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A girl around the age of fifteen strolled the streets of New York City on a cold fall evening at 10:30 PM. She had no one with her. She was simply alone.
If you were to ask her where she was going, she would reply with 'I don't know.' If you asked her when she would return she wouldn't have an answer for that either. But here she was. Wet, tired, hungry, confused, and above all else, with nowhere and no one to turn to. She didn't talk much unless it was absolutely necessary, which wasn't very often.
It wasn't that she couldn't talk, or that she was too dumb to talk. It's just that she had nothing to say. And ever since she was young she was taught that 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all,' and with the condition she was in, she had nothing nice to say.
She pulled up her sleeve, revealing her newest gash which would soon heal over into an ugly scar. It would always be there to remind her of her pain.
She had golden hair that reached far past her shoulders, and fell to her waist. She tilted her head towards the sky and let the rain pound down on her face. Her emerald green eyes shone with hope even though others told her there was none.

A boy at the age of seventeen also sauntered the streets with a story. His was different, however. His parents never beat him, but it was if they never existed. He was also alone.
His saturated, brown hair fell in front of his dark, coffee-colored eyes. His broad shoulders slouched for he lacked the hope the girl had.
He took notice to the girl and watched her for a bit, looking for what made her different. Why did she look so content. She obviously didn't live a perfect life. He could tell that just by looking at her arm which was bleeding and had many scars. He looked at her face and realized that she was very pretty and he wondered why she was bruised up so badly.
He decided to go over and take his chances at talking to her.
“Hi.” he said hesitantly.
She looked at him and gave him her best attempt at a smile. She then looked back at the sky.
“Why are you out here this late at night?”
She gave him a slight shrug and crossed her arms across her chest. She turned towards him because she had a feeling this would not be the end of his interrogation.
“Do you speak?”
She glanced at the ground as she pondered for a moment. She finally answered, “Yes.”
“Alright. Do you need a ride home?” he offered.

“I don't want to go home.” her laugh sounded almost sad as she gestured to her arm, which still bore her marks. She then reached her hand out for him to shake, “My name is Addyson by the way.”
He had thought Addyson was a pretty name and suited her flawlessly.

“Darian.” he accepted her hand, “I just moved here.”

“It's nice to meet you. I've lived here all my life. I think you'll like it here.”

“Yeah, well, I try not to get to attached to where I live. We move so often, we barely finish unloading the house before we have to pack it all up and leave again.”

“Does your dad work?” Addyson asked.

“Both of my parents do. Full time. I never see them.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” she told him earnestly.

“But I guess I can't complain. My parents have never, well...”

“Beaten you?” she finished for him, “Yeah. I guess most parents haven't.”

“Well, do you need a ride anywhere?” Darian offered again.

“No. I'm fine.” she again denied his offer.

“Well, then where are you going?”

“I don't know yet. I'll tell you when I get there.”

“Well, if no one's driving you, how are you gonna get there?” he questioned her again.

“Wow, you ask a lot of questions don't you?” she accused.
Before Darian could answer, a hand held a cloth to his mouth. He gasped for breath, but could draw in none. He could hear Addyson's screams as his head clouded with a thick darkness and his legs caved in from underneath him. He was out.

Addyson was having just as much luck only she had put up much more of a fight than Darian had. She screamed and flailed her arms, trying to break free of their grasp around her. She had seen Darian being dragged away by someone in a dark cloak, and she was certain that she wasn't going to let that happen to her.
“Help! Help! Someone help me, please!” she cried, tears streaming down her face, “God! Please help me!” she prayed.
Addyson's body started to ache and weaken and her perpetrator was able to get a firm hand on her.
“No!” she screamed, but it was too late. They pressed a rag against her mouth and just like Darian, she was out.
Chapters:   1 2 3 Next »

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AndriaStar said...
Mar. 20, 2012 at 2:07 pm
The only bad thing I have to say for the prologue is, you should have given Addyson time to cry, instead of her suddenly having tears streaming down her face. Other than that, great

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