Hey everyone. First Supernatural Fanfic so please be kind. This is just the intro, so tell me what you think and maybe some guesses you have as to what is going on? I hope you all like it. I love you all for reading my story and I'll love you even more for reviewing! Haha. XOXOXOXOXOXOXO
Ps. I do not own the Winchesters or supernatural. I can dream though…
Prologue:
It seemed so normal, you know? The day my life ended. Oh, and began. It's not like I had those story book feeling that something was amiss or some shit like that. You know what I did feel that morning? Fucking tired and hungry. You know what I was thinking? "Damn I hate school". I didn't know that reality was so cruel, or that later that day all I would be thinking about was throwing up that bowl of cereal or how much I really really missed school. Nope. I had no fucking clue. But was I about to get one….
The men were already in my house when I got home. They already had my dad tied to the dining room chair. They already had my brother lying on his side, a thick red pool of shiny liquid lying perfectly still around him, like a fucking halo. They already had my mom on her back; her tan legs spread apart and thick wet tears rolling down her cheeks.
They didn't have me. I think that's the hardest thing to think about, when I look back on it all; the way my feet rooted to the floor with shock and disgust, the way my mouth fell open but I didn't scream. My vocal cords had escaped me. The way I was so stunned that I didn't even have a chance of fighting the foul harsh hand that clamed itself onto my shoulder. You know what I experienced there? A normal reaction. People would say later, "the poor girl, didn't stand a chance, froze up in fear, it was only natural". I've never been fucking normal. Except for then. And I couldn't help but hate myself for it. For not saving their lives.
I'm never one for detail. Or I mean I wasn't. So I'm not going to get into the way the men slaughtered my family. The way they slowly took the knife and slid it across the throats of the only people who truly mattered to me. The way the life slowly drained from their eyes. The emotion of fright, shock and pity as they all starred directly at me. Or rather, my body. I was the first to die. It's sad, but I was actually relived when they took the knife to my throat. When the cool metal broke into my delicate flesh and wretched my last breathe from me. I was actually glad to die first, to be free and leave the hell whole they had created for my family and me. That was until I realized that I was still stuck there. I was still watching.
I remember being so confused, and then scared shitless. For I was looking at the same room but no one's eyes were on me. My eyes fell to my bloodied body and I screamed. Another normal reaction. Funny, I seemed to have so many of them that day. Irony much? I had to watch my family die. I had to watch the bastards who did it all pack up and leave. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I didn't need to. I was dead. I was a fucking ghost. And I was so fucking lost.