Author's Note:
Hey guys, Hamato Michelangelo here! I have returned to the fanfiction world!
Sorry for having abandoned so many other projects (Beauty for Ashes and De-Void), but I'm going to stick to this one and finish it.
This new project of mine it titled Double Helix, and I have put my blood, sweat, and my many, many tears into this. It is rated T for darker themes, such as violence, destructive mental illnesses, and death. It's also a Human AU.
Double Helix will have multiple parts. The first ten chapters will be Double Helix Part 1: Shaded Sunrise. With this story, I'm trying to achieve a sense of interaction with you guys as readers. It contains a lot of Easter eggs, so stay woke. Theories are also welcome :) Updates will be on Fridays.
I have decided to release the prologue to part one, Sepia Snapshots, early to see how you guys like it. Chapter 1 will be published August 25 or sooner.
I've worked very hard on this, and I really, really hope you guys enjoy this story. My writing has evolved, and in my opinion, has improved, and I hope you guys agree! Reviews are very, very appreciated!
I don't own any of the TMNT characters.
(P.s.-the bolded letters in the excerpt below are not a mistake)
With that all said, let's begin…
Prologue
Sepia Snapshots
Rain puddles were something that always held cherished childish joy, the cure for rainy day blues. Splashing, laughing.
Clawing, screaming, slipping. The puddles were preventing his escape, watering down his hopes. Laughter broke through, but it was thick and guttural, and it wasn't his own. The things that seemed the most comforting and familiar had turned against him.
Butterflies were in his stomach, but not the kind from riding the rollercoaster at the carnival. They felt as if they'd burst through, crawling up the back of his throat and filling his lungs. Fun and excitement was replaced with fear and panic and suffocation. Raindrops stained his glasses, blurring his vision.
Hands clamped onto his body, but this was no game of tag anymore. This wasn't wrestling with his friend on the couch for the tv remote. Fingers dug into his skin, deeper and deeper. There were no time outs, no safe bases. And ultimately, there was no winner.
At any chance where he had ripped himself free from their grips, he'd be held back down. Childhood scrapes littered his bloody knees, but the innocent instinct to cry from the pain had completely hid from him. No bandage would cover up the current crisis. He needed to escape.
Coins chimed against concrete, his pocket change carried away by the rushing water down the street.
It was crazy how muffled his cries were from the rain—a complete betrayal on his part.
If he hadn't snuck out this late at night, perhaps this life-or-death pursuit could've been prevented. If only he had obeyed his parents. He would do anything to be surrounded by their warmth. To see his mother and father's faces, to feel relief. But heavy, angry clouds covered the night sky, causing him to revert to his juvenile phobia of the dark and thunderstorms. He was desperate for bright, pale moonlight to guide him. But instead, he howled out to a vast void.
This was supposed to be an adventure. He wanted to be a hero. Wanted to guide the lost back home, but instead became lost himself.
The boy managed to get a steady stance, thunder roaring above him as he attempted to run again. He hugged his carrier pigeon close to his chest, ducking from the men's reach. Lightening lit his pavemented path to freedom, bolting from the traumatic scene.
It was supposed to just be a quick search and rescue, bringing back his one mischievous pet pigeon that managed to fly out of the coop. His optimistic and caring nature had won over logic, going out after curfew like he did. But of course, as all young kids mindsets are, he never expected anything to happen to him.
Blood smeared like face paint, panic expanding in his chest like a balloon, but he followed the map inside his head. The roads twisted and turned like a maze in a funhouse, the distance seeming to be a never-ending stretch. His tennis shoes created friction on the sidewalk as he sharply swerved to the right, using the alleyway as a shortcut. Feet cobbled against the ground, sounding like an army of horses heading his way.
But this was the shortcut; surely he'd be home any minute now. A lamppost shone down on the other side, and the boy charged straight for the orange pool of light. Flashing a tired smile, he truly believed he could make it to the other side.
He extended his arm, his fingers about to touch the warm light. But before his fingertips could even sit in it for a second, a strong and heinous force yanked him back. His knees buckled, smashing face first onto the gravel. Pebbles burrowed into his elbows, puddle-water soaking his clothes as his pigeon pal fluttered off. Ice cold hands clutched onto his legs, dragging him like a rag doll.
The boy's limbs burned, energy depleting. He was fighting a losing battle, though he knew defeat was inevitable right when he saw the men crawl out of the shadows. His glasses had fallen clear off his face, tears dripping swiftly down his red cheeks. It felt like his heart was skipping rope, bile searing his raw throat. He used his last bit of strength to plead, to beg, to pray.
Fatigue took its toll, darkness beginning to consume his entire body. Slowing down to a stop, he let them drag him into the unknown. Breathing harshly, he turned to his side to see his attackers' faces. The last thing he saw was a playful purple colored tattoo of a dragon. And the last thing he thought was that whatever happened to him next, he knew he wouldn't be a kid anymore.
Preview for Chapter 1: Stolen Peace !
"Resources tell us that this gang calls themselves the Purple Dragons."
"Sometimes, people surprise us."
Just then, the clinking of keys came from outside the door.
"Michelangelo," all three said simultaneously.
Coming August 25!
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