I got this idea last Monday while watching one of my fave shows, Pretty Little Liars... here's the prologue! Enjoy!
Sam Manson is used to secrets. She grew up with them after all, so one would think this big secret she now holds is no biggie. Well, that's completely wrong. On the outside, Sam looks calm and collected, however, on the inside she's worried sick over her best friend. And what's happened recently around them, isn't helping what so ever.
As Sam rolled out of bed, the immediate song that popped into her head was Secrets by the Pierces. This song haunted her, day and night. It often played in her head over the radio that she would turn on in an attempt to drown out the song and her thoughts each night as she watched the moon move across the sky. She picked up her hair brush off the dresser, and brushing her hair, tying to make it look less bed-headed. Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced at the dark circles under her eyes. Putting the brush down, she picked up a bottle of rarely used concealer, and swept some over the circles. It lessened the darkness some, but not completely. Sighing, she walked over to her walk in closet, and threw the dark doors open. Walking inside, she began pulling off her skirt and shirt off hangers. Slipping them on, she grabbed a pair of tights from under the skirts, and her combat boots. Slipping those on, she walked back out of the closet and shut the doors. She swept some mascara on her eyelashes, and walked out the door. Clomping down the stairs, avoiding the living room where her mom would be, she dashed out the door.
Avoiding eye contact with all the by standers who where staring at her, she quickly walked down the side walk. After about twenty minutes, she recognized the side walk. She'd walked this way ever since she was in seventh grade. Not glancing up, she sped up, and passed the two story traditional white house with the chipped paint front porch. Suddenly, she heard a creak, and instinctively looked up. Regretting following her instincts, she couldn't help but stare at the old white house. She remembered spending the night there, having ice cream parties, ice cream fights, pool parties. She missed her, badly. But she would never, ever come back. A week ago, workers who had been trimming the bushes had found her battered, almost unrecognizable body buried under the house.
Pheobe Springler was dead.
Short, I know. I hope you liked it though! Review please!