Alice
They're taking me in the dead of night from my home; while my family immerses themselves into their pleasant dreams. They're taking me even though I'm not crazy.
I'm being dragged across the rough, sharp ground as I fight to be freed of my captors. Why can't they let me explain?
My lungs burn for air as I search for the words that they wish to hear. They float around in my head like a dead fish in water. A tall, muscular man lifts me off of my tiny feet and throws me into the back of a black truck, leaving the other to get in the front to drive. I'm disoriented. The room is spinning. I think this man threw me against the wall, because my head feels a dull, growing pain. Reflexively, my hand travels to the source of the throbbing, and it's wet. My hand is now streaked with red.
As my dark eyes flutter to focus on what's happening, I feel the man securing my other arm in his brawny, rough hand. A few ticking noises jar me from thoughts of the current open wound matting blood into my long, limp black hair. I remember that my mother would call me Cinderella, after the fairy tale, because my hair was the colour of cinders from the fireplace. More ticking sends me back to the present, and the glint of light catching the barbed end of the needle sends me into a frenzy. Legs regaining feeling, they make contact with the large man's face, and he is forced backward; the echo of his grunt following him as he recoils.
I have to get away. I don't belong here. Suddenly, my gut tells me that it's not over. So, I run.
It doesn't take long for them to track me down. Four hours. By this time, the sun has started to peek through, as if waiting to witness the spectacle that will most likely take place if I don't go willingly. I love my family too much to embarrass them, so when the man turns the corner into the dank alleyway that I've been hiding in, I wait.
It takes fifteen seconds for him to cross the alley to where I am. The man turns to face me, while I stare at the ground. There are broken shards of glass everywhere. I then notice that there are two sets of feet in front of me. One has a very nice pair of shoes; black, leather, of good quality. I follow the feet to legs to torso to face with my eyes. I'm shocked as I realize that I recognize this man, using a power that is the exact reason that I'm in this situation to begin with.
His noticeably pale, yet flawless skin matched his light blond hair. Never before have I seen the colour of his eyes. It was a liquid, molten gold. Strange feelings welled up inside of me, bursting to escape. Fear. Recognition. Trust. The last one shocked me the most, as I returned to study the rest of his attractive features. A straight nose was followed by thin, pink lips. He was beautiful. However, none of these details could fully block the revelation that was creeping its way out, long thought to be permanently barred from my memory. I've seen this man before, yet we've never laid eyes upon each other.
He's the man who will kill me.