“Like a butterfly, she magically…”
Like a butterfly, she magically wriggled her way out of her duct tape cocoon, blinking away tears as the adhesive ripped the tiny hairs out of her arms. She had spent the better part of three hours trying to free herself from the silver tape that held her securely to the metal folding chair, using a safety pin and the limited range of motion of her tingling fingers to hack at the bonds. Now that her hands were free, she massaged the feeling back into her extremities and gently peeled the tape off of her mouth. Her lips were dry, and she could taste the blood on her equally dry tongue. She pulled at the remaining tape, until she was no longer one with the chair.
She slipped her feet from her sneakers -- which had been secured to the warehouse floor with roughly half a roll of duct tape -- and slithered from the chair. She crouched on the ground, listening for any sign that her captors had heard her making her escape. The only sound was her breathing: slow and calm, despite the clench of anxiety high in her chest. She took advantage of her socked feet, and slid across the smooth cement floor to the door that she had seen out of the corner of her eye.
The three kidnappers were sleeping as she tiptoed past them.
“Unprofessional,” she thought, as she fought the urge to retaliate. Two days spent in a strange warehouse, taped to a chair with no food or water. Instead, she glided past them on silent feet and out the door.
They had questioned her for hours about the location of hidden missiles, the launch codes for various weapons systems, things she claimed she didn’t have the answers to. She told them her name was Anna and she just wanted to go home, and had no idea what they were talking about, and would they please put the guns away because they were scarring her, and, please please please tell her what was going on. She had even managed to make herself cry before that slapped her across the face and taped over her mouth.
She was at full sprint within three steps out of the warehouse. The icy ground was tearing at her unprotected feet, and she was certain that she was leaving a blood trail that even her idiot captors would be able to follow, but she didn’t care. Her contingency plan was already rolling through her mind: don’t stop running until proper civilization; find shoes; head to the safe house and tell her superiors where to find Mo, Larry and Curly (as she had started referring to them in her mind). If she could keep up her current pace for the next hour, she would make it to the safe house before morning, and, hopefully, before her captors woke. She would find them before they found her, and then -- when she had her hand around her sidearm and was surrounded by a dozen CIA agents -- she would tell them her real name. And inform them just how abysmal at holding onto a bargaining chip they were.
She was ten minutes out from the warehouse when she allowed herself a single, exhilarated whoop of celebration, reveling in the feeling of ground soaring beneath her feet.
nt - 2/5/10
Notes: Batesian mimicry is a protection mechanism in which a non-harmful creature (i.e. tasty butterflies, non-poisonous frogs) evolves to have similar features as one of its harmful counterparts (i.e. unpalatable butterflies, poisonous frogs) in order to dissuade predators from eating them.
*Prompt taken from The Write Brain Workbook: 366 Exercises to Liberate Your Writing by Bonnie Neubauer