Hey guys. I know I already have 3 different stories going, but since no one's paying attention to 2 of them and I am awaiting a response to a beta request on the third, I figured I could pull off a couple oneshots in the meantime. So, since I'm in an iCarlyish mood today…

Have you ever heard the phrase, 'a world of possibilities'?

When you heard it at first, did you take it literally or metaphorically?

Until just recently, I took it metaphorically. However, just recently, my wife died, and I have a feeling I'll soon be next. So, considering everything that's happened in my life, I'm kind of forced to take it literally. After all, if my memory proves correct, I've been around the world multiple times, to at least every continent, if not every country. Of course, it's been a wild, exciting ride in more ways than just extensive travel.

For one thing, way back when we were teenagers, if my memory is right, I remember I had some serious problems – even more than the obvious ones. Everyone knew the tough, demented, meat-loving, mom-hating, law-breaking me – but they didn't know…the other me. The…drug addict. The cutter. The…mother. No one ever thought I would something as serious as that – I was just a little misbehaved, that's all. I wasn't that insane.

And yet, I was.

To be fair, the pregnancy wasn't my fault. I was kidnapped when I was 11 by some pervert who was traveling across the nation, capturing pre-pubescent girls and waiting for them to 'grow up', then raping them. Sometimes, however, he'd just molest them. Either way, he'd then let them go free. I was hoping I'd be one of the lucky ones deemed unworthy of rape. Unfortunately, sometimes hope isn't enough.

For five years, he kept me locked up in his basement with almost a hundred other girls, aged anywhere from 3 to 20, of all races, abilities, and even sexual persuasions (yes, I asked a couple…there were a few I didn't even have to ask). It was pretty demented that he was so…open-minded about who he did. It's like, you're a rapist and child molester, yet you steal just anyone? Either he was all for equality, or just completely lazy/apathetic. Either way, it didn't make the situation any better. It's just that one made his mind slightly more twisted than the other.

On November 3rd, 2010, he came down into the basement, wading through the sea of female flesh (most of the girls were half-clothed or even entirely naked; he had been charitable enough to allow me to stay dressed in my jeans and T-shirt). He started heading for my side of the room. It took me a minute to realize he was coming for me, although that was mainly because there was this Chicana standing next to me who, to be honest, was a total 12 (you know, scale of 1 to 10). Maybe it was because Spanish was her first language that she was one of the unlucky ones (she had been led to 'the room' just two days beforehand. I was surprised she was still there, and had assumed the guy wanted another round with her before she was set free).

So he looks at me, and says, "Since when do I let you chicks keep your clothes on?"

"Since we're too pretty to hurt?" I said in a mocking tone.

"Oh, look who thinks she's all that. Fine, then, since you're so special, and I'm in a good mood, today you can have special privileges."

Shit, I thought, shoulda just kept my mouth shut. In the missing-life world of Fuckhead's (that's what we called him, because all we knew about him was that his name started with an F and he was everything evil about the world personified) basement, 'special privileges' meant…well, you'll see. I'd rather not discuss it until I have to…

Anyway, he grabs my wrist and slaps on a cuff with small pieces of glass hot glued to the inside. The idea was, you struggle, you get cut. He, unfortunately, had no idea how much I remembered of my young life, and how much stronger the past five years had made me than anything I could have experienced outside the basement. He had no idea how much tougher he had made me, how much more I was than anything he could inflict on me. I had learned a lot about how unfriendly the world is during that half a decade, and I could use that to my advantage – well, that, and the newspapers and radios and stuff someone managed to sneak in every month or so. Whoever it was, they hadn't gotten caught yet, and I was grateful for this connection to a world I hadn't known in what seemed like forever.

So anyway, he's dragging me through the mob, and as we get closer to the stairs, suddenly, someone (a brunette, I think. It's hard to tell hair color in the minimal light of a giant concrete tomb) grabs my hand and pulls me back long enough to whisper, "Show him your happiness. It's his only weakness." Sounded like some cheesy line from a superhero movie (how long had it been since I'd seen one?), but I thought I could figure it out. So I gave a small nod to whoever it was and followed Fuckhead demurely up the steps. I had no idea what fate awaited me, but I could only hope it'd be one in which I could try to cause him at least half the pain he had caused me.

Okay, so maybe this could be a oneshot, if I were really mean. What do you think, should I try to develop this into a bigger story when I have the time? My hands are pretty full right now, but maybe later, during the summer or something. BTW, do you get who the guy is now? And the brunette chick? Total AU FTW. This seems like the kind of story I'd get bored with really quickly. Maybe I should quit starting things I can't finish. Ah well. The pledge stands firm.