So, I recently began re-watching Hey, Arnold! and fell in love with it again - I mean, the complexity, the characters, the mature themes, the adults jokes - GAH! It's so much for my little heart to handle. And, of course, fucking Arnold/Helga as a couple is actually my dreams, ohmygosh. I've loved them ever since I was a kid and still do, except probably moreso.

So, yeah, you know, disclaimer, disclaimer - I don't own Hey, Arnold!, I'm not making money from this, blah blah blah bleigh! Anyway, on with the show!

I was perfectly content living my perfectly average life.

Average was nice. Average was good. Average was safe.

"Helga – what on earth are you doing?!"

This on the other hand? This was so not. This was not average. This was not nice, nor was it good. And, most certainly, this was not safe.

This being hiding behind a bush, squeezed tightly into a ball, in an attempt to escape the sight of the huge (eight foot, to be exact) fucking monster currently looking for me. The monster was on it's hands and knees, peering under a park bench for any signs of the dumb human girl dressed like she were a fucking Victoria's Secret model. Well, it had been looking for me, but, thanks to Nel¸ it's glowing eyes shot up and, following Nel's line of vision (damned coward was watching safely from a tree branch), located my form. A hoarse growl ripped from it's throat as it's eyes narrowed into a glare.

I gulped.

Uh oh.

The monster – thing – hadn't even stood up from it's knees before I leapt to my feet and bounded off. I tried holding back the scream bubbling in my throat, but upon hearing fast, thundering footsteps approaching me from behind, I couldn't help letting loose the most pathetic, high-pitched shriek in existence. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

I'm fairly sure I didn't need my enhanced hearing to hear Nel smacking her forehead in response, which quite frankly would've been a sight to behold. You know, Nel being a cat and all . . . not that a cat face-palming was really the most shocking thing I'd witnessed today.

I was, after all, running for my life from an eight-foot tall alien, dressed in nothing but a white leotard and heels.

Hmm, perhaps this isn't the correct place to begin my story, huh? This picture doesn't seem to make sense. Forgive me, this is my first try at a prologue and I really have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to be writing. Because quite frankly I never really understood a prologue's point to the story. I mean, couldn't their information just be integrated into the rest of the story? Why do they get their own spot at the beginning of the book, when much more important things could be established? Like, perhaps the characters –

Oh.

Ahem, anyway, no matter, I'll just re-start from the beginning this time.

So, let's see, it all began–