over and over - l.h.

Prologue

A/N: Guess who's back!

Yeah, I started writing 5sos Fanfiction...

You could check out my tumblr www.cliffacantrightnow.tumblr.com

you know, or not.

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I thought they would've given up by now. At least assume I was dead by this point, all things considering it has been eighty-six years. Yeah, I'm aware that at my age I should be sitting in a rocking chair watching my grandchildren wrestle on the carpet, instead of constantly changing my identity and running from the government that let me escape years ago. I know this sounds cliché, but bear with me; we'll get to my government problems soon enough.

You see, I've never been who I really am; I've been a Rose, an Emma, a Bethany, and even a Eunice, but none of those people were really me. My real name is Rebecca Johansson, and the information I'm about to disclose to you is sort of classified.

This is obviously the prologue. It is here where I'm going to give you my story. It's not much of a long story at all, but it's hard to believe and even harder to explain.

Let's start with the most outrageous: I have the outward appearance of a seventeen year-old girl, and if my math is correct, that means I physically age one year every five. I don't exactly know what happened to me, but I have my theories. And the one withstanding is the most logical, yet the most unbelievable, so do me a favor and at least pretend you believe me.

It starts on the day I was born. Long story short I was born dead. I shouldn't have survived, but spirit "chose me for greatness". At least that's what the plump and jolly scientist said to me before he tied me to the electric shock table.

I can still sort of see the clear blue light in front of me. It was trying to pull me under and drown me. I guess I wasn't up for the whole dying thing, because moments later I was searching for the beat of my dear mother's heart. Spirit pulled, I pushed, and in the end I won out. It wasn't until later I realized no one really wins a battle with spirit.

I could bore you with the details, but just to sum it up, I looked barely a year old when I was supposed to be three. My mother took me to specialists all over the county, but not a single one knew what was wrong. Now keep in mind, this is the 1930s; there wasn't a scientific answer for everything; you couldn't take millions of different medications to ease a sore throat. This is a world run by logical guesses and home remedies.

So when there were no answers or cures, what is a mother to do? Throw her child in a dumpster of course. I was spiteful then, but now I've been through too much to care about what my mother thought of me.

Like in every great fairytale, someone found me. Unfortunately for me they were extremely religious. Not a bad deal under normal circumstances, unless you're a freak of nature like myself. They didn't seem at all concerned with my major lack of growth, what disturbed them more was the fact that I cried bloody tears. Yeah, tears filled with blood. That of course convinced them I was possessed, so they locked me in a shed for seven years. I know, I know all of my little revelations are so anticlimactic. But in my defense, I don't have much time to write this and I think I can safely assume your attention span doesn't tolerate eighty years of trauma and heart ache.

But anyway, don't freak out too much, they were kind enough to feed me. And actually I'm quite grateful for my time in the shed. It was there I figured out more of my other abilities. Turns out I don't get cold. I figured that was a given, considering I would've died of hypothermia by now. Then there's the fact that I'm physically indestructible. Now that story is a little more brutal than I wish to remember. I found out this "ability" the hard way, when my sorta-kinda father tied me to a pipe and shot me in the head. The bullet didn't even break skin. It ricochets instead and he ended up with a small silver killer in the thigh. That was certainly a traumatizing experience for everyone involved. Then about four months later I figured out I could survive a long time without food after they tried starving me. Speaking of which, if anyone needs a good dandelion soup recipe, let me know; years of practice. By that time they then kind of figured out nothing could kill me so they neglected me completely.

Then when I was about ten (the mere physical age of two) I decided it was about time I got up and walked out. If I'm indestructible, then prying the door off of a shed shouldn't be at all difficult. And unsurprisingly enough, I was right. I left that day, and lived the next sixty years on the streets.

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A/N: What did you guys think?

I'll be writing this story for NaNoWriMo this year, so I should be pretty on top of updates.

So what do ya say? One vote for the next chapter?