"Papa's been coming home late recently, hasn't he?" The empty house echoes with the creaking of a rocking chair, and the crackling of a flame.
"Mm." I would nod in agreement silently, sitting in the lap of the one known to me as 'mother'. A relatively tall young lady in her mid twenties with glossy, long, red hair running all the way down to her rear accompanied by a beautiful face with freckles.
She worked at home a lot as a journalist. I didn't know what my father did though, and neither did my mother. She was a trusting woman, and seeing as he would dodge the question with jokes, she would take the message and stop asking.
I thought she was loving. She would never be very scold me for breaking anything, always make sure i'm okay and worry about replacements if it was necessary, and always calm down my father who was a little more reprimanding. She would keep up with my constant demands no matter how busy she was and always take care in doing what I asked. I wish I hadn't worked her so hard, but I was spoilt.
Gently and carefully, she would brush my hair as she rocked. I wouldn't feel a single painful tug and would read a book not usually meant for children my age undisturbed. When she was done, she would rest the brush on the coffee table of our living room.
"Would you like to step out into town?" She would ask.
"Can we?" As a child with a hunger for knowledge and exploration, leaving the house would always excite me. And my mother and I would enjoy window shopping. She would explain to me anything I saw and didn't know, which made me quickly forget about my tiny and aching feet.
We would step out onto wide cobblestone streets and peruse various stores, trying various foods and desserts.
The closer to noon it got, the more crowded the streets got. I would get frightened, and tug at the hem of her sundress with a wish to head home.
"Yes, I think we'll head home for today."
We slowly moved through the people at rush hour, someone occasionally bumping into us, and it would hurt, but we would get the blame anyways and apologize.
Eventually on our walk back home, the world would go dark for me.
I would hear muffled screams, and my feet would leave the ground, and large arm around my stomach holding me up.
I would get tossed into a rough metal surface, the sound of an engine humming faintly and the small back of my mother behind me.
A feeling of cloth would soon surround my mouth, my hands tied tightly behind my back and I could see again, albeit barely in the darkness of the back of a van.
"Mom?" Words would only come out as moans. My mother would look back at me with a worried expression, but wouldn't say anything.
Fear would shake my body and quicken my breaths, and a grueling ten minute drive would feel like years.
