Disclaimer: Alright, this is the first story I'm going to keep on writing. Well since I hate plain, boring, old disclaimers, I will gift you with FUNNY ones!

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*takes place in my head*

Kayla: la dee da da, I'm lonely!

Alice: hi Kayla! It's nice and quiet all except you're… err… ah… lovely singing!

Kayla: thanks I do try!

Alice: I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I got a text. It says Dear Kayla---

I'm sorry but you do not own twilight this is to be written in your disclaimer.

Kayla: no! No! NO! NO! NO! NO!

Alice: *consoles*

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Well, yeah, I don't own twilight…. 8C

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My long, dark, brown hair whipped my face; and my eyes hurt, it was my brain massacring them.

The wind blew my hair in my face because it was coming at me from behind me, the wind was at my back and I knew that my life was too, because father said that if I see something again, I can't live in his house anymore. So ma, pa and Cynthia should soon enough forget me, would they? Should they?

The answer is yes I don't want to leave them broken or hurting.

The pain took over and his face over whelmed my mind.

But before my senses where all cut off by the vision, I heard Cynthia yell, "Please, Alice! Don't! I can't lose you"!

That was too bad, but she'd learn to live. I'd be no more than a memory when the takers and father were done with me….

He was facing the right, staring over a bunch of fighting people, the horrors they were, the eyes. Oh! The eyes! The red peepers pinched my heart and pierced my sole.

"Stop! Maria will kill you and me" The boy with the moon-scars and white-flaxen hair.

I watched the boy kill them all on orders from 'Maria', for some reason this boy was a gemstone in the rough, for me, only me. My life, my future.

I knew he was hurting; it hurt me for him to hurt. I didn't know how this boy was; he was a dream for me, my knight in shining armor, and my sweet, sweet salvation. This boy, my gemstone in the rough was meant to be mine.

When my eyes were opened I was laying on the ground, my small, 16 year old body shaking.

Above me Cynthia stared down at me. And I heard ma's cry, and pa's bellow. And the pounding of 4 pairs of heavy boots against the hard field's ground, the boots only takers wore.

Ma brushed her light hand across my face, Cynthia held my dress's hem and sobbed over me, pa screeched orders, his harsh voice commanding the takers.

I never liked pa, he had always hated me, hated me to the core. I don't know why, good doesn't either; I'm sure! But then again God isn't supposed to let me be punished like this, isn't supposed to put me thru heck and back.

There were firm hands on my arms, and on my legs. The takers were restraining me, they were putting me thru heck, and this would be my new life. But I knew I could find a way out, whether breakout, or suicide, for sure there will be something outside of my new, yet old life.