It was foolish, I know. It was a Februaryin East Europe, wasn't it? No one wore a skirt then.Therefore, there were a nice white shirt, jeans and grey ...weater. All mybooks laid in a green tourist backpack with three gold arrows embroideredon it. There were also sewn badges from some scout trips. So I was still ascout, I realized.Changing clothes was an embarrassing experience, maybe even stronger thatsame transformation. The presence of other girls distracted me, I was - inmind at least - an. A soft growl of pain echoes into my left ear but the man does not release me. The dry contact lenses continue to hinder my vision but I can still make out blurry shapes and colours. When I look at the arm still clamped onto me I see red blood seeping from black skin. Black skin? Even in my panicked state I find this odd. Still struggling, I start kicking my legs out and wriggling my body more violently. Bitter tears burn my eyes as they fall and my screaming has morphed into wails of despair.. More

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