This is Amber, a little known girl of fourteen years. Amber may have seemed happy and intelligent on the outside, on the inside she was a struggling, depressed girl. She never had many friends, but then, she by no means wanted a great deal of friends, just a few. She had a few 'acquaintances' but none she could call close companions. She had no body to tell her problems to, no problems to listen to. Every single one of her terrible emotions locked up inside her. Amber's bond with her mother could pretty much be summed up as: nothing. She stopped communicating to her since Amber's father left them two years ago. In Amber's eyes it was her mother's fault that her father had abandoned them in the first place. You see, her mother was never home. She was always out somewhere with somebody, not in the least bit worried about the family, or about the house. He could take no more and was forced to leave behind his daughter, Amber. Still her mother refused to take noticed of Amber and she was left to provide for herself.
Her mother would never care about anything she had ever done in her life, not the good, nor the bad. So why would anything matter to Amber anymore anyway? Amber tried to get along with her mother. She did everything she could think of to try and change the situation. But there was only one thing Amber discovered, nothing would ever change, her mother would NEVER be proud of her, and never see her.
Amber and her mother's relationship, however, had not always been that way. There were times when they would spend hours talking about what was to come of both of them. How everything would always be perfect. Amber would help her mother with no matter what she asked. Nevertheless, things started to change slowly by the time she hit her teens. Their connection gradually grew worse. Amber was growing up. She had homework, lots of it; problems that she needed friends to talk about with, but never had the chance as she did not have many. The way she viewed things, and her ideals slowly changed. She no longer felt the need to try and impress her mother in every aspect of her life, although she still loved her mother dearly. But then again, Amber wasn't the only one changing, for her mother no spent little time at home, if any. It was then that Amber began to understand that her mother would no longer have enough time, she would have no time for her any longer. There just was no purpose in making an effort any longer, if her mother was never there to persuade her, praise her, or provide for her.
She hated herself for not being able to make her own mother proud, but then again, she hated her mother for everything she had done, and everything she had not done as a mother. Amber spent most of her mornings and afternoons in the library reading. She felt books were the only ones she could rely on. They would always be there when she needed a place to bury herself in a mountain of reading as to hide her true feelings. By the time Amber was ten she had read most of the books in the young adult section of the library. Moving on to the adult fraction of the library was over-whelming to her. She had not seen that many books, well, ever. Wall to wall books were piled as high as the ceiling, with only just enough room to squeeze light through from the stained glass windows. She scanned around until she found a book that she thought was perfect for her to read. It was high up on the peak of the tallest shelf in the library. Amber scaled the ladder until she could just reach her fingertips to touch the book. With a tug she brought the whole shelf tumbling down over her. Suddenly it went black.
When Amber awoke it was quite, she looked around she could not recognise anything except for the stained glass windows around. Had the shelves been moved off? Amber could not tell as her vision was still blurred and her head was still spinning. A figured in black slowly came into focus. It was making their way up along an aisle and was approaching a step, no, an altar. Amber looked around, again she could not recognise anything. She saw people everywhere, sitting in neat, orderly rows, grouped together, with sad, mournful faces. Look back at the figure, it gradually turned towards Amber, motioning for her to move closer towards him, up onto the altar with him. Taking a peek inside to coffin she staggered backwards, unsure who was inside. Thinking again she finally came to realise that individual lying inside. Herself. As she looked around the room again, she now saw that every face in the audience has a name, they were no longer strangers. They were all mourning over the death of a loved one. Amber. Suddenly, She flesh started to crawl. To shrivel, burn, and to disfigure. Blood dripped from her eyes, nose, and mouth, watching as it all started to turn black. She gave one last loud cry of pain. The change had begun.