Ransom Note

             “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:30 pm. That’s what the note said, scrawled on yellow lined paper, in handwriting resembling that of a young child’s, blue ink. 8 words. 1 sentence. Amazing the impact that can have on you.

                My daughter has been taken. My baby girl. Maybe not my flesh and blood, but still my child, my angel. 15. She’s only 15. Is she ok? Is she hurt? Is she calling out for me right now? What is she thinking? I wonder if she had a lunch. Silly thought at a time like this. I haven’t even opened my door yet.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:31 pm. I can’t stop seeing the words written there in front of me. Blue ink. Blue like my eyes. Blue like my heart. This must be a nightmare, a trick. My blue ink eyes must be playing a trick on me. It’s not. I know it’s not, but still I hope.

                I hear screaming somewhere. It’s loud and annoying. I wish it would stop. Whoever is screaming needs to stop! It’s me. I’m screaming. I’m screaming and I’m crying and I can’t stop. My throat and lungs burn with the effort but I can’t stop! Maybe she hears me and knows that I will never stop looking for her. I will get her back. My baby. My angel.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:32 pm. My daughter. My baby girl. She’s been taken, stolen. By who? To where? For what purpose? $1 million. She’s worth so much more than that. More than those 8 words. Than that blue ink. Than that yellow lined paper. I waited so long, tried so hard to get her, and now she’s been taken. Just like that.

                Things are growing. Maybe I’m shrinking. I want to shrink. To curl up and when I open my eyes, everything will be better. Perhaps I’m being swallowed. By time, by God. Is there a god? Surely not. He’d never let something like this happen. What did I do wrong? It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. I don’t know what’s happening. The screaming has stopped. People are shouting at me now, crowding in close. I wish they’d leave. Everything is black. Silent. Gone.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:33 pm. I’ll find you.

Jennifer Shoop

Ransom Note

“$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:30 pm. That’s what the note said, scrawled on yellow lined paper, in handwriting resembling that of a young child’s, blue ink. 8 words. 1 sentence. Amazing the impact that can have on you.

                My daughter has been taken. My baby girl. Maybe not my flesh and blood, but still my child, my angel. 15. She’s only 15. Is she ok? Is she hurt? Is she calling out for me right now? What is she thinking? I wonder if she had a lunch. Silly thought at a time like this. I haven’t even opened my door yet.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:31 pm. I can’t stop seeing the words written there in front of me. Blue ink. Blue like my eyes. Blue like my heart. This must be a nightmare, a trick. My blue ink eyes must be playing a trick on me. It’s not. I know it’s not, but still I hope.

                I hear screaming somewhere. It’s loud and annoying. I wish it would stop. Whoever is screaming needs to stop! It’s me. I’m screaming. I’m screaming and I’m crying and I can’t stop. My throat and lungs burn with the effort but I can’t stop! Maybe she hears me and knows that I will never stop looking for her. I will get her back. My baby. My angel.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:32 pm. My daughter. My baby girl. She’s been taken, stolen. By who? To where? For what purpose? $1 million. She’s worth so much more than that. More than those 8 words. Than that blue ink. Than that yellow lined paper. I waited so long, tried so hard to get her, and now she’s been taken. Just like that.

                Things are growing. Maybe I’m shrinking. I want to shrink. To curl up and when I open my eyes, everything will be better. Perhaps I’m being swallowed. By time, by God. Is there a god? Surely not. He’d never let something like this happen. What did I do wrong? It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. I don’t know what’s happening. The screaming has stopped. People are shouting at me now, crowding in close. I wish they’d leave. Everything is black. Silent. Gone.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:33 pm. I’ll find you. 

Left Thumb

James was always self-conscious about his left thumb. His father had decided to hate him from the minute he emerged from his hemorrhaging mother's womb and anytime James "messed up", he would smash it with a hammer. I mean, it wasn't always a hammer, sometimes it was just whatever was convenient like a rock, a whiskey bottle, or the door. And messing up could be anything from getting any grade less than an A to wearing the wrong shirt to not greeting his father in the proper way. As a result of the constant beating, James had lost most feeling in that finger and it had a weird squished and crooked appearance, like a skinny midget glancing over his shoulder.

When he was a child no one was ever suspicious because the physical contact only happened to his thumb so everyone just assumed he was a clumsy kid. James's best friend knew the truth though so James stayed there a lot. He always felt like people would stare at this mangled thumb anytime he passed so he'd hide it under sleeves that were way too long or would wear gloves as long as he could before and after winter, or really any time he could come up with a semi-reasonable excuse. One summer he tried the Micheal Jackson single white glove thing and that went over about as well as a skinny kid at fat camp. Sometimes he liked to pretend his thumb wasn't really a part of him. He'd give it names, like Lenny or Brock, and pretend something horrible happened like a car accident or something to justify his odd appearance.

"You know, it's pretty warm to still be wearing gloves" a delicate female voice sounded from behind him as James stood in line for his Tuesday morning coffee. He turned and saw a girl he'd never seen around here before, and it was a small town so pretty much everyone knew pretty much everyone. She was a few inches shorter than his towering 6' 5" and had long black hair with faded blue streaks pulled into a low messy bun. She was wearing shorts with brightly colored tights, combat boots and a loose fitting floral top. No part of her outfit matched but it looked stunning and hot as hell on her.

"Thanks for the observation Rainbow Bright" he snapped, fed up with the glove comments as the weather continued getting warmer. Spring was the worst time of the year. When everyone else was donning shorts and t-shirts and constantly droning about how beautiful it was, James bundled up still toting gloves and a hat, hoping for a random snow storm. The birds chirping were music to everyone just James, they were the sirens calling his doom for another year.



"Your eyes are green today" she laughed. He just rolled his eyes and looked away. Those comments always caught him off guard. She looked at him in a way that made him feel like she could see everything he had tried so hard to hide, like she just knew everything. "So why do you wear gloves so often?" she asked trying to change the subject knowing it made him self conscious. They'd been seeing one another for 3 weeks now and he still hadn't told her the truth.

"I told you, I'm cold a lot." He hated lying to her.

"Oh that's bull and we both know it. C'mon. What are you so afraid of showing me? You can't scare me away that easily."