Mafia Records

Giselle was in the business of manufacturing the world’s most visible and timeless drug. Music. Hers was a highly addictive formula, evidenced by the Grammy trophies she displayed proudly in the glass cabinet of her spacious living room. But that day she was fed up, and the only drug that could mellow her out was Xanax. She had taken thirty of them throughout the day, because the bottle of Hennessy she drank in the morning didn’t have the desired effect. It was almost midnight. She had been passed out on the sofa since the afternoon. She woke up and stumbled towards the bathroom upstairs. There, she looked steadily into the mirror, scowling at her reflection. She was a beautiful, young African-American woman with features many would kill for. She had graced the covers of various music and culture magazines with little to no photoshopping. But that didn't mean s**t to her this evening. The face she long admired, of which she took countless i********: selfies that got countless likes from fans and garnered constant attention from haters nonetheless, was now an image she absolutely loathed. A tear rolled down her cheek. She apparently didn’t take enough Xanax. Maybe I should take a hundred and never wake up, she thought? She splashed water on her face and proceeded downstairs. As she got halfway down the stairwell she noticed all the lights on the first floor had been switched off. She lived alone, and this evening, as far as she knew, she was alone. She began to tread lightly out of apprehension, tip-toeing down the rest of the steps. Once she set foot in the foyer, she looked to the glass doors that led to her outdoor pool. Strangely, they had been slid open. She went to investigate, carefully avoiding the furniture as she made her way through the pitch dark living room. Just as she stepped outside into the moonlit back yard, a gloved hand suddenly pressed tightly against her mouth, muffling her screams. He pulled her into the darkness of the house. Giselle swung and kicked at him, but it was no use. His muscles were taut and strong like those of an NFL running back. She felt an odd texture against her temple as the man whispered in her ear. However, she could not turn her head to see what it was. "Shut the f**k up or I will finish you right now," said the man. Something muzzled his voice as if he was Hannibal Lecter, and this sent chills down Giselle's spine. He pinned her chest against the wall by pressing his knee against her back. There was a moment where the man took his hand from her mouth, but only for him to duck-tape her lips. After he cuffed her, he threw her on the couch and bound her ankles tightly with rope. Giselle briefly saw the man as a silhouette against the moonlight while he shut the doors to the pool and drew the blinds. It was totally dark now. Giselle shivered with fear. She did not know what to expect. At first her eyes flinched when the man turned the lights on. After adjusting to the sudden brightness, however, she discovered what was pressing against her temple earlier. The man was wearing a Donald Trump rubber mask. The rest of his tall, lean body was covered completely in a black outfit. Giselle's heart pounded rapidly as he loomed over her restrained and helpless body. The man searched through the kitchen until he came up with the keys to Giselle's Lamborghini, which was parked in the driveway. Giselle closed her eyes and prayed to God that he would only make off with the car and not her. However, his intentions were indeed very sinister, and he carried her through the front door. She hoped that someone would spot them and alert the police. Outside was deserted though, as all suburban neighborhoods are late at night. It was an otherwise typical Floridian summer evening as the palm trees swayed in the humid air. The man set her down on the grass while he accessed the car. Giselle saw her neighbor across the street looking through his window. Fortunately for her, it was dark enough in his house for her impetuous abductor to miss the face in the pane or the jerk of the curtains. The neighbor observed what went on for a moment then darted from the window, hopefully to phone the police. This served as a glimmer of hope for Giselle and prevented her from fainting of fear while she lay in the darkness of that car trunk for over an hour, being hauled to who knew where. Please, God let them find me in time, she constantly thought to herself during that awful ride.