Slave's Indoctrination Diary - 1

February 2

It's been about 3 days since they abducted me. Hard to know for sure since I'm in a small window-less room with only a mattress, and a bucket for me to defecate in. Based on the 'meals' dropped off in plastic bowls with plastic cutlery, along with some water bottles, it has been 3 days. I receive what could generously be referred to as porridge in the mornings, and a soup or stew in the evenings. My only reason for saying mornings and evenings is based on these meals reflecting traditional notions of breakfast and dinner. So, I say it is February 2nd, with the only certainty being that the last time I was in the world, it was January 30th.

I'm rambling a bit because I am trying to clear my head. 3 days of isolation is making me stir crazy.

Perhaps I'll start from the beginning, and then I can make some sense of this. I mean, I don't even know what my captors want.

I was just getting home from my one evening class, Social Work. Not one of my favourites, but it is one of the core courses for the psychology degree.

It just dawned on me that my captors need to learn about me. Build some sympathy, by letting them see me as a real person, someone who will be missed. Perhaps they'll let me go.

Of course I may have just defeated the purpose by writing this. They're going to read this. Why else would they give me a notebook and a pen along with my stew and water?

Fuck it! I've made it abundantly clear with my begging and screaming to be free that I just want to live my life. Not that any of that did any good. This writing likely won't either.

So, hello captors. As you know from the ID in my purse, my name is Elizabeth Childs. I go by Liz. I'm a 20 year old college student in the 2nd year of a degree in psychology. I'm not top of the class, but I'm doing OK. Working with a psychiatrist after my parents died in an accident 3 years ago really helped me. So, I thought I could do the same for a career. I don't have any siblings, and since my parents died, no immediate family. I have a few friends at college, but no boyfriend at the moment. Nothing serious.

I'm more focused on my studies, and working part-time to really care too much. If the right guy comes along, then great, but I'm not sitting by the phone waiting for his call. I don't need a man to take care of me, I can handle things myself.

Although, I suppose I could use a knight in shining armour right now to rescue me from this dungeon.

You always hear news reports about young women being assaulted on the streets at night. It's a big issue on campus, and I try to be conscious of my surroundings. I guess I wasn't cautious enough in the back lane leading to my basement apartment. Two guys wearing all black clothes jumped me. Before I could scream, one had his hand with a damp cloth over my mouth. Next thing I knew, I was in this room.

Since I was knocked out, I really have no idea where I am. I was a bit woozy, and had a dry throat, but unhurt. I was relieved that all my clothes were still on. There was no evidence of sexual assault.

I banged on the metal door of my cell, calling out, begging to be released. No answer. Not even a rebuke to keep quiet. I could scream at the top of my lungs, but it didn't matter.

There was a small sliding panel at the bottom of the door. It was almost like a doggy door. I hadn't really noticed it until the panel was slid back, and a tray of food was pushed into my cell by someone.

I called out to them, but the panel was closed without a word. Initially I wanted to throw the food at my captors. Yet, what was the point? I would only be throwing it at the door. I also considered refusing to eat in protest? Yet again, what was the point? I held off eating that bland porridge for a few hours on the first day, only to surrender and eat a now cold sludge.

I noticed the camera in the top corner of the cell. How could I not notice it when I was trapped in a blank cement-walled room, and nothing but a small ragged mattress on the floor? Initially I wanted to smash it, to vent my rage at my captors watching me at every moment. Yet, it was beyond my reach. Then I tried begging and imploring to the camera with words and gestures. That turned out to be as futile and pointless as banging on the door.

The purpose of the bucket eluded me at first. Yet, as I needed to pee, it's dreadful purpose dawned on me. I tried to hold off, and began another round of banging and pleading at the door. Eventually I gave up, dropped my pants, and squatted over the bucket. Luckily a napkin from my 'breakfast' could be used to wipe myself. Of course, the camera captured everything.

Now, after 3 days, it is really starting to smell. The smell of my piss and shit lingers in the cell. And after 3 days without washing, I am quite ripe myself.

In spite of the camera, I have stripped down to my bra and panties to relieve myself from my own clinging sweat. For a concrete room, it is surprisingly warm. I dabbed my blouse with water and wiped myself. It provided some minimal relief. I placed my slacks over the bucket. It certainly didn't seal it, but it did help to minimize the smell a bit.

After hours spent begging for release, nothing. They had yet to say a word to me. They simply delivered a tray of food, and collected the empty tray I had begun leaving by the door.

The only change this evening was the inclusion of the notebook and pen along with my meal. The point, like so much else, eluded me. Since my other pleas have been ignored, a letter begging for release seems pointless.

I am just an average college girl. I don't have any money. I don't have any family that you could demand a ransom from. And even when my parents were alive, we weren't well off. The little insurance they had paid off some debts, and funded my tuition, but little else. My retail job pays the rent for a basement apartment barely larger than this cell.

And I hate to think like this, but if they want to rape me, why don't they? It's not like I could stop them.

For now, I wait, an animal in a cage.