A.N. This story is inspired by a short film called 'SHELL' by WongFuProductions. It's so beautiful and I think you should all check it out, it's amazing. If you do, you should know straight away, depending on if you read or watch first, how it inspired me. () /watch?v=VSkYbgxl93Y

There are a few memories in this chapter, but if you can put up with them I promise there won't be as many in the next ones, unless you want them. They're needed for the story :)

Important: Memories are in the present tense, and the rest of the story is in the past tense. So, it's not me forgetting which tense I'm using when it changes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of the Glee characters.

Prologue

No trees are in sight, but bodies certainly are. In every direction I look, all I can see is bloody, mangled men slashing and shooting each other. The ground is a liquid mix of mud and blood, squelching underfoot as I walk. I'd like to say 'We are winning', however it is impossible for me to tell. Both the dead and alive are covered in grime, so much so that the only way I can tell who is who, is by recognising my friends. It's very possible that I have killed my allies.

I am surrounded by the sound of bodies falling, men's dying screams and gunshots. Every now and then I hear victory cheers, however those are quickly silenced. The smell of blood and death invades my senses, causing me to gag in protest. My uniform is rough against my bruised and damaged flesh; all I want is to tear it off and nurse my wounds, but I know that I still have a war to win.

I drop to the ground and wipe the blood, mud and sweat out of my eyes, searching for a suitable cover. Sighting a trench about twenty metres away I check my guns are in place, then spring up and run as fast and hard as I can, resolutely ignoring the bodies of my fallen comrades that I step on in my haste. Reaching it, I smile in relief and tumble over the edge and onto my stomach, panting. I spot a pair of boots walking towards me and I push myself into a sitting position, holding out a hand. Instead of helping me up, however, he kicks me over, aims the gun between my eyes and pulls the trigger, smiling as he does so.

I shot up in bed, eyes darting wildly around the room and breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Upon finding no danger I relaxed and sank back into the bed, staring at the plain ceiling and cursing my 'gift' once again. I thought back to the first time I ever 'remembered' something; I was three and my mother and father were shouting at each other in the living room, while I was sat at the top of the staircase.

I am in my cot, playing with my teddy when daddy stumbles up the stairs and knocks a vase over, breaking it on the wooden floor. I start crying, startled by the noise, and Mommy walks out of her bedroom, looking between the vase, Daddy, and me. "Look what you've gone and done now! Do you have any idea how much this cost? You can pay for a new one. Look at her! How long do you think it took me to get her to sleep, huh? Go on, answer me. I'll tell you how long; two hours. Two bloody hours. Well you can put her back to sleep now; see if you can do something right. I'm sure your father couldn't, I mean look how you turned out. And your sister. I pray to God she won't turn out the same way."

She doesn't notice the way Daddy's eyes darken, or how he clenches his hands in anger the more she talks. When she finishes talking, he punches her and she falls to the floor, holding her nose. He is shaking with rage and when she stands up and grabs a jagged piece of the vase he just laughs and pushes her aside. She cuts his arm and he screams before shoving her into my bedroom door. She stumbles and he advances, picking up some wooden bricks from a table in my room. Gaining her balance, she picks up a pacifier, placing it in my mouth, and then turnes back to Daddy.

Holding up her hands she says "Please, Paul, think of her. You don't want to psychologically damage her," seeing him lower his arms and start backing away she adds "especially considering how much she must be already, having you as a father. Well…father figure, at least, considering the amount of guys I fucked right before I became pregnant with her."

"You bitch!" He screams and lunges at her. She falls and tips my cot back, causing me to tumble out of it and twist my wrist. Mommy is leaning against the cot while Daddy hits her with the bricks, blood falling through the cot bars and onto my teddy. She kicks him hard and scratches his face, but he only stopps hitting her when she stopps moving and rolls off of the cot, facing me.

I had screamed, scared beyond comprehension by the face that stared back at me. The dead eyes. The blood. Mom and Dad stopped arguing and ran to the stairs. Mom scooped me up in her arms and rocked me from side to side.

"What's the matter, baby?"

"Don't fight! I don't want you to die. Daddy will kill you and you will hurt him and…and…don't fight!"

They looked at each other with worry, before Mom said "of course he won't kill me, he'd never hurt you. Why do you think that?"

"I saw it! There was loads of blood and she was dead," I cried.

Mom glared at Dad, shouting at him while he denied any knowledge of it, with his worried expression still firmly in place, and I continued crying.

I remember feeling scared, but also confused as to who those people were; I knew they were my mother and father, but at the same time I also knew who my real parents were and that they were alive. Needless to say, my 'memories' continued after that; some happy and some sad, but whatever happened I wasn't allowed to talk about them.

It took years, but I managed to guard myself against reacting to the memories – nothing could stop them – and my family. I distanced myself from everyone in school, so everyone feared me and I had no friends. My parents blamed it on puberty. I blamed it on them.

A.N. So, this is more of a prologue than an actual chapter, but eh. It's also incredibly short; know that the rest of the chapters are much longer, if you decide to read on :)

Thank you for reading!