I see nothing, save for the headlights shining on my back and in front of me. The rough rope irritates my wrists. My feet, tied together, shuffle as I slide across the grass. I don’t remember what I saw that night; I cannot think clearly. All I know is that I saw something I shouldn't have seen. My focus remains on the low growl of the engine, which grows louder with each passing second.
I desperately scream for help, but I doubt anyone can hear me. Where am I? Just as I manage to gnaw my hands free from the rope, my feet cross and tangle. I hit the ground with a dull thud.
Keep driving! Please keep driving! I beg. As if to answer my prayers, the sound of the engine rolls past me. I concentrate on the knot that links my feet together, and it comes apart easily. I get up and turn away from the rumbling. Run. Run. Run. I repeat to myself. The roar of the engine grows louder, louder, louder.
Suddenly, I am violently jolted off my feet. I tumble through the air, and my arm splinters as I crash into the firm ground with a sharp crunch. I scream in pain, but I make no noise. The rough engine sputters before cutting out completely. I hear a door open, then slam shut.
“I didn't see anything, I swear!” I protest.
“You saw too much.” Those are the last words I hear.