A/N: Hi there, hello, howdy, top of the morning to ya. This is my first fanfiction, I hope you enjoy. Please review and tell me what you think, constructive criticism helps :)

I (sadly) DO NOT OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS OR ITS CHARACTERS, THEY ARE CASSANDRA CLARE'S!

Without further adieu I bring you CHAPTER 1~

My feet clap the ground as I push past people bustling around the hectic streets of New York City. I run, yelling at bystanders to hurry and leave with me, that what's coming won't take hostages, it won't leave survivors. They either can't hear me or don't care, thinking I'm a drunkard or crazy, probably the latter. Hell, with the things I've seen maybe I am a bit psychotic; no sane person could make up something like that. Screams pierce through the daytime traffic, heads whip toward the sound as feet run in the opposite direction. I feel the terror and fear from those around me almost like a contagion, spreading like wildfire. The creäture lengthens its strides as it races toward me, soon it's in front of my face its stale breath stirring my fiery red hair. Up close I see the hot embers that make up its flesh, its jagged teeth that stick out of its grinning mouth, and horns curling out of pussing sores on its forehead. But I really notice how human its body structure is, the way it stands and moves, it looks like a possession gone wrong, as if the demon inside is trying to get out. I snap out of my daze and run down the alleyway, the creature's laughter rings out behind me.

"Run, girl. But, remember, you can't hide; once your powers show I will find you." He promises, his gravelly voice bouncing off the high stone walls. I run out the other side of the alleyway only to find everyone from before dead, their wide eyes glazed over, crimson covers the streets, seeping through wounds covering the bodies' chests and arms. There's blood on one of the shop windows that reads 'Ready or not here we come. You can run but you can hide.'
"Boo." a voice behind my whispers, I turn around to find black eyes staring down at me, I shriek as I'm being pulled back into reality.

"Clary? Clary!" my mother's frantic voice pierces through the darkness as she roughly shakes my shoulders.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Mom. Just another episode." I squeeze my eyes shut hoping the rest of my vision and the demons that follow me back will be gone but when I open them, monsters that only I can see still plague the real world.

"I can't do this anymore, kiddo, your hallucinations keep getting worse and they're happening more often. You're scaring me, honey." She says shakily, blinking back tears. She leaves for her bedroom to make some calls, I hear my name come up a couple of times in her muffled conversation but I don't care, popping the movie "white chicks" into the DVD player, I attempt to calm myself. All throughout the movie her sobs penetrate through the closed door.
When the credits come up a knock rings out from the front door, peeking through our small glass window is Valentine, my mom's boyfriend of three years. In all honesty, I hate the guy, not just because he's rude to me, but because he's a sexist pig and treats her awfully, he still flirts with others and picks apart her flaws. She deserves better, and I suppose my distaste is obvious because she won't let him move in until I graduate in two years. Yet, he is standing patiently with a worn cardboard box in his hand; one of his black shirts peeks out of the upturned lid. He smirks down at me like he's won a battle, and by his carrying his clothes into my house, I think he has.

"Clary, please sit I believe it's time we have a talk." My mom says coming into the room, suddenly businesslike. Valentine pushes past me and up to my mom to plant a sloppy kiss on her mouth. She steps away and turns to me, a flicker of guilt flashed through her expression before disappearing all together.

"Yeah, Mom, I think so too. Why does Valentine have a box of clothes with him?" I say putting as much venom in his name as humanly possible.

"Because he's moving in," She continues as my seething glare lands on a demon swooping in behind her ready to rake its claws down her back "which brings me onto what I really wanted to talk about; I feel that this is too much for me to handle, you're too much for me to handle." Ouch. My heart sags a little at her cold, clipped voice and what's coming next; I knew then that Valentine's detached ways are changing her.
The demon stops its advance on her to turn and laugh at me. Bastard.

"You're sending me away?" I quietly ask, though I know she'd just confirm my fear. She nods briskly, I quickly swipe away a tear that has dribbled down my cheek, I nod back unsure that my voice will stay steady if I talk, unsure that I will sound sane. Ha! You wish you were sane. A voice in the back of my head whispers, I quickly clamp down on it.

"It's called The Institute; it's a mental hospital with excellent visiting hours and teaching program so you don't have to worry about going back to school." She continues gauging my reaction; my eyes wander back to Valentine who is staring smugly at me and mouthing the words 'you lose, psycho.' Wow real mature, asswipe. But I know he's right, he was moving in and I was being kicked out with nowhere else to go but the asylum, this was just fabulous. I excuse myself, saying I need to go pack for my new home, a fresh wave of tears drip down my face with each heartbreaking step toward packing away my old life. I pack my sketches and paintings, my charcoals and the pastels my mom got me for my fifteenth birthday, all my clothes and beat up high tops, and a picture of me and my mom that was taken at Disney world the only picture I own without the monsters in it. The only picture she kept without Valentine in it. I slide onto the fabric seat of the passenger side of my Mom's 2004 silver Toyota Camry. Upon seeing Valentine making his way toward the back seat I lock the door, and smile triumphantly as my Mom backs out onto the road without scolding me or unlocking the door for him. It was her way of saying sorry. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I feel the splitting headache of another wave of visions, this would be the tenth one this week.

"Please please please please." I mumble to whatever higher power is listening.
No one is ever listening.

It's the same vision. The same demon, the same message in blood, the same deceased beings, the same black-eyed creep, the same promise of powers. If they only told me what in the hell they're talking about.

"Wake up, Clare-Bear. We're here, time to get up." My mother crooned, thinking I'd fallen asleep. I wish I had, this vision didn't make any sense, and of course none of them do, but none ever repeat either.
Grabbing my luggage we make our way past the iron wrought gate leading up to the cathedral-like building. I can't help but wonder if it was ever used as a church, I'll have to ask. A boy grins cockily down at me from the second floor, a halo of gold hair fits on his hair and golden eyes stare down at me like I'm game he wants to win, he wiggles his fingers at me in a wave before sauntering away. At first I think he's just a vision, but he looks too angelic to be a demon. Then I remember he's a patient in a mental hospital, and smirked like a dick, I roll my eyes and push him from my mind. A white-haired elderly man, makes his way toward us, limping, as he smiles broadly at me. His facial features remind of a bird's. He shakes our hands and says proudly,

"Clarissa Fray! I'm Mr. Starkweather, the director of this facility. Welcome to the Institute!"

A/N: Yay or nay? Thank you for giving my story a chance