Prologue:
Chris Colfer was sick of his life.
Living in a small, rather intolerant town really drove into your skull that you will never be famous or well known in any matter of the sort.
But not for Chris, no he was determined to go all the way, pursue his dreams of being a famous actor and author, living in a more tolerant place, like LA or New York.
But on a blustery February night in the year 2010 his life changed forever as he was walking home from work.
Chris rounded a bend in the road in the dark twilit street and found himself in the worst street in Clovis.
The shadowy trees that lined the footpath created eerie shadows that leered down at him, casting hideous shapes across the path, concealing every bump and turn in the concrete that Chris now slowly padded down, averting his eyes from the lurking houses. He was passing houses that he knew people that tormented him lived in.
It was one of the most harrowing experiences that he had to face daily, not knowing if he would be attacked at any moment, not knowing if he would make it home in time for dinner with his family or to see his sweet little sister ever again.
As Chris walked down the straight lane towards the bend in the road that led to his street, he heard a twig snap in the still air.
It was a subtle little sound but in the dead twilight it echoed back to Chris who had stopped dead at the noise.
He had learnt that a twig snapping could mean anything and in this case it meant the worst possible thing that could happen to the young, lonely boy.
'Hey fag' called a drawling voice from behind Chris.
Chris knew that voice well; it had tormented him for many years at his high school and into the brief amount of time that he had been an adult.
The voice belonged to Mark Simms, the old High School quarterback and one of the meanest people that Chris had ever met in his life.
Chris ignored him and started to walk again, hoping that keeping his head down would stop the other man from killing him like he said he would one day.
'Wow, now you're ignoring me. I fell so lonely' he teased, still following Chris who still said nothing, years of being bullied had given Chris a quick tongue but there was always something about Mark Simms.
The fact that he was like three times more muscular than Chris might have been a factor but all Chris knew was that he had to leave the street as fast as possible and he could do so in the shadows of the twilight, he was safe for the time-being.
But just as Chris was reaching the bend in the sidewalk the streetlights flickered into life, flooding the dreary street with harsh artificial yellow light, exposing Chris to Mark.
Mark smiled eerily and made his way casually to Chris, swinging his arms lightly and whistling a tune that Chris did not recognise.
Chris was rooted to the spot, too scared to move, all he could do was watch Mark make his way slowly towards him.
'Don't you want to talk, homo?' Mark asked as he reached Chris who was determinately avoiding the gaze cast by the towering Mark.
'Hmm, well I guess I should go then' Mark said, sighing dramatically and turned around and started to walk away.
Chris let out a silent sigh of relief, holding his shaking arms close to his chest, very thankful that nothing bad happened.
That's when all hell broke loose.
Suddenly Chris was surrounded by five hulking young boys, all of whom bullied him every day in High School.
The last thing that Chris remembered thinking before the first fist slammed into his head was that he hoped this was the end, hoped that these five guys would kill him so he wouldn't have to live with this level of abuse every day for the rest of his life.
They didn't talk as they pounded Chris, one of them, however let out a shrill laugh as he kicked Chris harshly in the stomach. Chris blacked out a few punches into the attack so he was unaware of the damage that was being done to him.
Chris opened his eyes slowly; aware of the harsh pain that was flooding his body with every breath he took in.
A starry black sky met his blank gaze; he was alone lying on the street in a pool of his own blood.
He didn't move a muscle; his head felt like it had been cleaved open.
The pain was throbbing through his body, making him feel as if he was on fire, making every nerve in his body hurt like hell.
The time trickled away slowly, and Chris had no clue how long he had been lying there, he hadn't moved a muscle since he woke up, he didn't have the energy to call for help, he couldn't make his body obey him so he was just stuck there, wave after wave of pain hitting him.
That wasn't the first time he had wanted to die but it was the first time that he nearly did die and it scared him a lot to know that he was almost killed by the people he swore he was never going to see again.
As more time flowed past Chris felt the need to move so he gingerly raised his head slowly from the concrete and the dried blood.
As soon as he moved he felt his head explode in pain that ripped through his skull, causing him to slump back down into the comfort that was the hard concrete, smacking his head a little again, sending more pain flooding through his system.
Chris groaned softly, aware the he was most likely going to die here, in the town that he swore to himself that he would leave.
He was gone, lost forever at that moment.
He had no idea what was going to happen to him, and he had no idea if his family were worried about his absence because he was late home a lot of the time these days as he took a route that led him away from this street, but today was important, he had to get home ASAP.
As Chris was lying there, slowly regaining some of his strength, he heard a woman scream from somewhere behind him.
He didn't flinch or move, just continued to stare at the stars that twinkled above him, lighting up the sky with natural light.
The woman who had screamed rushed back into her house and picked up the phone. She quickly dialled 9-1-1 and informed them that a young man was lying dead on the side walk.
Five minutes later the woman had gathered a crowd of people who were all milling around Chris's form.
He was unaware of the commotion that was surrounding him as people ran from their homes to look at the fagot little kid that was lying, apparently dead on the concrete, still bleeding from the wound in his head.
The moment that Chris became properly aware of the situation was when he felt a warm hand slip into his; he felt the warm breath hitting him in heaving in sobs. Then he saw the long blond hair of his little sister, Hannah, falling across the line of his vision.
She was kneeling over his unresponsive body, letting her tears flow freely from her eyes, letting them hit her big brother with little splats that made her weep more because he wasn't pushing her off him in annoyance.
Chris watched with empty eyes as the tears of his sister fall onto his face.
He then felt a slight pang of remorse, he wasn't fighting this, he was allowing himself to die, and he was allowing his little sister to cry over him.
'Hannah' Chris managed to whisper in a deep hoarse voice that sounded absolutely nothing like his naturally high, feminine voice.
'Chris' Hannah moaned and gently patted Chris's forehead with her hand, still allowing her tears to fall freely from her eyes. 'The ambulance should be here soon, hang in there Chris' Hannah whispered to her older brother.
Chris closed his eyes again, allowing the weariness that he had been feeling before to swallow him up and take him to a better place, a place where Hannah didn't have epilepsy, a place where Chris wasn't gay and was a normal kid who had friends and wasn't lying on the concrete on his death-bed, and wasn't bleeding profusely from his head.