Cold, grimy hands grip my arm, tugging away at it. If he..or she.. pulls any harder, my arm will come right out of the socket. I don't feel too panicked, but I know my masked admirer slipped something into my drink before pulling me out here. So here we are, me and it. Or it and I. I can't remember. Miss Taylor, my fifth-grade grammar teacher, would be furious. I don't know why she came to mind, but I am aware that I am definetley not sober. "Agh!" I heard it yell, as it trips and falls over an unxpected puddle of water in the middle of the road. Huh. Its voice is muffled, the gender still unknown to me. It falls to the ground, clearly hitting it hard. I know that this is my escape route, my way out, but I do not act on that idea. I am unsure why, but it just does not feel right. So I stay. And then it dusts itself off, grabs hold tightly on my arm again, and we're off into the pitch black world.I think I fell asleep in its car. Or maybe I was drugged. Either way, I was not awake and now I am. I am in a white room, duct-taped to a white table. This seems too fake, too much like a scene from a movie. There is even a camera at the far end of the room, set up on a large piece of furniture. It is watching me. Soon enough, loud footsteps burst through the door. It is it. It! It is coming towards me now with a knife, and its mask is off. It continues to stab me, and before my vision blurs and eventually goes black, I cannot help but feel sad.Why, it is only a little girl!
