Samantha

Your vision is dark, almost ragged looking, the burlap sack on your head suffocating . Your own breath and blood lingering in your nose as you shift and clamber for balance inside some... vehicle. The smell of cigarette smoke is strong, burning, and maybe torturous if it wasn't for your near unconscious state. Your hands and wrists ache with burns from the rope binding you, keeping you restrained. When you finally jerk to the halt for the final time, your body bruised, the door opens and your dragged out of the back, stumbling behind a pair of hands that could easily kill based on the how they feel on your arm. When the light that seeps through the burlap sack dims, blackens even, it's finally ripped off, and your forced into a seat that sits before a half-dead ballerina of a fire, flicking, dancing, bending at will. The only thing you can do is stare, until finally, your attention is ripped away by another person entering, someone familiar, friendly. The lady you met at the bar. A flirt, really. But that's not your concern. She sits beside you, legs crossed, arms folded, but open for conversation. (Note: sorry y'all, I've been getting tired of this apps flaws. I'm trying to get back into making Talkies)