She woke up. She tried to move, she couldn’t. The feeling had returned to her arms, they ached. Her arms were tied behind her back. There was something touching the inside of both of her upper arms. Then she realised that she was tied to it, it was a chair. Her legs were bound to the chair by the ankles. The rope that held her wasn’t very thick but the knot that was tied to hold her in place was tightly wound, there was no chance of her just slipping out.
She squirmed in her bonds, twisting her arms as much as she could, desperately trying to free herself. All she had managed to do was bruise her arms on the chair.
The next few seconds were spent thinking. She looked down. The room may have been dark but she was able to see the top half of the white skull design on the chest of her black t-shirt, she was still clothed. She had a slender figure, this was a result of spending most of her time trying to keep fit. Her personality was different to that of other women and because of that men weren’t interested in her, her answer to this was to use her looks to her advantage.
Unfortunately, it seemed that one man had taken too much of an interest in her. She didn’t weigh much because of her desire to keep fit, even so she used all of her weight to make the chair rock. The chair fell over. The two legs on the right side of the chair snapped, leaving her right leg free enough to move. She was still tied to the chair but now she was on the floor with one leg free and she had bruised the other side of her right arm.
She looked around, straining her eyes to see in the dark. Dark is just a lack of light, nothing to be afraid of, not like clowns anyway. Scanning the area with such focus that her life depended on it, she spotted something on the floor, near the door.
Using her free leg she dragged herself across the room. The friction from her black, heeled, leather boots scraping on the cold, concrete floor made it possible. Her main fear in doing this was that the noise from the chair scraping on the floor along with the gentle tapping of her foot hitting the ground would alert her captor.
She was now close enough to see the thing properly, it was a Stanley knife with the blade extended. She bent her right leg and pushed of the ground to flip herself onto her left side, bruising the other side of her left arm. Her hands were still bound but she knew that escape was only a finger length away. She got it, the Stanley was in her hands. In her attempts to spin the knife into a position where she could cut the rope around her wrists, she accidentally cut herself. Blood seeped out of the wound, trickling down her wrist and onto her hands. Had she hit a vein? It couldn’t end like this… could it? Panicking, she started flailing the knife around, leaving another gash every time it touched her flesh. Fighting the urge to give up and bleed out on the floor, she tried to gain composure and focus on the task at hand. Just a little more twisting and…Yes! She had cut herself free.
Next, she cut the ropes around her ankles and slowly got to her feet, constantly feeling the pain of her wounds and the stinging of her bruises as she did. Once she was on her feet she inspected her wrist, the wound might have killed her if she didn’t get to hospital soon. She didn’t have time to think about it at that moment, she needed to focus on making her escape.
She opened the door, taking care to make as little noise as possible lest her captor should hear her. A wooden staircase led up to another door. As she crept up the staircase one of the floorboards creaked, a moan that seemed so loud that it would be a miracle if he had missed it. She stopped. Panicking she covered her mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing. After a few seconds, she realised that no one was coming. She continued her advance.
When she reached the top of the stairs she wrapped her hand around dull, bronze doorknob. She opened the door, it opened with a slight screeching noise as the old, rusted hinges were forced to work more than they had done for a while. She was in the kitchen. She couldn’t leave from the kitchen, there were no exits. She had to pass through the living room to reach the front door, she had seen this as he had carried her into the house with his hand over her mouth.
She crouched down and made her way into the living room, using her hands to propel herself forwards. The room was decorated in a dull brown colour with brown wooden furniture and brown leather couches. She crept into a position behind one of the couches, hoping that he hadn’t seen her enter the room.
He was sat on the couch watching television, he was focusing on it and not her. He had guests. Every one of them had a pure white face, bright red marks over their mouths extending up their cheeks. One or two of the had a red nose. Only the biggest had a rainbow coloured afro.
She hadn’t seen the guests. She thought he was alone. She saw it, the door. Now was her chance to make her way out. On hands and knees, she crawled, speed was her aim. She wasn’t quick enough. The man had stood up, holding an empty cup. He spotted her. He loomed over her, ready to kill. A chorus of cheers accompanied by the tooting of horns sounded, the clowns were all heading towards her, a savage look in all their eyes.
The panic left her face and she stood up, smiling. Someone handed her a bottle of water and a plump, balding man with the word ‘DIRECTOR’ written in large white letters across his black t-shirt that didn’t quite fit him approached her and her captor. As he walked, the man shouted “Daaarling! that was beautiful! Now do that again exactly like that when we’ve got some more film in the cameras.”