My name is Rina. I'm six years old and someone took me from my bed when it was dark.

I didn't scream or cry, although I assume that would be what a normal six-year-old would do. Instead, I quietly did as the kidnapper asked, hoping my best friends in the whole world would notice my absence.

I sleep on the journey to wherever I'm going. Being six, I don't recognize anything once we leave the small town and the rolling hills blur one into the next.

"Where are we?" My voice feels scratchy and I yawn hugely. Someone passes me a juice box and I chug it down. "Thank you."

I hope remembering my manners will make my parents proud.

Next comes a sandwich with egg and ham. I wish for cheese as I take a bite. But it's warm and tastes good, so I don't complain.

Instead, I look out the window at the lights of passing cars and wonder where the people who drive by might be going. I wonder if there might be another child in a car zooming down the road who doesn't belong to the people driving.

I try not to cry, but as I turn my thoughts toward my best friends, the tears come in earnest.

"Rina," Randall says and I want to jump with joy at his voice. I hug him fiercely and he reminds me that no one can see him except me.

"Don't cry, little one," a man's voice says. "We aren't going to hurt you. We just need something from your parents. Once they hand it over, we'll let them bring you home safe and sound."

I dry my eyes and ask, "Can I have a pen and paper please?"

"Sure," the man says and hands me my treasures. "I'm going to draw the others," I say to Randall and he smiles at me. I take my time drawing my friends. Stanley, my favorite stuffed animal is a mess of other animals. He has a pretty, scaled body in the shiniest blue you've ever seen. Each of his legs once belonged to a different stuffed dog. He sports a long lion tail, a pretty pink flamingo head and a useless set of elephant ears to pass as his wings.

Then there's Franco, he's the funny monster who sleeps under my bed. He loves comedy but can also do a very real Nightmare on Elm Street, if the mood strikes him. He saves those performances for when I have friends over who like scary movies.

And of course, there's Randall. He's my imaginary friend who's always there when I need him most. I've never been more thankful for Randall than right now. Now, I don't have to be alone.

I look out the window, and I take one last look at my drawing. I pat the drawing and sit there for seven hours.

Nope, I no longer love you. I think of him. I start to scream into my hands and then yell in German.

"Guten morgen! Guten tag!"

I began speaking in only German to the people that took me. I wanted home, and I wanted now. Good thing those lessons my parents forced me to take paid off.

"Was ist da los? Wie heissen Sie? Antworte mir bitte, arschloch!"

They were pretty confused. It was funny, seeing them try to speak to me when I would respond in German. They began ignoring me instead.

I could hear them talking to each other later, saying things like 'take her back' and 'pissing me off', words I've heard a lot from my parents.

The next day, they started driving me somewhere again. I couldn't recognise anything outside my window until I saw the local grocer we always got ice cream from. "Ich will einen ice cream!" They ignored me again, though.

Eventually, they dropped me off in front of a house, and I could immediately tell it was my own home! I ran to the door as the van sped away.

"Mommy! Daddy! I'm home!" The door opened, and Mommy fell to the floor and started crying. Why, I wonder? I just went for a little trip. Maybe she was upset I didn't get that ice cream I asked those guys for. Randall went past Daddy standing and went inside. He's probably going inside to sleep.