It was a normal night for us. I don’t know if my memories of that night are one-hundred percent correct; it’s been several years since it all started. We, my brother and I, were at home watching tv while eating something from the microwave. I’m not sure where our parents were; Thomas could tell you. His memories of the night we were taken are better than mine.
“Hey Cindy, what are you writing,” Thomas asks me pulling me out of my revelry. I put the pen down and look at my paper for a minute.
“I was trying to recall the night we were brought to this forsaken place,” I told him sadly
“Oh. It could be worse, I guess,” he tried to assure me.
“I guess. At least we get fed and have a place to sleep,” I said unconvinced.