I've had this idea in my head for a story for several weeks now. Last night I had a long stretch of unoccupied time and I sat down to write some of it. It all came out very easily and I think I'm just going to go with, try it out, and see what it becomes.

I'm going to go about this in a different way than I usually do. One of the reasons I have so much trouble writing stories is because I can never find the time to update and I always want my chapters to be long, though out, and worth reading. This new attempt is going to be shorter chapters, but more of them, hopefully. I have a main idea, moral, and climax, but I haven't worked out a lot of the details yet.

This is just a prologue. You won't understand much of it until later in the story. This story has nothing to do with my other Covenant stories. I'm not sure yet how I'm going to handle POV. Right now, this excert is from Reid's POV, first person.

Please let me know what you think!

There's a small sliver of time before the crash when I can look at it from an objective perspective. Maybe it was an out-of-body experience, like the ones people talk about on VH1. Maybe I'm just a freak and I'm only imagining the thought process. But in that fraction of clarity I can remember wondering how I had gotten there.

I was alone, except for her, but she so far gone she was dead. No one knew where I was and I couldn't do anything but lay in a reclined position on top of one of the tables, staring blindly across the room.

Vaguely I wonder how I got here. My mind shows pictures of pills, lots of pills, and I can almost remember shoving them into my mouth, passing the bowl around and grabbing the most colorful assortment. I think I swallowed them dry, although the taste of gin in my mouth may suggest otherwise.

I cough up a wad of spit and the drool leaks from my mouth. I can't move my head or my hand to wipe the retarded liquid from my face. I can't move anything. Part of me wants to reach up and wipe the spit off my chin as it slides across skin that hasn't been shaved in too long.

But another part of me doesn't care. Part of me wants to start running jagged fingernails across my face, through my eyes, and follow the gashes with a blunt blade. Part of me wants destruction.

As I'm laying there, reality slipping away, I have brief memories of who I used to be. I remember the swimmer with his gay-ass, regulation Speedo. I remember the security I always had; knowing that no shit I could possibly pull in the classroom was enough to threaten my chances. I remember the girls, so many girls always watching, begging, and hoping for a second of my attention. And I remember them, all three of them, standing before me with looks of disgust on their faces.

I can't remember if I puked or not. I always puke at some point. Puking kept the stuff from getting to far into my system because I'd would just up-chuck it before it was too late.

A series of diluted colors swam across my eyes. Purple spots and green stripes seemed to blend into circles of orange and angular shapes of gray. I could see disparities among the colors. Some were fainter than the others while a few shades, mostly the yellows, were extraordinarily bright. Those shades hurt my eyes.

Some time must have passed as I kept staring at the colors changing before me. I vaguely became aware of the fact that I felt cold. There was a draft coming from somewhere. It wasn't cold enough to be painful, like the icy, frigid cold that happens sometimes in the dead of winter. Like when it's so cold you can barely breathe. This cold was just an unpleasant feeling, like a reminder that normally I should feel warmer than this.

A purple light came into my vision. It was large and long, kind of like a bird in the way it floated up and away from my sight. I like birds, especially the killer ones like eagles. I do not like the color purple. Purple is dumb.

My skin is starting to itch. I'm freezing. Goosebumps have risen on my arms and my toes, for some reason unclothed, are tingling. I'm not aware of what is making me feel cold, I just know that I am.

But for some reason I'm sweating. I'm so hot right now I want to jump in a pool of ice. The heat is stifling. I can feel the clamminess all across my skin. The cold air making contact with the sweat turns it to icy water and I shiver even through the fire I feel creeping through my body.

Time is passing, slowly. I know it's been a few hours since the colors appeared. I'm shaking. My body is literally seizing, my arms are pressed against my chest in odd angles and I can feel my legs, beneath me, jutting out at irregular rhythms. My chest feels…hard. It's heaving.

I realize with a shock that I cannot breathe. I cannot bring air into my lungs. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, hoping to find a reason for the constriction of my throat. Something is wrong. I can't feel my body. I can't feel anything. I am completely numb.

I dry wretch into the space below me, not knowing if there is anything underneath to catch any substance that may rise in my throat. But nothing comes. I haven't eaten anything in days.

I'm choking on nothing, struggling to retain any small amount of oxygen inside my lungs. The taste of bile is in my throat but nothing pours from my mouth. My body stops convulsing, stops moving, and I role onto my back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The colors are gone.

Everything is black.

Someone is touching me. There's a voice, but it's coming from underwater. I can only distinguish the differences in pitch as mumbling begins far too close to my ear. It sounds like the same word being repeated over and over. My head feels like lead. I can't even describe the feeling as 'pounding' because that would imply movement of the bloodstream.

A bright, piercing light is shined directly into my eye, causing a stinging sensation. I do nothing to stop the discomfort. The light is, mercifully, gone. But instantly I feel the burn of it in my other eye. The colors have returned, but they are blocked by the huge spots created by the light.

Hands are on my chest, heavy hands. They are pushing against my chest as a tube is placed in my mouth. The plastic tastes horrible, slimy. Something is rubbed against my arm, something that burns. I feel a sharp pinch in the valley of my forearm as a foreign object punctures my fragile skin.

I do not know what is happening as the colors begin to form into shapes. Shapes that remain stationary and vaguely resemble things I have seen before.

I do not understand why my head is hurting, or my chest is burning, or why some form of harsh, sour, powder-like substance is being forced down my throat.

I don't know the person who is arranging my arms so that they lie flat against my sides and my legs so that they are straight and parallel.

I do not know where I am or why I am there. But slowly my senses are responding to stimuli as though a heavy blanket is being lifted from my face.

I can hear now.

I can't hear the crinkle of plastic as bags are opened. I can't hear the click of the straps that tighten around my limbs. I can't hear the questions from the people around me, and I cannot hear the motor of the vehicle running outside.

But I can hear the sirens.

Just a little review would be nice...even it's just, "Yea, I read it", I'd appreciate some response.

-LeFay