My Valentines Box

So...

where to start?

My box is made of cedar.
I’m guessing old wood like a hope chest.  Only longer.  And not as tall.
It’s kinda sad that I’m even thinking of such things but I’m past my freak out point.
Mostly.

Maybe.

I hope?

...

It’s so dark here and I’m so cold.  My hands hurt so bad.  There’s not enough room for me to punch or kick away the walls.  I was trying to push/peal away the lid but succeeded only in scraping off my skin.  A lot of my skin.

I’d say I’d been in here for weeks but being that I need water every 3 days to survive, I’m sure it’s been less.

There’s no sun, no light.  I’m not buried as I would have heard the dirt being piled on top.  It’s more like I’m alone in some windowless, doorless room but I have no way to judge the size.  I’ve tried to listen but I can’t hear anything.  I screamed and beat the inside of my box for hours.  Nothing.

It’s just me and the box.  

And the tape recorder.

I found it after I woke the second time.  By then I’d worked my wrist and the gag free and trashed up my fingers something terrible.  Took me a while to figure out what it was, not being in my complete right mind and all.  Well, that and I had to use my palms, tongue and bottom half of my fingers to feel.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to use this for?  Last will and testament?  Something to fulfill my ... capture’s desire to know if I suffered or not?  I thought to do the former but now I’m trying to figure out how I got here.  
Stick that in your sick pipe and smoke it, you son of a bitch.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

My name is Jennifer Paula Roberts.  I was born in South Texas and have an older brother and a mother.  I went to school; I was in band.  I like Cheetoes, blueberry tea and snuggling up with a blanket, a good book and classical music playing in the background.  I like music a lot and went to college on musical scholarship.  Not that it matters now.  I doubt I’ll ever be able to play the clarinet again.  I have a concert this Saturday, but I won’t be able to play even if I get out of here.

I mentioned about my fingers right?  Did I mention the scent?  Well, now I can smell the blood and my body, but when I first woke I smelled the cedar.  That was once my favorite smell.  

It’s not any more.
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Ok.
Focus, Jenny.  Where was I?  Oh yes – the recount.

Last night Deb and I had gone out for drinks.  Nothing fancy.  I had worn the same black jeans I’d had on all day, just put on a fresh pale blue blouse.  I remember having a glass of wine and the 2 of us relaxing at the bar.

It goes fuzzy after that.  I wish I could remember….

The next thing I knew I was in this damned box being dropped on the floor.  I heard …  footsteps walking away.  

That was the last thing I heard.

My nails are gone and my fingers are bleeding.
Or they were.
I’m just cradling them against my chest at the moment.
They hurt so bad, scrapped raw with splinters embedded deep.
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You know the saddest part of this is? It’s my birthday tomorrow.  I’ll be officially 23 on February 14th.  Not exactly the kind of Valentine’s Day I was looking forward to…
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I’m sorry Momma.
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I’m so sorry…
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