I relax in the comfort of my own bed, king size, Egyptian cotton sheets; it beats the hell out of the prison bunk I had slept in over the weekend.

I am too well-rested to go to sleep, and in too much trouble to sneak out, so instead I ponder what my life has come to so far. Cantrelle Farthing. Almost 30 years old, in and out of various colleges, boarding schools too, for that matter, each one not quite as prestigious as the one before. Certainly no degree to show for it, just a stinking high school diploma and a lot of art history classes. An arrest record, updated just this past weekend, for a variety of minor drug crimes, shoplifting, and theft by deception.

Some would say that I have a crappy life, but I disagree. I still get invited to the best parties. Actually, I throw most of them myself: Super Bowl, St. Paddy's Day, my birthday, Halloween, Christmas, New Years, too many more to name. People love me.

But this time I might have gone too far. Daddy is talking about cutting me off. He's talked about it before to be sure, but this time, he just seems, well, more serious.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud crashing noise, and in a flash, there are people in my room, men, maybe, but a lot of them seem smaller, women, but they're in dark blue uniforms like a swat team or some shit. In a second they are upon me, holding me down.

With almost no trouble they flip me over onto my stomach, and cuff my wrists behind my back. My ankles are shackeld in a similar fashion, then a chain is dragged around my waist. Finally a ball, some sort of gag is shoved into my mouth and starpped around my head, catching my long blonde curls, pulling on them.

As the uniformed women march me out of my home, barefoot, clad in my pajamas, and shackled like some sort of real criminal, I catch site of my family. Daddy refuses to look at me. Mother is weeping softly. Danielle, my teenage sister, just smiles and waves at me. Holy shit, they did this to me.

The uniformed women shove me unceremoniously into the back of a van, then one of them gets in behind me. I look at her pleadingly, and she responds by pulling a heavy hood down over my head. Oh shit, I'm in trouble.

I don't know how much time passes, but the van eventually draws to a stop. "Well bitch," one of the unifromed women says, "we're here."

I am dropped unceremoniosuly out of the van. It's cold, and the garvel below me bites at my knees, and as I stand, my bare feet.

'Yeah, but where is here,' I think to myself.