Yes, I know I'm working on the other fanfiction, but this idea came into my head so I had to start it. Hopefully you'll enjoy it! Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I'll give a shout-out to everyone who reviews because reviews really help me see what you want from the story and where you want this to go.
Before anyone asks, I am thinking of pulling Channy into later chapters somehow. I'm not entirely sure how yet, but I do have a slight idea.
Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the idea and the plot line.

Everyone knows Sonny Monroe. She's the "bubbly ball of sunshine that warms the hearts of millions of adoring fans," according to Tween Weekly. She's proud of her Wisconsin roots, loves nature, and would do anything to please others. No one knows Allison Munroe. She's struggling to keep her horrible past behind her while faking a grin. She tries so hard to forget the horrible day that flipped her world upside down. She tries to hide the emotional and physical scars that came from that dreadful day in 1999 when almost everything she loved was taken from her. She was only 8, still young and innocent; carefree. She loved life and everything about it before that day. Now, to Allison, life is just given to her so she can suffer. She knows she will one day snap, but until then, she hides behind the wall that is Sonny Munroe.

I guess I'll start from the top. I wasn't born and raised in Wisconsin; in fact, I was born in New Jersey in 1991. I was the first daughter of Connie and Richard Munroe, though I was their second child. My brother, Shawn, was born in 1990. We were your typical upper middle-class family, living in a moderately large house in a gated community in Somerset. We hardly knew our neighbors, and we only interacted with them when it was absolutely necessary. My father was a banker, while my mother was an interior designer, well known in the area. Both my brother and I attended a private school, which was ranked among the top private schools in the state. We were in a safe part of town, where crime was as frequent as a snowfall in Florida. This was basically why we were so unprepared when all hell broke loose on March 23, 1999.

It was a warm Tuesday morning. My brother and I were walking home from the bus stop after school. When we walked through the double doors leading into the home, we knew something was wrong. My dad wasn't there to greet Shawn and me at the door, something he'd done every day since we'd first started going to school. I dropped my Scooby Doo backpack and called out for my parents. Shawn and I heard footsteps, but when the man came into sight, we realized that something was definitely wrong. A man in a dark mask walked up to Shawn and me. He grabbed us both, and when I started screaming for help, he slapped me across the face. "Shut up, or I'll kill you all," he threatened. That was the only time I screamed the entire time the men were at our house. The man that was dragging my brother and me across the house finally let go of us, then commanded us to sit down. We obeyed, sitting quickly on the ground as he pulled out dirty strips of fabric to bind our hands and legs. He then blindfolded us and taped our mouths shut. He told us that if the tape ever came off our mouths, we'd be shot point-blank. We sat in silence as another man came out of my parents' bedroom with both my mom and my dad. They'd had their mouths taped shut as well, but I couldn't see this, and I wouldn't until the men left our house 3 days later.

The men started rummaging through all of our things. They searched our closets, our drawers, my mother's purse, my father's desk, and even my small silver piggy bank for anything that interested them. After they'd filled their van, 2 of the 3 men left to stash the items while the other man stayed at our house, swinging a gun around, threatening to shoot us if we made any sudden movements. We all stayed still.

Through the next 2 days, we sat in silence until my father was asked to get up and go with 2 of the men. They were going to have my father rob his bank. He was not allowed to tell anyone at the bank what had been happening. If anything went wrong, the gunmen were going to kill him and someone else in the family, though they didn't say who, probably so they would scare us even more. For 3 excruciatingly long hours, my mother, brother and I sat in silence, waiting for the men holding us hostage to return with my father, safe and sound. For 3 hours, I did nothing but bite the inside of my cheeks. For 3 hours, I had no other thought in my mind except the horrible thought that I might not ever get to see my father again.

I was right. I never did see my father again. When the men came home, they immediately went up to my brother, shot him point-blank, then left.

My father messed up, according to one of the men. He must've tipped someone off at the bank, because the police sirens started going off and the bank employees all looked panicked, one of the men explained to the man who had stayed with my brother, mother and me. The men took my father to an alley near the bank, shot him in the head, and left. The police said my daddy didn't die right away; it was a slow, painful death he endured. As one of the men gave a moment-by-moment explanation to the man who'd stayed behind, I could feel my heart drop into my stomach. I held back all my tears in fear of having my mother and me get shot as well. Shortly after the men returned to our house, they grabbed all evidence that they were ever there, slammed the door, and drove away. For 30 minutes, my mother and I sat in silence, in case they were still in the house. Once we were sure that we were alone, my mom got untied, then helped me break free of the tape and ropes. When we looked at the horrific scene left behind, we both started crying out every ounce of water in our bodies. My brother laid in a pool of blood on the floor. All family portraits were gone. Our scrapbooks were missing. Every memory, every picture, and every form of identification we had of Shawn and my daddy was taken. We had nothing.

The worst was not knowing exactly where they put my daddy's body.

We were heartbroken. All we could do was cry.

And for 3 straight days, that's all we did.

Well, what did you think? Review please!