I'm at the grocery store with my mom. She picks up a can of soup and inspects it before cringing and putting it back on the shelf. I'm stealthily reading a One Direction magazine, hiding it from the cameras and employees.

What? I'm a directioner! More about me later.

My younger brother is staying overnight at a friend's house. My step-dad is driving somewhere down in West Virginia and who knows what my dad is doing.

"Hey, Mads, go put this back for me," my mom commands, handing me a bag of rice. I nod and head off to the right aisle. I put the bag back and glance up, noticing some scary looking guys at the end of the aisle.

One guy has a shaved head and a Mike Tyson face tattoo. His skin is tan and he has a scar running along his thick eyebrow. He's wearing a tux.

Not a smart move, I think as I inspect him whispering to guy number 2. The tattoo and scar makes you easily distinguishable. Now I can identify you if you do anything.

The other guy is a stereotypical Yakuza. Yakuza is like the Japanese mafia, except way more screwed up. His long black hair is slicked back in a ponytail. He also is wearing dark shades and sports a goatee. He's bad news, I swear to it.

They glance at me and I continue to stare at them, my gaze stone cold and as emotionless as I can muster. Tyson looks at me once again as I take off, leaving the aisle. I find my mom inspecting some noodles.

"Mom, we need to leave," I hiss.

"What?" she asks, turning to look at me.

"We need to leave," I repeat.

"Why?" she presses.

"I saw two guys that don't look too friendly," I reply, looking around. I don't see them.

"What... what do you mean?"

"One guy looked Yakuza and the other guy had a shaved head, a Mike Tyson tattoo, and a big scar and they were wearing tuxes. They started glaring at me," I whisper. My mom nods and clutches my hand, dropping the basket. I toss the magazine inside and we start to leave.

"Act natural, act casual, we'll be fine," she promises. I nod and although I don't understand what's going on, I obey her and we make it through the front doors.

I glance around occasionally and see no sign of anything suspcious. We get out to the crosswalk-


Tyson throws me to the ground and I smack my head against the pavement. Yakuza grabs my mom and throws her in the back of the empty flower van. My vision is blurred, but I can make out my mom screaming my name in absolute horror. I push myself up off the ground and start sprinting across the parking lot after the van.

A young, teenage girl with not much cardio should not run across a whole parking lot after a van. I guess adrenaline takes over me.

"Someone help!" I scream. "They got my mom! Help! Mom! Mom, no!" I pump my arms and legs faster, rounding the corner. There's a ringing in my ear as I duck into traffic. I weave between the cars.

My vision is slowly returning to me, but it doesn't ease the sense of panic coursing through my veins. I see the van off in the distance. I will myself to go faster, but I feel a sharp pain in my stomach and two cars screech to a stop: a silver one and a huge dark blue pickup truck, the one that hit me.

Two figures leap out of the silver car and sprint over to me as I black out and hit the asphalt.

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