Me, a stranger, or your imagination? If there’s someone there, you pray it’s me? Wouldn’t a stranger have done something by now? Said something....Anything. Minutes pass again. You are stuck. Your nipples ache. You momentarily pray it’s me and dream about what might be about to hopefully happen and it makes you wet with excitement.You then feel what must be an insect climbing up your inner leg between your knee and the belt imprisoning you. You shake your leg to get it off. That of course fails. That's when she realized that she hadn't shed a single tear. This both surprised and shocked her. After twenty-two years, there should be something to cry about, she thought sharply.Then the realization that she really didn't feel anything one way or the other flooded her mind and a single tear coursed slowly down her cheek. That says a whole lot about my life, doesn't it, she thought, angry with herself. What made her angry was the question of what the hell that little twenty-two-year-old had. The man forced her down into the crunchy leaves on her back. Now she could get a better look at him. He was about 6 feet tall, well built, but she couldn’t tell anything else because he was wearing a navy blue ski mask that covered his face and hair well. The other unusual thing was that he was wearing dark glasses. There was nothing she could tell to distinguish him from any other man. He was holding her down with one of his large hands against her chest. The necklace Mark had given her for. When she saw the naked blades of the machetes, she knew that they intended to waste the six young girls rather than drag them along with them slowing them down on their movement to the safe zone. Of course, what was a safe zone to them was not a safe zone for unattached females by any stretch of the imagination.The three males were a scroungy bunch and they were all heavily bearded and she could smell their body odor even at a distance of almost fifty feet.She gripped the handle of her newly.
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