I muttered some lyrics to myself in the sweltering darkness.  It was all I could do as I awaited whatever shadowy fate my aggressors had for me.  It was a sticky summer night, and I released a deep grunt as the car passed over a large divot in the roadway, making the crown of my beaten head crack against the gray suede wall of the trunk.  It was close to impossible for me to brace myself; my limbs were constrained by electric yellow zip ties.  The thin plastic cut into my flesh, and I swore I could feel a hot drop of blood flow from my left wrist.

It's interesting and horrifying how quickly your life can alter it's course.  I was picking up some late night groceries for a beautiful lasagna recipe I had encountered online.  I am not a fan of venturing out past seven or eight o'clock, but the website's images of the meal just looked so delectable.  I had to try it for myself.

As I bustled out of the store, five plump plastic bags in hand, I noticed a group of four men were leaning against the hood of my silver 1995 sedan.  Their voices were merry and rambunctious as they chatted about something trivial, and as I neared closer, I recognized one of the members.

His name was Terrence.

Terrence became a regular at the restaurant I was employed at in early spring.  The café was owned by a joyous little couple, so our staff wasn't incredibly large or even enough to serve the wild amount of guests we had.  We were overworked, yes, but the tipping was wonderful.  At least it was for me.  

Terrence was a talkative man, and he would carry on lengthy conversations with whomever was assigned to serve him for the day.  He was the kind of person that could hook you in with an interesting tale from his childhood in the distant country, and if you were kind enough, you didn't want to tell him you had to leave and serve others.  That would be rude, right?

I was that kind of person, but the rest of my four coworkers were not.  They found him to be obnoxious and would complain to the restaurant's owners about his presence.  They wanted to attend to other tables.  Whenever someone abandoned his chat, he would give offensively low tips and complain about the food.  He caused a ruckus.  Eventually, I became the only waitress willing to take his specific orders and join in his dialogue.  We learned quite a bit about each other, and the tips he gifted me became higher and higher.  I didn't disclose to the others how much I received from him, but it started to get in the startling triple digits.  

This went on for about three months.

I don't remember when I told him this, but he learned when my bills were coming in, so he made sure to tip more around that time.  It was incredible, and it was great to know that I was his favorite so much to the point he would sometimes enter twice a day for breakfast and dinner.  He was aware that I was delighted by his presence, and we became good friends.  If I could even call it that.  You know when you are trying to be friendly and your mouth just runs?  That was what occurred to me.  And I have no clue how much I confided to him.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"Lainey!  What are you doing here?" Terrence patted my car before he approached me with the same confidence he always beheld in his posture.

"Groceries," I replied mundanely.

"Oh, wonderful."  He delicately slid one of the thin bags off my arm and gazed curiously at the contents within.  Some of the pasta sauce jars clanked like broken windchimes.  "Listen, I need something from you."

I didn't say anything.  My throat seemed to be swallowing itself, and I couldn't activate my voice box to create some noise.  Anything would have been better than dead silence.

"You know all that money I gave you?  Well, I might have given you a teensy bit too much.  I do need some of it back."

"Back?"  It was difficult to keep my words stable, and my unease continued to climb as the other three men started to shuffle creepily towards me, their eyes ablaze.

One of their hands flashed out, and a soft pop emitted from the contraption he was gripping in his furious fist.  I yelped as a flaming pain ignited in my left thigh, and my groceries toppled to the ground in a chaotic fashion.  The parking lot started to turn smudgy, and I desperately tried to remain conscious.  My brain started to tighten as it's commands to my body became stronger and stronger, but whatever tranquilizer was launched into me eventually shut my nervous system down.

When I finally came to, I woke up to the stench of Terrence's car.  It's odor was composed of tobacco fumes and tequila, and my forehead felt heavy and dense.  It could have been from the drug finally letting up, but it seemed more like the strain from a bruise.  I was unsure if I had already been raped, but I didn't feel any strange agony or blood from below my waist.

And so I began to sing softly to myself.

It was a lullaby of terror, and as the car ventured further from everything I called home, the lyrics became more broken and strained as boiling tears cascaded over my bloody cheeks.  I had a watch on, and it was those kind that have a greenish glow in the dark face.  The pastel turquoise illumination announced that it was nearing one o'clock in the morning, about four hours after I had exited the inviting light of the grocery store.  

They must be shipping me somewhere.  There is no other reason why they would waste so much time on travel.  My body was suddenly compressed against the floor as a riot of gravitational force shot through the car, and the men wailed in horror, screaming about only God knows what.  I thumped against the trunk's ceiling as the vehicle whirled through the humid air, and I cried in terror as it cracked against the asphalt road.  The trunk's lock became damaged, so I was able to topple out into the welcoming night.

The world became quiet as death curled through the air.  My poor heart was thrumming hastily, and my breaths wheezed as I gazed about, trying to figure out what had happened.  The captors were strewn across the blacktop, their overweight bodies dismembered and shredded.  One of them was still trembling from the shock of murder, and his glistening intestines squirmed slightly on the concrete.  The car's belly was facing towards the stars, and I could see a dent in the complex underside.

A strange sound started to slither through the air, as if someone was carefully dropping thousands of copper pennies against a crystal tabletop.  A large grouping of what appeared to be small rotating shards of glass slipped out of the surrounding forest, warping the images behind it.  The phenomenal cluster gracefully floated towards me.

And that was how I met The Moving Sky.