I'm twelve. Well, that's what I'm told I am. I'm walking down the sidewalk, or at least I feel like I'm walking, but I'm not. I'm really falling. Falling, falling, like there's no bottom. Because there isn't. Not yet anyway.

Falling and falling and falling and-

"AMBER!"

I'm springing up and realizing that I was asleep on the sidewalk. Again. There's no police this time because my parents know exactly where I am.

"Amber Emily Long! You get off the filthy sidewalk this instant!" It's my mother, my dad probably not too far behind.

I'm not responding. But before I can turn away, I'm being picked up and dragged to the house. Being lectured about wandering off all the time and falling asleep on the sidewalk.

But I'm not really sleeping. I'd never fall asleep on the sidewalk. It's just that my parents don't know what I'm really doing.

And neither do I…

Four Years Later

"Stanford." I breathed slowly, taking it all in. "Stanford?"

"Your grades are excellent, dear," my mother said. "Stanford will be begging for you."

"And if they're not," added my father, "we'll make sure they are." He tapped the wallet in his pocket.

"But I don't want to go to Stanford." I said calmly, trying to keep my cool. "I want to go to the Art Institute."

"You mustn't be wasting your time on art, dear!" My mother said. "So many years of excellent grades wasted on an art school?"

"When Stanford is in your grasp?" finished my dad.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, like the school counselor said I should. I opened them, looked at my parents, and shook my head. Life would never go the I want it to. I headed for my room.

It's not like I'm going to get all depressed and start cutting myself just because my parents won't let me go to the college I want to. I grew up with them planning my future. It's not like it's going to change now.

Amber Long is what they call me. But when my parents are mad, it's "Amber Emily Long". But it's just a name. Nothing more than a piece of paper that came with my birth. I've always hated the name, but I just keep reminding myself that a name is but a title to point you out from the others. Pointless I suppose.

I'm sixteen, turning seventeen in a few months. Oh joy. One step closer to "Stanford". That is, if I actually live that long.

I've always wondered if my parents would care if I just walked into the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife, and stabbed myself. I've thought about this whenever I get mad at them, but I always remain solemn. The last thing I need is ANOTHER social worker. The only reason I have them is because my parents are big snoops. While "cleaning my room", my mother discovered my sketchbook. Let's just say she didn't find unicorns and rainbows.

Now I'm a prisoner of this gigantic house, only allowed out with a trusted friend. Life stinks, or at least…stunk. Compared to "life" now, that "old life" seems like heaven. But that's giving away the end of the story.

It started with that phone call. That answer. But I don't blame Naomi, nor Brady. Nor Mila, nor Tori. Not anyone. I blame myself. I blame Dr. Davidoff. I blame everyone in the Edison Group with their stupid lies. So…SO many lies.

R-R-R-RING!

"Hello?"

"Hey, Amber."

"Naomi? What's up?"

"We have to get to the mall."

"You and your shopping emergencies."

I sighed into the receiver. "Come on over."

There was a knock at the door. I opened up and, sure enough, it was Naomi. From the almost completely pink, long hair and milky skin to the sea blue eyes. I was always jealous considering my parents would have a heart attack if I dyed my dishwater blonde hair. But I couldn't do anything about my hardly-tan skin and boring gray eyes.

She started dragging me out the door. "C'mon! Let's go! They close at six, ya know!

I looked at my watch. 2:58. Plenty of time. But not for Naomi.

After about five minutes of gasping and trying to tell her we didn't have to run, we finally settled on a Walk n' Talk.

She started telling me about the cute new outfit she was going to buy. And I told her that shopping could be done online. I rarely ask my parents for anything, but they just keep it coming. I started telling Naomi about this when I was cut off by her deep stare.

"What's up?" I asked, but that question was answered when she broke into a run and began calling for me afterwards.

I began jogging across the street when what she saw came into sight; someone was getting mugged. I broke into a sprint. I got there just as the mugger was on his merry way. I started after him, but Naomi stopping me shaking her head, then bent down to check the women's pulse.

"Oh god," I said getting up close to he wounded women. She looked like she was in her twenties. Long, blonde hair and dressed in red and black.

"Amber, help her out, I'll call the police," Naomi said, grabbing her phone.

"Me!"

"Just do it!"

I couldn't think, not with all the chaos and screaming. But apparently, I didn't need to think. Just do. For when my hands touched the women, she stopped moving. Was she dead? Had I killed her? I freaked out. That is, until she shot up, wound completely gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to look up and see wide-eyed policemen grab for me.

I'm screwed.

"So let me get this straight," the police officer, Officer Dan, said. "Your friend told you to comfort the women. She was twitching and screaming and once you touched her wound, she just…stopped?"

"And sprang up," I added. "Alive and wound completely gone."

Officer Dan took a few notes, then asked my parents if he could talk to them outside.

I couldn't see much of what was happening because the window shades were closed, only shaded figures. I saw another car pull up and a man stepped out. He talked to them for a bit, and then…left. Just left.

My parents and Officer Dan walked back in.

My dad glanced at me and just barely shook his head. The officer sat next to me on the couch, holding something, but I couldn't see what.

"Amber," he said. "I know you're confused, and we're getting you help. But for now, I'm very sorry.

His arm went around my shoulder, making me feel a bit awkward, until I realized what was going on. A small pinch stabbed through my right arm, making my veins turn ice cold.

I looked at the officer. Then I looked at my parents.

"Wh-whuh?" The room began swaying and everything going fuzzy. The last thing I remember was having straps tightened around me as I was lifted to a gurney.

A word of advice; when you're a shaman, dreams SUCK!

"Don't you get it?" a black-haired girl in front of me shouted. "Once you're in, there's no way out!"

"There has to be one way," a girl next to me said.

"Yeah," said the first one. "Suicide."

"Either that or they murder you themselves," added a boy to my other side.

Next to him was a man. No, not a man. A teen? Seventeen? Eighteen?

But behind me was the real sight to behold. A boy huddled up in a corner; hands over his ears, screaming "No!" over and over again, water streaming from his eyes. Sometimes a little blood or vomit came with his No's, but he kept his head down and his eyes shut tight.

I didn't know where I was. Was I in hell? Who were these people? Is this even me?

The dream shifted to a man standing over a girl. Me? She looked like me. Well, at least a version of me. Pale skin, raggedy clothes, but nothing could drag you away from those wide, gray eyes, full of fear and hatred.

The man was a fully dressed surgeon, hovering over her like he was about to cut her open and eat her alive. Electricity beamed from his tool as he leaned closer and closer to her with it until finally…

I woke up screaming.

I was in a hospital of some sort. One I didn't recognize. Outside was my dad talking to some nurses. Once again, he glanced at me and shook his head. Then he left. Just left! Abandoned his own daughter in the hospital. "Hello, DCFS?"

The door clicked open. My mom walked in. Well, at least I had one parent who cared.

"Hi, sweetie," she said.

I sat up, sleepy-eyed.

"Um, hi mom," I managed to choke out.

"You look like you need some water, She handed me a glass and allowed me to drink. While I was drinking, she slipped a small gift under my hand and winked. When I set the glass down, the question exploded right from my lips. "Why am I here?"

"Well, um," she coughed. "I-um…"

After about thirty seconds of trying to spit it out, she finally got it. "A group home. We're sending you to a group home." She said, eyes shut as if I was about to attack.

I didn't know what to say. So many questions lined up in my head. I finally decided on one. "A group home? Like for the mentally insane?"

"No, no, dear, not insane. It's just...you need help."

"With what?" I was surprised at the volume of my own voice. My mother looked a bit shocked at this. I cleared my throat. "With what?" I said again, quieter this time.

"Hallucinating," she said, quietly. "You thought you saw a girl in distress, and ending up tending to no one's care."

"But I-"

I was interrupted by a doctor walking in. "Mrs. Long," he said. "It's time to go."

"Go?" I asked.

No one responded. My mom just nodded and I was presented with another sedative. This time I tried fighting, but I got nothing. I ended up blacking out, back into dream mode.

Good night, young shaman. Pleasant dreams…

Yey! It's done. I got this idea in the middle of reading The Awakening, so I'm pretty damn proud of it. ^^ All the planning and sleepless nights of when I was finally going to write this and I'm glad I did.

Please review and all that jazz. Thanks for reading. ^_^

XXXXOOOO,

~Nikki-san