I do not own twilight, book, movie, or world.

I step onto the nearly empty public bus, flashing my pass to the overweight driver who nods while barely looking at me. I was the only person getting at this stop, and I had to hurry to the back to sit down before the grumpy driver pulled away while I was in the middle of the walkway.

I faintly wondered if the driver could have guessed that there was anything too abnormal about me, or if he only saw me as yet another crazy teen walking by. He might have labeled me as that - My black hair with a light green streak running down one side and electric blue lip ring didn't exactly say 'crisp, clean, and respectable future tax payer' if that's what he was looking for. However bohemian appearance was, however, it would never rival against the secrets the lurked within me.

The correct name for someone like me is an Indigo Child. One of the biggest mysteries of the world today, something inside me - inside my very DNA - is... I don't really know what. Some say it's biological, that some where the Mayans that were said to see the future were involved in my family tree, and that trickled sown to me. Others will tell you that fate picked me because they thought that this was something I could handle the way it needed to be. I called it one big mess that I was dragged into.

You see, Indigo Children are said to be the ones to 'change every thing' as vague as that sounds. Although, I have to admit, I have no idea what anyone expects me to do, or how they know that I'll be able to do it. I don;t even know anyone else like me, for Christs' sake, and let's face it, I'm one fifteen year old girl. I'm walking blind here, while really I see things so few do.

Death is one thing I see above all else. The spirits of those parted, simply walking around like nothing is wrong. Staying close to the ones they love, making sure all is safe for them. Sometimes they ask for me to play messenger, and whenever possible, I do. If it's the last thing they want for me to stick a letter in the mailbox that belongs to the person they used to live for, I'll do it.

The future is slightly more minor, but I still see it none the less. Maybe once or twice a day, I will get a little picture of things that are to come, like a clip of a movie. You would be amazed at what the future holds, and it's better than you would probably think. But, you're just going to have to wait for it to happen like everyone else. My second sight did not come until later in my childhood, I'm pretty sure the first time was when I was around five or six. I saw my mother giving birth to my little sister, two weeks early. The future is haunting, but not nearly as haunting as seeing the departed souls of those who will never live again.

Auras are one of the less exciting ones, but fun none the less. The color of ones' soul can say a lot about them. Red means that they are aggressive people, violet says that the person believes that there is magic out there, and that really they do possess some. How do you think purple came to be a color of witches and wizards? People with white auras are my favorite, personally. Caring, thoughtful, always looking out for others. How can you not like someone like that?

My aura is indigo - it's how people like me got our name. A dark blue blanket wrapped around us, marking us for what we are.

Are we damned? I thought that for along time. I'm still pretty sure I'm going to hell, no matter how worthy Indigo Children's causes are supposed to be. The bible says that people like me should be stoned, and sent back to the devil that plagues us so. That is simply something I do not understand. If God created us, then how are we of the devil? And I find it hard to believe that serial killers are told they can still go to heaven if they ask God to forgive them - while I could not because I see things that should be left unseen.

No, that bus driver would not understand any of that. He was probably only mulling over the fact that he really wanted to go home, while he was stuck driving a bus at nearly eleven o'clock at night. He did not know that I was what I was, or that I had seen things that would make him wet himself in horror. He did not know that his aura pulsed the ugliest shade of blue I had ever seen, which meant... that meant... well, I wasn't really sure, actually. I was never one for memorizing all these color-by-number codes, really. He did not know that there was a boy next to me - a boy who had been dead for over one hundred and fifty years.

Ever since I was four years old, this boy had been my shadow. It became to the point where I called him my friend, and he called me his. He was the first ghost that I ever saw, on a bitter cold night in December. My last night to be carefree, and my first night to be what I was... extraordinary.

This boys' name is Jasper Whitlock.

Well, how was that for a prolog? Love it, hate it, think it could use some work?

Thank you for reading!