Kidnapped Story

Walking down the street in a slow neighborhood of my small town was all I was doing.  A car slowly pulled behind me and I kept on walking.  The driver opened the trunk from the trunk and the passenger hopped out and grabbed me.  As he brought me to the open trunk to shove me in, I caught the license tag.  It was a custom tag saying, “SALL.”  State: California.  I was breathing hard and trembling as he shoved me into the empty trunk.  I would say that the car was about a 1995 Mazda.  Tears rolled down my fearful cheeks.  I closed my eyes and said to God out loud, “Lord give me strength.”  I rolled over and started kicking.  I remembered my mother telling me how to get my hand out of the trunk if I was ever in a situation where it would be necessary.  However, that was not clearly remembered by me since it was so long ago.  I decided to be calm in the musty trunk.  I decided not to kick because I didn’t want my kidnappers to think I was scared or something.1

All I could do was pray.  We drove on and on for hours, and soon, no light came in through the cracks of the trunk.  It was around four pm when I had been kidnapped.  I closed my eyes and murmured, “I seem to have been kidnapped, so I had better be tough.”  I felt my nails.  They were sharp.  I was wearing tennis shoes and overalls; a shirt and a hoodie.  I had nothing but my clothes.2

I said to my savior, “May your will be done through this.  Give my parents strength and me strength.  Let me scratch my kidnappers good.  Thanks for the little voice this morning telling me to wear tennis shoes.”  I then curled up and went to sleep.3