The sound of them breaking in my home wasn't what woke me; it was being ripped from my bed that did. I had slept wonderfully, not waking up a single time - which is quite unusual for me. At first I thought that I had been in a nightmare, but as the ungentle hands grasped around my throat, forcing me to stop screaming, I thought otherwise.
The robbers didn't disturb anything in my home but me, which is confusing. My mother has hundreds of artifacts from all over the world scattered around the household. Traveling was her passion, almost an addiction, which is what she is currently doing. She left me two nights ago to visit her ill uncle in Europe. He and I didn't have a good relationship growing up, so she decided it best to leave me at home. Her collection of souvenirs was so big that she had to rotate the pieces regularly in order to display them all in the small glass case located in the dining room. Apparently the priceless keepsakes didn't catch the robbers' eyes, as I had managed to do. What's so attractive about a disoriented fifteen year-old boy with bed-hair, I'll never know.
I examined the men as they drug me to the other end of my house toward the front door. There were two of them, both were three times my size and had broad shoulders, biceps the size of my head, and a slight grin that could intimidate even the strongest individual. They looked oddly familiar for some reason, I just couldn't think of their names. This happens to me a lot – not being kidnapped, but recognizing faces I don't recall.
It was useless to even attempt to scream. The man escorting me from behind had a firm seal on my mouth with his left hand as he shoved me down the hallway and into the living room. It appeared to me that the man leading us to the front door had practiced this very same path over and over. Then it hit me; I remembered where I had met these people.