Hi all! So, I know I said I would be inactive until around July 10th, but when I found out my story had gotten THIRD PLACE (OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD) in MGB_'s contest, I thought, Why not post it, and share it with the community! So here you guys go! Enjoy. :)

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I wake in darkness to the sound of a door latching. I can’t see a thing, but one things for sure; this is not my bed. I try to sit up, but my hands and feet are secured tightly. I feel a scream building slowly in my lungs... 


And a hand clamps around my mouth, and tightens, slowly dragging my head back down to the pillow. A woman walks in to the room, she speaks with a thick Russian accent. 


            “Boris, what is the meaning of this? Let the child scream, he needs it anyway.” Her words only frighten me. If they’re letting me scream, we must be somewhere private. I know I’m far from home, as I don’t hear the usual whirr and buzz of traffic of my home in Los Angeles. 


            The man named Boris unclamps his hand, and let’s my head relax. He wipes his hand on what appears to be some sort of trench coat before he speaks. 


            “Natasha, I don’t think that he is the one they want. They specified a man in his early twenties, but look at this scrawny one! He can’t be older than seventeen!” 


            “I’m as confused as you are, Boris. But this matches the picture we were given, and his home was the address we were given. It must be him”. 


            “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I demand you let me out of here this instant, or else I’m calling the bloody police!” I demand. 


The words sound shakier than I imagined, they don’t sound like the remarks of a person who isn’t afraid, but nonetheless, I’m impressed I had the courage to speak at all. 


Boris chuckles, while Natasha snorts. “My friend, there are no police where we are. Would you care to have a look for yourself?” Boris says. 


Boris proceeds to undo the bonds that hold me to the bed. My legs shake as he leads me to a curtained window. I wipe the curtains away, to reveal a grime-stained four-paned window, looking out over an empty, bleak desert landscape. At least we’re still close to California, I think to myself. 


Boris grabs the curtains from my hands, and lets them drape back over the window. I wonder if that will be the last time I ever see the outside world. 


“I suppose you would like to know why you are here.” Natasha says bleakly. 


I nod slowly. 


“Well, it’s easy to explain. This is what you would call a ‘Hostage Situation’, plain and simple. It says here that you have been writing some…. As you would call, ‘Anti-Putin’ articles, and publishing them on the internet. Now, we can’t have another Pussy Riot, can we? So, we’re keeping you hostage until either the United States will agree to stay out of Russia’s matters, including those with the Ukraine, or until Putin gives the order to kill you. Make yourself at home, you won’t be leaving here any time soon. 


And with that, I was left in the darkness once again.