a kidnapping - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The soulless came for a soul, the very thing they could never regain. They came to take innocence and feel the evil joy as they sunk into the filth of indifference. They were the zombies of our apocalypse, hardwired to damage others to feed their addictions. And they call it "kidnap" - I doubt the kid get's to "nap," and this ain't no cartoon with a swag bag or napkin tied to a pole. This is the torture of children, of youth, of our very own hearts. And so we took up the fight against these zombies, and we all know how zombies die...
Harry was a thief, a good one. Kidnapping wasn't his thing, but the bookie needed hard cash or he was looking at paying with the wrong sort of digits. Someone wanted that girl and it wasn't wise to ask why. As far as things went he was just the delivery man and after that all debts were considered paid. He'd tried to hard to think of her as a parcel, yet as she whimpered in the trunk his guts froze solid. He'd never thought of himself as a moral man, but perhaps morals were like the infra-red beams in the jewelry stores, invisible until crossed.
She felt his fingers dig into her cheek, the four blackened ovals that would remain and discolor her skin long after the blood had dried from her veins. The scream was stifled. She could hear him panting, the pleasure in his breath, like an animal in heat. He was not stealing but rather claiming what was to be rightfully his. He did not speak, no need to tell her not to fight, to make a sound. His fingers did all the work. Cling, hook, crush, threatening to unhinge her very jaw if another sound were to leave her lips. That was how she was to remain, silent. Taken. Silent. Raped. Silent. Die. Silent.
After all his preparations he felt like he'd earned his treat already. He couldn't have any help to make his dungeon prison in the basement, it had to be secret, windowless and sound-proof. The kidnapping itself was going to be a cinch. He'd been watching her for months, he knew her routines, where she lived and that she stopped to pet cats. He picked the kitten out of it's pet store box and jumped into his blacked out SUV. Then he drove to the most isolated part of her route home from school, broke the kitten's front legs and left it mewing in her path. He knew that when she saw it her mind would race and all those pesky rules about stranger danger would be forgotten. And he was right. When he pulled up she was panic stricken and he was the hero to take them to the vet
You are at breakfast, eating toast dunked in milk, wearing old sweats. You reach out for the milk carton to fill up your cup, There's a face on the carton. She looks kind of like you, but prettier. Her dark hair is tied up into an intricate braid and her mouth is curved up into a smug smile. Underneath her is a large font saying ALLISON DAVIDS, KIDNAPPED! Your mouth feels dry, only pageant girls get kidnapped. Right? Right? Wrong. Allison looks like someone you would laugh with, to braid your hair. Maybe she could be a little mean, and snickered behind your back; but by the end of the day, Allison would be by your side.
Stella didn't know how she'd stumbled on kidnapping for a profession and she didn't care. She'd been the kid who survived the orphanage, the one who didn't die in the dying rooms. Now she plucked healthy children from the street and delivered them to the man in the tall hat. She hated his smell, the way he leered and jabbed the "cargo" before he paid. They were worth more if the blood type was right, more if they were healthy. Street kids were free but the buyers wanted more purity, lower risk of undetected infections. Once the cash was in her hand she heard and saw nothing until she was out on the street planning what luxuries to buy with her money.
Jasmine strained against the zip-ties, blood running over the translucent plastic, red on white. Her nose filled with the musty scent of the sack that covered her head and in the almost blackness her eyes strained for some sign of what was to come. From the cold metal beneath her body, the shifting motions from right to left and the revving of the engine, she knew she was in transit and had been for some time. Surely someone was looking for her, the police, the FBI...
Heidi had been shot right next to Amelia and she could still feel the drying blood splatters on her face and arms. They'd raised the gun right at her but never fired, instead cuffing her arms and legs, binding her mouth. She'd been photographed with the gun to her temple and slung in the back of a black limousine. That's when she'd seen him, Travis Darcy - her father's "best-friend." He glanced her way, peering down his nose with a crooked little smile. "I'd offer you some wine Amelia, but you seem somewhat tied up." Then he'd loaded a syringe from a small brown vial and plunged it into his goddaughter's thigh.
Vernon didn't care about money, he needed a kid and no-one gives them to twice jailed predators. The children just walked about, teasing him, smiling his way and playing as if they owned the world. He needed one. It wasn't fair that he should be denied when so many others got what they wanted. In the end it was a kidnapping of chance, the child wandering away from her mother in the wrong place at the wrong time, him being right there with a lollipop and a bag of candy-floss...