The things I said (ON HOLD)

Prologue: A cautionary tale

You wouldn't understand my life unless you were forced to live it. That's right, I used the word 'forced' because, let's face it...no one is going to willing set a mere toe into my shoes. Not that I blame them. I am literally the owner of this life and not even I would wish it upon my worst enemies. Which, believe me, are some horrible people to have as enemies.

They say my mother was so beautiful that the devil himself come topside just to lay with her. Whether or not she was aware that said dude was the devil remains a mystery even to this day. Anyways...the devil himself came topside just for a night with my mother. Just one night. That's all it took and then, BAM, nine months later came a bouncing baby girl.

Now, I say 'they say' because I never met the women. She was killed before I turned two...ripped apart in some back alley in Brooklyn by a group of solider demons. They tell me she went out like a hero. All guns blazing and shit. Maybe they're telling the truth. Maybe they're pumping me full of lies to keep me docile. Either way, I couldn't care less. The fact is she is dead. Leaving me alone with these people.

No one really knows how "The Movement" started. Supposedly some guy way way back in time got a message from God himself telling him to "rise up against evil." Apparently that was all it took for this supposed dude. One message from 'God'. So yea, there are stories, but no hard evidence. And that's what I require...real life evidence. Not just some scribblings in a book by a guy who might have had one too many before the big guy upstairs appeared before him.

So now I am stuck here...in this giant cement building that resembles a prison more than it does a home. In this cold, hard building surrounded by cold hard killers. Not that I am judging. I have done my fair share of killing but only because I was raised like this. To kill those things that people refuse to admit even exist.

It could be worse. They could have killed me. I mean, let's face it...I have the ability to rip your life from your body with a single touch. Been able to do so since I was born. They could have killed us both but instead they chose to let her in. Let me stay. Train me. Even after she was murdered I was allowed to stay.

I wish I could tell you my story was a happy one. Hell, at this point I would even settle for a sub-par story. At least then there would be a chance for a small bit of happiness. Well, happiness that isn't immediately stomped out by the fact that I am a walking, talking catastrophe. No, seriously. Any large scale horrifying even that has happened over the last nineteen years can probably been linked back to my birth. Simply put...I shouldn't be here. Physically here. My birth is what most would call "an abomination."

Like I said, I wish I could tell you my story was a happy one. The tale of a seemingly broken girl who pieces herself back together and finds true happiness. Who lives happily ever after. But I can't.

So if that's what you want...some tale of hope...of good triumphing over evil...of the damsel in distress finding her white knight and experiencing true love...then I suggest you turn back now. Seriously, just walk away and pretend we never crossed paths. I won't hold a grudge. I promise. Because this is not that story and I am not that girl.

Now, if you are still here, I feel as if maybe I should give you a quick warning. There will be gore, lots of it. There will be pain, lots of it. There will be cussing, more so than you believe is necessary. If I get really lucky...there will be some dirty action. Then again, life has never been that kind to me.

Good luck...you're gonna need it.