Not mine.

Andnowtothestory

He had been captured. Or what he called capture; most would call it getting kidnapped, but he wasn’t most people.

He had grown up in the average Japanese-American home. His parents worked for the government, he neither knew nor cared what they did. He was caught in his own head, his own fantasies. As the teacher explained lessons, he would be planning a search and destroy mission in some distant land where he was the captain, right hand man, and soldiers.

Friends, he had not. They called him the silent one. The anti-social one. The weird one. His parents tried to take him to various mind doctors. They didn’t help. He just didn’t care for anyone in his five-star, preppy school, or anyone at all. The only one he might of considered a friend moved away when they were eight.

One of his favorite things to do was see how less he could talk each day. But the activity was getting boring; he had long passed the first day he never talked in. The most he would give was a ‘hn’ and that irregularly.

‘A perfect student’ was a common comment on his report card. The lack of talking was made up by perfect grades and extra credit. The teachers usually forgot about him when it came time for someone to answer a question out loud. He liked it that way.

But he wouldn’t need to be worrying about his grades right then. The bump that he received when the thugs had attacked him in the alley still throbbed. He moved his head away from the wall to relieve the stress on the bump. His vision was blurry, but he could guess by the walls and the manacles that he was in a cell.

The door to the cell opened. The man who stepped in was beautiful. A braid draped over a shoulder and swayed as he walked. A priest outfit seemed to fit his style.

The man walked to the boy and cupped the boy’s head in his hand.

“Perfect,” he murmured. He kissed the boy, invading the boy’s mouth. He then got up and walked to the door.

“I’ll take him,” he said to the slaver outside the door.