got closer and closer…
“Watch out!” was all I heard before an arrow whizzed inches past my head and hit the tree in front of me. I turned around and saw a very small army pursuing us. The guy who had the crossbow aimed it towards my head once again. As he was pulling the trigger my hand was releasing a knife from its grasp. The knife hit him in the belly and he shot the arrow at the ground. As I was doing that, Reagan stabbed one guy in the chest. The men did not move after that. I saw ten people and two dogs.
A man with a sword came from my right. Charging at me, I could see the anger in his face. I drew my sword to block his first blow. He clearly didn’t know how to use a sword, so for the first few attacks I was letting him think he was actually doing well against me. As our swords collided I punched him in the face with my right hand and then kicked him in the stomach. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, falling into a large fire ant pile. And to all of my luck, he was allergic to fire ants. Another man attacked me from my blind side. I rolled in the direction behind me to my right and threw a knife at the back of his head.
Reagan was fighting two swordsmen. One of the men got behind her, and was ready to strike her back. But, as Reagan is a lot smarter than that, she grabbed the person in front of her and threw him behind her so that he was stabbed by his own teammate. Reagan then snapped the other guy’s neck. There were six men and two dogs.
A dog appeared out of nowhere and snapped his jaw at Reagan. She dodged the attack and kicked the dog’s spine. I watched her release a knife from her hand to hit the dog. Hearing it cry out in pain made me sad. I loved animals so much. But not enough to let it kill me is what I thought when the second dog jumped at me. I sliced up and got the dog in the face. It collapsed to the ground as if collapsing in a bed after a tiring day.
A man was coming from my right side as another man was coming from my left. I threw one knife to each side and hit them both in the hearts. Reagan was in a similar situation and threw her last two knifes at two of the guys who were after her. Two men left.
The last two men where going after Reagan. I ran towards my friend and her pursuers. If I didn’t help her she would probably die. These last two guys looked good; very good. Drawing my last knife I threw it at the guy who attacked first. The man got hit square in the eye and fell to the ground dead. The last guy attacked as well, and I blocked his heavy blow against her and punched him in the stomach. Reagan, her fists clenched with vengeance, punched him in the face, and together we stabbed him in the stomach.
We were tired. We were beaten up. We were ready to be away from here. The English Channel was nearby and we were being waited on so we could cross. The first thing on both of our minds was to rest, but we couldn’t stop now. Not at our current state.
“Are you alright?” I asked as we started walking south again.
“Yes I am fine. I am just very tired.”
“I bet. Those guys were tough. Best I have seen all week.”
“You said it.”
Reagan pointed at my stomach, “How is the baby?”
“I’m just glad I’ve only been pregnant for a few weeks. It would have been hard to roll on the ground with a round stomach.”
We were ready to collapse into a bed. Our legs were like noodles that have already been chopped up and eaten. The forest sounds were dying and the sound of the waves got louder and louder. It surprised me that it only took about five minutes to get to the English Channel. I looked to my left and then on my right I saw a boat sitting there. Reagan’s husband, Charles, was standing on the shore, staring at us. Reagan smiled and waved, and she ran into his arms after not seeing him for five months. She was crying. And she never cried.
“Hello Iris,” said Charles, “how are you?”
“I am fine. Thank you.”
“Are you two ready to cross? I have two mattresses below the deck.”
The sound of the word mattress woke us both up. We wanted to sleep on something decent, not on the ground or cold hard floor.
Reagan smiled. “C’mon Reagan, let’s go somewhere safe.”
We boarded the ship wondering what our lives would bring us to.

What is Writing?

Writing. Such odd things writing can do. How it can paint the imagination of an author onto a piece of paper. How it can tell a reader what a person is thinking. Writing is a powerful thing. Nobody can fully understand writing. It confuses the mind. Some people understand it in one way, some understand it in another. Everyone thinks differently, but writing is different. It tells everyone the same thing. But everyone takes it differently.
Why does writing do that? If it wants us to know what it is saying, then why not just say it? Why must it mess with our minds? Nobody knows. Nobody can know. We all think differently. Nothing is the same as the other. But why is writing like that? Only the writer knows what their writing is. They know what they are trying to say. But how do they send that message to others? Through writing of course. But only the author can understand what their writing is saying. Everyone else just has an idea.
Writing is an author’s language. It is the author’s voice. Even though only the author can understand their own language, everyone else catches onto the author’s words and tries to decipher the author’s tongue. The tongue that speaks many languages. The mind never knew that the tongue could speak those languages. They just come out of the author’s mouth, painting the imagination onto a piece of paper. Telling everyone what the author is thinking. But nobody can understand. The author can’t express his thoughts. His emotions. The author becomes discouraged. The author stops writing. And then he is no longer an author. He is just another face on this planet. Another human being. No he did not lose his purpose. He just lost his identity.
Writing is special. It allows writers to express themselves in ways unimaginable by other people who think they know their friend so well. But they don’t know them completely. They just know pieces of the writer. And everyday they add more pieces to the puzzle so they can completely understand. But they can’t find those last few pieces. Those last few pieces. The writer’s voice. The writer’s thoughts. The writer’s view of this world. They have ideas, but they will never fully understand. That is the beauty of writing. It makes people wonder what is next.

Another Short Story

Here is another short story I wrote. You aren’t supposed to know what is happening and why. Just let the entire backstory build up in your mind. Thank you for reading!

“Wait!” I said anxiously.
“What,” asked an unfamiliar voice.
“Where are we going?”
The mystery man didn’t reply for a while. He was probably deciding what to say to me.
“Some place that may be familiar to you.”
So wait… I have been there before? When? It could have been a day, month, year, or even longer, but it didn’t matter. I knew I was in trouble. The shackles that tied my hands and feet rubbed against my dark skin and gave me a rash that made me sore. My body ached from all the cuts and bruises, and my skin felt as dry as the sun because of all the dry blood. I couldn’t see where the driver was taking us because I was blindfolded. I didn’t know why I was there, but it must have been something I done. Maybe the government has me? No, they don’t do stuff like this. I guess soon we would find out who is taking me captive. I felt the car stop with a small thud.
“We’re here.” said the mystery man.
I heard the car door open and felt a pair of hands grab me and pull me out of the car. A person kicked my legs and made me fall to the ground. Another person spat at my face.
“Get up.” Another set of hands pulled me from my fetal position and put me on my feet. I felt the blindfold get pulled off of my head and I instantly was blinded by the sun. It took me a minute for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Looking around me, I saw many men watching my curiosity. The men were shouting and laughing, and it looked like they were celebrating something.
All of a sudden, I heard a microphone turn on with a loud boom. A man dressed in a business suit spoke into it with a deep and threatening voice.
“Welcome Cameron! Thank you for joining us!”