Wow really interesting intro, i am very interested to see what happens next. I read that you were looking for a serious review...so here is one. I hope it was what you were looking for. (And don't forget, as always, these are all just suggestions)
I wake up and absolutely nothing is visible all around me is black . I open my eyes and fear I am blind , for absolutely nothing is visible . My dress is tangled up around my legs and I am curled up on my side. If It feels as if I’m moving, but not through any will power of my own. The feeling increases and I feel as if I’m in a rocking chair that not only leans backwards and forwards, but also tosses me side to side. It makes me sick and I throw up on the floor I’m forced to lay on. (Why is she forced to stay on her side? Is she tied down?) The vomit is sticky and warm and inescapable. It clings to me and stains my summer dress. The smell refuses to leave invades my nostrils and the taste lingers in my mouth. “I want my mom,” I sob to myself. Where is my mom? Where am I? Nausea, cold, and terror consume me as I try to sit up. My head bangs against something hard and I recoil as tears leap from to my eyes. I try stretching my legs and arms, but they too are met with resistance. I’m trapped in a box with no light. I start crying voice my terror in the piercing, shrieking tone only seven-year-old girls can accomplish.
To my astonishment, in moments later there are such cries of terror and sadness that I am silenced by it . It sounds like twenty other children are crying , and I know it's not an echo because I stopped making noise moments ago . (You were still crying when you heard them) Where are the voices coming from? Why are they crying? Are they like me Could they be trapped like me ? I struggle in vain to sit up and begin crying to sob (vary word choice) all over again, my voice rising with those of my unseen companions’.
“What’s going on?” I hear faintly over all the shrieking. The voice belongs to a boy, I think. He doesn’t sound at all harsh, but like me -, confused , yet not quite as scared. However, he does not seem as scared as the rest of us. “Shh, everyone, stop crying. Calm down.” Somehow his voice rises over the rest without shouting. The sound of the unwavering boyish voice is calming and I stop crying whimpering . In short order, the rest of them the children stop as well, save for a few muffled whimpers and sniffles . every now and then. We all want to hear more from the boy.
He’s silent for a while, then I hear him again, at last, “Okay... okay...” he seems to be talking to himself, “first thing is...” he raises his voice to be heard by everyone, “How many of us are there?” Everyone begins talking at once, but he silences them us with, “One at a time, guys.”
A moment passes in which no one speaks, then a young girlish voice says, “I’m one.”
“I’m two,” says the boy.
“Three,” I say meekly.
“I... I can’t count,” says a shrill voice to my left, “but I’m here.”
We go on sounding off until we get to eleven, then people start getting impatient and it's useless after that. I guess Judging by the volume of voices, there must be twenty or more of us, judging by the volume of voices . People are asking the same questions I want to know, “Where are we? What’s going on? Why is it so dark?” They all speak Everyone speaks at the same time and try tries to shout over one another the others to be heard. The rising chaos and panic in everyone’s voices causes a few children to begin crying again.
“Quiet,” says the voice I’m coming to love. Remarkably, people stop talking long enough for him to begin asking questions. “Is everyone in a box?”
A chorus of, “Yes,” reaches my ears.
“Can anyone see?”
“No,” everyone shouts. A tiny voice says, “I’m scared of the dark!” which is followed by many several frightened cries of, “Me too !’ s .”
The boy barrels through those voices and says, “Does anyone have any idea what’s going on?”
Complete silence descends. I feel cold seep into every part of my body and I begin to shiver.
“I was kidnapped,” says a somber someone to my immediate right. It is the first time I’ve heard this voice. It belongs to a boy, I’m sure. He sounds very tired and serious.
“I... I was too,” says someone.
“I think we all were,” says the first boy with a sigh.
“What’s your name?” I find myself asking, “The boy who’s asking questions... who are you?”
“My name’s Edmund,” he says, “you?”
“Ivy Judith House,” I say, barely loud enough to be heard.
“I’m Tasnova Ramira!” announces a young girl. It amazes me how unfazed she seems. Judging by her voice, she could be on a picnic in the park saying she wants to go on a walk.
After her, almost everyone shouts out their names at once and I can’t hear any of them.
“Boy,” I whisper, turning my head in the direction of the boy on my right.
He’s quiet for a moment, but eventually says, “Yes?”
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to roll over on my other side.
Again, he is quiet, but says, “Michael.”
I succeed in rolling over and I hear Edmund asking questions again and people answering him all at once. I stop listening and focus only on the unseen boy next to me. I feel a kind of camaraderie towards him. We are prisoners trapped in adjacent cells.
“Michael...” I whisper, “are you scared?”
I hear him shifting in his box. When he next speaks, it sounds as if he’s facing me. “Yes,” he answers.
We’re quiet for a long time. I listen to Edmund and the others as I try to find search in vain for comfort and warmth in my cramped enclosure. He asks how old everyone is and the youngest ones answer first.
“I’m four,” I hear someone say.
“Four?” Edmund says, sounding a little breathless. I imagine him shaking his head. “How could anyone kidnap someone so young?” he muses. After a moment he announces that he’s nine and wants to know if there’s anyone his age.
“Well, I’m ten,” says a boy.
“Me too,” says a girl who sounds very far away.
“What are your names?” Edmund asks.
“Charlie.”
“Josephine.”
Edmund wants to know if there's anyone older than ten and is met with silence. “Ivy, how old are you?”
“Seven,” I answer.
“Anyone else?” Edmund asks, and I am listening eagerly to hear if there are any others my own age. Three people answer him: two boys named Nick and Darryl, and a girl named Kathryn.
Edmund's voice rises again, silencing the chatter that's beginning to come up. “Any six-year olds?”
Blaire, Lauren, Tasnova, George and Claire all announce that they are six. Through this system Edmund has devised, we are able to learn that there are thirty of us , as well as everyone's name and age . Michael tells me he is eight.
“Really? That’s it?” I expected him to be older than that. He seems so grown-up. I am answered with cold silence from the other side of the box. “You just seem older,” I say.
“I'm older than you,” he says.
I don’t know how to answer, so I stop talking and try to roll onto my back. It feels like I am laying on tree roots - the kind with knobby parts that stick in my back and hurt my feet when I walk on them. I’m tired, but I can’t possibly fall asleep. I try to break out of my box, kicking the ceiling with my scrawny legs and banging on the sides with my fists. Nothing I do has any effect on the wooden cage , but I do find something useful. The box isn’t impenetrable. There are slits that run all the way along the sides that I can fit my hand in. I try to peer through a slit and catch a glimpse of anything, but it is pitch-black. I can’t even see my hand in front of me own hands.
A voice I recognize as belonging to Tasnova Ramira says, “I’m hungry. Does anyone have any food?”
Food. Now that it’s on my mind, I realize I’m starving. I hear the grumblings of my stomach and feel the pains in the pit of my gut. When did I last eat? Today? Yesterday? It feels like I haven’t had any food in days. Everyone starts complaining about how their stomachs hurt and how hungry they are.
“Guys,” says Edmund, “shut up, okay? You’re not helping anything.”
“Hey!” Tasnova shouts. “You’re not either. Don’t yell at them. They’re hungry they can’t help it.” She seems the type of girl I would be friends with, even if for no other reason than I’d hate to be on her bad side.
“They can stop whining about it,” he counters, “and try to do something that will help us.”
“Whatever,” she says, “You-”
Before she can get out another word, a bright light floods into the room, temporarily blinding me. With that light comes the sound of heavy footsteps and a voice that commands us all to, “Pipe down.”
As my eyes adjust to the light, I squint and blink until shapes come into focus. I see my hands in front of me and my pink, flowery dress stained with vomit. I try not to cry.
“How are you all enjoying your trip?” says the gruff, grown-up voice. Everyone is too terrified to speak, so we are silent while he laughs. “Don’t worry. You’ll be in Paradise soon enough.”
I hear a few gasps, and I know why. At Church I learned that Paradise is another name for Heaven, and Heaven is the place people go when they die. My mouth hangs open and I wriggle as far away from the man as I can. Edmund must know about Paradise too because he asks, “Are you going to kill us, then?” I struggle to breathe.
“Nah,” says the man, “I won’t.” I hear the clank of his shoes come nearer and I can see the bottom of his legs through a slit in my cell, which I now see is a wooden crate. “As long as you behave yourselves.”
“We’ll be good,” say a few people timid voices , “We promise.”
“What polite children,” he says in a growl of a voice. I envision him grinning, showing teeth as crooked and yellow as my grandmothers. I bet he has a nasty beard and tangled brown hair that touches his collar.
“Where are we?” Edmund asks. “Why are we all in these crates? What do you want with us?” I’m amazed at his bravery, and a little scared that he’ll get us in trouble. It doesn’t seem smart to ask questions of our kidnapper. The heavy boots and dark pants at the foot of my crate move out of my line of sight.
“What was that, boy?” the man says as he walks away.
“I...” Edmund’s voice is a little less strong now, “I asked what do you want with us?”
“I want you...” begins the man, “to STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!” The next instant, I hear a loud cracking noise and the snap of wood splitting in half. Edmund shouts and makes strangled noises as the man drags him out of his crate. My eyes grow wide as he’s tossed to the ground like a sack of potatoes. (She can see this all though the slits in her crate? Even with all the other boxes piled around?) His head collides with the floor and makes a sickening, hollow boom. I see that he is a thin boy with black hair and bright blue eyes grown wide with surprise. Edmund’s hands raise instinctively to his face as our captor lifts him off the floor by the front of his tattered T-shirt. I see Edmund's tennis shoes dangling in front of me, his legs twitching. I hear a slap and a grunt, and some other noises, but I can’t imagine what they are.
“Don’t ask questions,” warns the man as he shakes Edmund hard. “Never ask questions, got it?”
“G-got it,” says the boy.
“Are you sure you got it?” asks the man. He answers himself, “No, you don’t got it. I can see it in your beady little eyes.” He places Edmund on his feet and I hear a noise that I can only imagine comes from a thick fist pummeling a soft surface. Edmund doesn’t make a sound. “Now you got it,” says the man. Judging by the tone of his voice, he’s very satisfied with himself.
I jump and let out a gasp as Edmund collapses on his back at the foot of my crate, his head tilts my direction. His lip is bleeding, his cheek is bruised, and his eyes are closed. He
doesn’t move.
I slam my eyes shut and turn my head away.
“Ivy,” Michael whispers. “Look at me. It's okay." My eyes open and I can’t see anything but a few strands of dark hair and brown eyes. His gaze is intense, but not unkind, so I find comfort in it. I try to drown out the sounds around me and slip my hand through an opening in the crate. (These seem like much bigger openings then they did at the beginning of the story) Michael reaches out and takes hold of it.
“Nap time,” says the man, walking over Edmund’s body, giving his waist a swift kick with his big feet. “Everybody go to sleep.” The lights
go out and once again we are surrounded by darkness. "And remember," he growls. His voice seems even more menacing when there is no light in the room. around me. The sound of it sends shivers up and down my spine. "No more asking questions."
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