This takes place before Alice became a vamp. Please review!

Enjoy!

Alice's POV:

"Rain in five, four, three, two, one bingo!" I jumped up and down delighted as the rain began to pour down outside. That was the first sign four years ago when I was eight. My parents brushed it off as a coincidence, just stupid luck they'd say. It wasn't really a big deal. I mean it was just the weather, there was a forecast every morning in the paper. The difference was I was always right, but could only predict the weather a few minutes before it happened. The paper could predict a week in advance, but was usually wrong. No one really cared about me being able to predict the weather a few minutes in advance. They could tell what the weather was going to be like in a few minutes by looking at the sky. I didn't stand out. If only it had stayed that way.

But it didn't and I can't change that now. A year later I got better. I could tell the weather a day before it happened and answer questions before people asked them. It was uncanny. I would just "see" it happen in the back of my head and then it would materialize only seconds later. I became and outcast. For every time I was right I would be wrong twice more. Being wrong alienated me, blurting out answers to questions they never would ask, but worse still was when I was right. People looked at me like I might hurt them. They looked at me as if there was something wrong with me. I hated it.

I learned quickly from my mistakes. That same year my parents my parents moved with me to Chicago, Illinois. Indiana was far behind my parents and us made sure I had everything straight.

"I want no more of this…this…" my father couldn't seem to find a word vile enough to describe his feelings toward my.... gift. Gift was what I called it. Curse was what the preacher had said in the run down Indiana church. The devil was to be banished from the church he had said, verbatim. My parents were disgraced and we moved soon after. Which brought us to Chicago. "Shameful, offensive, obnoxious, criminal…" he had finally found the words he was looking for a continued on his rant. I heard it all before and had returned to tuning him out.

This lecture was repeated many times to me over the year. I tried to stop and usually I remained silent. Sometimes I'd forget or loose sight of reality and believe it was a current memory not one of the future, and something would slip out. I was scorned and even hit sometimes.

My father never truly liked me. I was always a curse for him even before the burden really came. I was not the boy he'd dreamed of, nor was I a boy at all. He wanted someone who could work the fields for him and grow up to marry a beautiful wife. Unfortunately for both of us I was a girl. Unfortunate for him, because he wanted a boy more than anything but could not because he lacked a wife (also my fault). Unfortunate for me because he treated me as though I was a boy and worked me harder than any in the field, although my petite frame lacked the strength.

My mom had been the love of my father's life and was heart broken when she died. He never forgave me for that. If it were up to him I'd be in the middle of the desert right now. If he had the chance he'd get rid of me. My mother, may she rest in peace, died giving birth to me. I'd taken away his love and another chance at having a boy. That was then this is now I suppose.

I looked into the mirror and an eleven-year-old face stared back at me. I picked up a brush and ran it through my long, black hair. I liked the way I look in high heels. I was short for my age and being a few inches taller always gave me confidence.

My dad, William, had finally met another woman, Mary. She was tall, blond, and knew it. She was quite arrogant and rather dull. She hardly ever talked to me and most of the time she ignored me completely. I didn't really mind it was better than being yelled at. When at times it became necessary to speak to me she would sight very loudly as if she was going to a great deal of effort and then would refer to me as "child."

Tonight we were going to celebrate their engagement. Maybe now that he had better things to do than rag on me my life might become a little easier. As much as I detested Mary she certainly knew how to shop. The little time she spent with me was mostly taken up by her talking about the latest dress trend or hairstyle. When she went shopping she dragged me along to tell her how wonderful she looked in certain dresses. I grew to like these trips for I usually got some dresses too.

Mary believed that all little girls must act as proper young ladies. My father had eased up on the amount of fieldwork he made me do. Mary called it "maid's work." The house cleaning I had to do increased instantly. More what she called "ladies work." When they got married I would stop doing fieldwork and do an unnecessary amount of housework. The shopping was fun, but it didn't make up for the housework. At least fieldwork was outside. Our small grimy house was not where I wanted to be stuck.

We would probably move somewhere new when William and Mary were wed. Mary had a lot and I mean a lot of old money. This was probably the reason my father put up with her. Her family was extremely wealthy and I she made sure every one knew it too. Her dresses were very expensive (I would know, I spent two hours cleaning one last night) and her jewelry was dripping in diamonds.

"Child get down here or we'll be late!" Speak of the devil I thought solemnly. Suck it up. That was the motto I lived by and if I stuck to it I could stay happy or at the very least sane.

I sighed and looked in the mirror one last time before turning towards the stairs. I dragged my feet as I walked toward the stairs kicking up the dust on the floor. The only floor in the house that could possibly be dirty after all the cleaning I was being forced to do. My room was the only place I was ever alone. When I was here I could lie on my bed and get lost in the future. I could pretend to live another life. I life that I actually knew existed. Like my neighbor who would learn today that his brother was coming to visit or the man across the street who would get a raise next week. Those were the modest, happy lives I wanted to live. Modest? A smile played across my lips. What would Mary think if she knew I wanted to live a modest life? Mary wanted a lot of things and she was a lot of things, neither of which were modest.

"Alice!" This time it was my father's angry voice. I scurried quickly down the stairs and crashed head first into my father.

"Sorry," I quickly mumbled, my voice lacking real regret. My father only gave me a meaningful scowl and then turned to my soon-to-be mother.

"Let's go honey, we wouldn't want to be late," he said his voice dripping with sugar. It was sick. He was only after her money. It wasn't like she actually had any personality.

This time Mary scowled at me for almost making us late before she followed my dad out the door. It wasn't like we could be late. We weren't meeting anyone and we didn't have any reservations. Maybe scowling at me was just a hobby for the two of them. Like some inside joke, let's see who can make her life more miserable. Ha. Ha. How fun. I forced myself to follow them into the horse drawn carriage remembering my life's motto.

That's when the starlit sky disappeared and I could only feel the soft seat beneath my hand and the cold breath of night upon my neck. The rest was gone. I was looking down at us now. We were sitting in the restaurant as the waiter walked over with the main dishes. He tipped over a chair leg and sent the food flying across the room. Mary got covered in spaghetti sauce and I almost laughed at her look of disgust. I could hear the clippity clop of the horse's feet, but now I could hear screaming too. At first I thought it was Mary being a prima donna until I saw her grasp her side in pain. I saw myself reach for her as she fell out off her chair and twitched on the floor. The screaming chilled my blood. As suddenly as it had come on it stopped. She lay silently on the floor her face still contorted with anguish. The restaurant was crowded around her still body as people screamed for a doctor. My father was hovering over her head crying out her name in dolorous. His eyes were hollow with pain. An instant later his eyes were a roaring blaze of color that now looked knives at me. "YOU!!!" he screamed his voice dripping with the hatred that had been building up for years now.

"Mary?" I asked in horror.

"What child?" her voice spit back at me. I was back in the carriage gasping for breath. My pulse raced and my head spun. That couldn't possibly happen to her…could it?

Tell me what you think, ideas, critics, compliments, anything! It only takes fifteen seconds! I will post sooner if you review. Also, what other POV would you like this story done from (i.e. the father, mother, or asylum manager)?