Written for the Triond writers challange, this is a dark take on a classic spun around current events.
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Bill and Margaret Montgomery had so much hope for their daughter Samantha. She was their princess, their hope for the future, the child that would give them loving grandchildren. Samantha was a beautiful girl with a bright future and parents who loved her. At twelve years old she was on her way to becoming a heart breaker. She was also on the honor roll at Geneva Heights High School, a cheerleader and member of the Science and Beta Clubs. Her future was wide open. That all ended in November of 2001 when Samantha Montgomery disappeared on her way home from school.
There was no body, no ransom note and no suspects. Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery posted a sizable reward but no one came forward with any real information. No one believed she had run away, she had no real reason. Her parents were strict but loving and there was no hint of neglect or abuse. She had not started dating yet so there was no family friction of a boyfriend. The plain truth was that Sam was a good girl and her parents were decent folk. She was popular in school, but also a kind person and had no enemies.
The general consensus was that she was the victim of random violence. Search parties formed and combed all the areas where a body might be hidden. Neighbors were questioned and interviewed. No one had seen anything. There were few clues if any and Samantha’s disappearance remained a mystery. Tearful televised pleas went unanswered and rewards went unclaimed. The little girl was gone and no one knew where. Bill and Margaret’s life crumbled and their dreams all withered away.
EIGHT YEARS LATER
She could hardly be called a little girl anymore. She was a young woman now, but only in terms of her actual years. She had lived a lifetime in eight long torturous years. The girl who was once Samantha Montgomery was a frail, shell of a woman. Her hair was stringy and sickly. Her face was smeared and dirty. In her eyes was more than a hint of madness. She sat at the table staring straight ahead and smiling at the man with the clipboard and funny glasses. He was the latest in a progression of funny men with glasses and clipboards and notebooks and funny clothes. He asked her a lot of questions and she answered them as best she knew how. She knew how to cooperate. She had learned that lesson well over the last few years. Cooperation meant reward, resistance meant punishment and solitude. Outside the room more funny men looked in at her through the glass. She smiled at them too.
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