My best-friend told me I should write a book, so I took to her suggestion. I'm not sure whether or not the prologue sounds... good or bad. Oh. And, I'm like, 13 - but I scored very high on the national "NAPLAN" Scores. (From Australia) ;3 :
Prologue
The electricity pulsed through her veins, causing her to scream out in pain. Sweat trickled down her neck, the leather straps around her ankles and wrists were increasing in tightness, and the metal holding her teeth together was burning her inner-lips. The pain stopped again, they asked her the same question again ? and again they received no answer; she couldn?t answer them. For one, her teeth were being held together, and two, if she told them ? they would kill her. When she didn?t answer them again, the pain started again.
Her body was being thrown around as the pain surged through her body. Every limb hurt so much, but she wouldn?t break. She couldn?t. As the pain started to die down, everything in sight started to go black. She couldn?t hear the buzzing in her ears, she couldn?t see the two men, and the one woman staring at her with hints of red in their gaze, and she couldn?t smell the scent of burnt flesh. Her head slumped against the back of the leather chair, and her eyes closed for the last time.
The Girl-With-the-Purple-Hair had awoken suddenly. Her long hair fell against her back as she sat up, sweat trickled down her face, and her body shook as the midnight air brushed against her skin. She looked around, taking in her surroundings; shopping kart, over-filled trash can, abandoned buildings. She pushed herself up, gathered her blankets and her duffel bag, and set off into the night.
As the morning grew closer, the Girl-With-the-Purple-Hair grew anxious. She reached a house, the house she grew up in. She would enter through the front door, her mother would be waiting with a fresh cup of tea and her father?s snores would be heard from the second floor. The Girl-With-the-Purple-Hair took a deep breath, walked through the front door, and screamed; her mother?s body lay lifeless on the kitchen tiles. The girl ran up the carpeted staircase, and stopped at the sight of her father?s body pinned against her parents? bedroom door. The girl sunk to the floor and began to shake with tears.
She didn?t come-to until she felt a hand grasp her shoulder. Still crying, she let the person guide her out of the house. The girl kept crying, crying about the deaths of her parents, crying about being so foolish as to run away from home, crying about losing the only people that have shown her love. She was alone; no one would show her that love again. She had no one left.
(This is copyrighted. <3)
@CandleLight <3
Haha. Yeah, I did mean that. And I wrote this in Microsoft Word - the first section was in italics, meaning for it to be her dream, but obviously that didn't show. And thanks for the good comment - it gave me a confidence boost, which was what I was aiming for. xx
@ JohnnieAstro
You're right, I'm not 13. I'm 13 on the 27th of July. I find lying about one's age is dishonorable. No matter what the reason - you should not do it. I am awfully mature for my age, thank-you-very-much, and for that reason - I see no reason to lie and say that I'm some age that I'm not. 'Kay, thanks.
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