She woke up. She saw her clock on the dresser. It was off. Everything was off. Course the rest wasn't surprising since she'd turned it off. It was the middle of the night. She felt an overwhelming fear and anger. The fear was much stronger. She turned over, and there they were. Standing there, staring at her were her kidnappers. Their deep, black eyes and emotionless expressions. With their slits for mouths and their bulbous heads, and they just stood there and stared at her.
She looked into the closest one's eyes. She hated him. Right away she hated him. She'd hated him for the past month. He was the same one that came and got her the last five times in the past month. They were all hard to tell apart, but she knew he was the same one. She didn't know exactly how, but she knew. The others were always different, but she didn't pay them any attention. It was that one that she watched. He's there when they take her. He's there when they bring her back. He's there on the ship. He's there, stuck in her mind when they leave her. She feels him there at school. She feels him there at home. She feels him everywhere. In her mind, he is there. They never say anything. Their faces stay expressionless. Their mouths never open. They don't talk to each other, or even interact when she's there.
She was terrified. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run, but she couldn't. She'd open her mouth to scream, but nothing would come out. She'd try to move her legs, but she'd be paralyzed. She lied there staring into his eyes as his stared back into hers. The blinding, white light was outside her window, but she paid it no attention.
He lifted his hand and reached over to her face. There was a bright light, and she fell unconscious.

She woke up on a cold metal table. The air was thin and relatively warm. The room was empty excluding the table. The room was a diamond shape with a large door at one of the corners. She got up, still lying on the table. There was light, but no visible source.
She knew she was on the ship, she was used to it. The past month had felt longer than the thirteen years of her life. She felt different from everyone else. What these beings were doing to her made her feel excluded. She would sit for hours in her room, alone, her knees to her chest and her arms around them, asking herself questions like: Why is this happening to me? Is there something wrong with me? Why can't I be like everyone else?
Her name was Sigrid Undset; she was Norwegian. She didn't have any friends at school. She was never the social type, even before her visitations started. She never spoke. She was very intelligent, but since these visitations started she hadn't been listening in school. She hadn't done her homework, and her grades were below failing. She was a very beautiful young girl. She had dark brown, shoulder-length hair. Chocolate- brown eyes. Though, in the past month, due to her visitations from these beings in the night, she'd woken up with sun burns, cuts, bruises, muscle aches, head aches. The pain wasn't just physical, though. It was also mentally painful. She'd gone into a long, deep depression. Her parents had noticed it, but they didn't care. Her dad was abusive. Her mother had a weight problem and was always angry, yelling and cursing at her. Both her parents were alcoholics. Sometimes her parents would leave, not together, separately, for days and leave her there, alone.
Sigrid was strong though. She'd still walk to school in the morning, and walk straight home afterward. Every time she walked through that door she was afraid of what was going to happen. Would she find herself alone again? Or would her dad be there to shove and order her around? Would she find her mother crying in the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey like she had so many times before?
The only thing that kept her from running away was school. She wanted to stay in school. She wanted to make it through school, get a scholarship and go off to college and never see her parents again. She was quite capable of doing so, too, but since the visitations and the deep depression she'd fallen in as a result, everything else around her just shattered and fell into the deepest of her mind where they would be forgotten forever.
Now here she lied for the sixth time on some extraterrestrial ship where she would have God only knows what things done to her. She didn't know exactly. As soon as she awoke on a ship and the aliens entered she would fall unconscious again and wake up again just before they left her in her bed.
And that's exactly what happened this time. As soon as they entered she suddenly felt so tired she lied back down, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

She awoke again in her bed. Immediately she felt an itching on her arm. Looking for the itch, she saw the long scar that now ran along her underarm just beside the protruding vein. The scar ran all the way down her arm from her wrist. She rolled over on her left side and felt the bruise on her left shoulder sting. She frowned, scolding herself mentally for it; she felt she should've anticipated it. The arm bruises were typical of the abductions.
She looked out the window. Her legs were bent up and she held herself with her arms. She'd woken up on top of all of the sheets and had decided to stay that way. It was a warm summer night. A cool breeze blew in through her open window occasionally, making the light curtains dance around eerily. She imagined seeing one of the alien beings standing just outside the window, staring in at her, like she had the first time they came.
Their eyes were their most enchanting characteristic. They moved so elegantly, as if streaming along the air like the curtains over her window. Their eyes, however, still were always the first things she noticed, and the only thing she could ever think about. It was as if it was their eyes that kidnapped her, abducting her soul. The moment she saw them, she could feel her heart start to race and pump so hard it felt as if it would burst out of her chest at any second. Then the paralysis would come, and it was like she were in a dream, one of those where you couldn't scream. Really, though, it was the experience in its totality. What they did to her, how they made her feel, their deathly silence. It made their whole actions and motives strange, almost horrifyingly enigmatic.
Her eyes caught the attention of a single star in the sky just over the house next door. It was one of only a few that she could see in the night sky. The Houston City lights never allowed her to fully open her eyes to the stars, not like she had been able to in Norway, before they moved two years ago. She stared at the star for a long time, probably about ten minutes. She knew they were out there, the aliens. She could still feel the one. He was always with her, no matter where she went, always stalking her consciousness. A few tears ran down her face. She wasn't real sure why she cried. She couldn't ever decide if it was because of the abductions or her parents, or just her life in general. .Or maybe it was because she could feel the star she looked at now staring back at her. She could feel them mocking her, silently and relentlessly laughing at her tortured soul. They were there, all right. Always watching, and always silent, they were there.

Sigrid awoke the next morning, tepid, in a tepid bed, in a tepid room. She drank tepid water, for they had no ice, and the cold water was never very cold in the first place. Her parents, she assumed, were asleep; they could just as well not be there at all. She dared not look, afraid she'd wake them if they were there. She got herself ready for school as quietly as she could, taking a quick, light shower, throwing on a black sweatshirt over a light blue Care Bear shirt and a pair of tight, blue jeans. She stuffed the book she was reading into her backpack and stepped out, took in a deep breath, looked up at the newborn sky, the sun clearly visible just over the horizon, and she prepared herself for the school day.

When she reached her intermediate school, the tardy bell for the first period class had already rung. She was late on purpose; she wanted after- school detention, kept her away from home. Then again, she didn't really like being at school either.
He was there either way. Whether she was at school or home, he was there. She felt him following her every morning as she walked to school. She felt him standing beside her desk during class staring at her as if she were the only thing in existence. He wouldn't let her be free. They wouldn't let her do anything for herself, not even think her own thoughts. For even her thoughts were supervised. Whatever she planned, no matter when or what, they were one step ahead of her. Not that there was anything she could do in the first place, to get away from them. When they came, she was immediately paralyzed, unable to do anything. Sometimes she wondered what the point was of even living. Sometimes she wondered why she didn't just get rid of her problems, whether it meant killing someone else. What had she to lose? She had nothing to begin with. Even if she did kill someone, he'd still be there. She'd have to kill her own self to be rid of him. At least when she killed just someone else, she could take care of that problem. Yes, she could kill everyone else, the kids who made fun of her, the teachers who never helped, the principals who only made it worse, and her 'd taken her life from her before she was even born. Once they were all gone, she could finish the job, take care of the final herself.
So why didn't she do this?
They wouldn't let her.
All they wanted was to torture her; that is what she suspected. She would come close to driving that knife straight through her stomach, holding it there, giving it the energy and force to drive it through, but their forces were greater, and they kept the knife from breaking through, as if putting up a barrier of some sort between the blade and her stomach. They forced her to go through it. She had no control, no privacy, and no happiness.
The eraser end of a broken pencil hit the right side of her head during English class. She wiped the tears that were forming in her eyes away before they danced down her beautiful face. Her brows furrowed. She wanted to kill the one who did it so bad. His laughs echoed within her head, and she felt his pointing. The other laughs followed. The teacher toiled away in her murderous ignorance at her desk in the far front of the classroom. Sigrid ignored it as best she could. She prayed with every ounce of her being that it would stop.
The other end of the pencil hit her head in the same spot.
She could not hold back the tears this time.

She hid out in the bathroom the rest of the school day. About the middle of the last period, she nervously unlatched the stall in which she hid and stood in front of one of the mirrors. She looked at herself. She grit her teeth. She watched herself like she were a predator eyeing her prey.
The door opened.
In walked a girl. She didn't know the girl. She'd seen the girl, however, walking the halls on the arm of a guy she did know, a guy who did the same as the others who knew her, made fun of her. The girl didn't know her, though. The girl walked right behind Sigrid, not paying her any attention at all. She was a blonde, Sigrid's eyes narrowed on the blonde. She'd watched her walk by in the mirror and turned and watched her walk into the stall. She looked back at herself in the mirror. There was a loud, sharp sound like two metal objects striking each other; indeed, it was the girl locking her stall, and the sound produced reverberated inside Sigrid's head, like a lump down her throat, she felt it within her, within her heart, within her.
Right then, Sigrid whispered, praying to him, to them, to let her have just this one moment, just this one opportunity, just this one chance. Her mouth salivated. She was so hungry, so thirsty, she had to feed; she had to feed her bloodlust. Just as suddenly, something unexpected happened. She sensed his permission.
Her breath sped up, her heart pounded, and she smiled thankfully. What was odd, it seemed he told her how to do it. It seemed he assured her he'd make sure she'd get away with it. He told her to break the mirror, punch it with her fist. He helped her in this, giving her the energy, the force to beat it as hard as she needed to break it. Her knuckles bled, but he directed her mind from the pain. The glass broke and fell in shards. The girl in the stall yelped. Sigrid picked up a large, triangular shard of the mirror, wielding it like a butcher knife; she stepped lightly over next to the stall the girl was in.
Oblivious, the girl opened the stall. She began to step Sigrid lunged at her, the shard went straight into the girl's chest, the blood exploded, the girl screamed and fell back onto the floor, her head narrowly missing being bashed into the toilet. Sigrid, atop of her, screamed out like a wild animal, and stabbed at the girl over and over again, though she'd been dead a long time ago. It was absolute lust for Sigrid, total bliss to feel that blood covering her hands and face and arms. She paused, looking down at the butchered body, ripped open, torn, splattered, an empty vessel, the blood draining all over the place. Silence. A laughing, content, silence. This was bliss for Sigrid. She'd never felt more fulfilled. She'd never felt so happy. She actually giggled. She looked at the empty eyes of the girl like she'd been no more than an Sigrid giggled.
He told her to leave then. He told her to just get up and leave and walk out of the school and just walk home like nothing had happened. He told her that he'd take care of it. That no one would ever find out that she had done it. She simply walked, invisible to everyone but herself, out of the school, home, happy.
Sigrid had been hungry.
He fed her.