The Flames Legacy (On Hold)

Prologue

If you've read this chapter before, please read again. I added some stuff to it, thanks.

Loser. Worthless. Incompetent. Ugly. Fatty. These are just some of the words that I hear when I open the gateway to hell. It might seem as though I'm overreacting now but soon you'll know what I mean.

Stepping one foot into the endless abyss of misery, I continued on my way down the hallway of the school. Reaching my locker in a shorter time than I would have hoped. I enter my pin for my locker and pulled the door open.

My name is Emily, and yes, I am that person in your school that everybody hates for no reason. I'm going to tell you my story. You might not like me after you've learned what I truly am.

No, it's not going to be a story where I fall for the hottest guy in school, or where my parents have tragically died, and I want to suffer in silence. And it's definitely not going to be about how I miraculously had these great powers all along. No, this is going to be a story of how I became the girl everyone wants to be, and what people get for treating me as if I'm the dirt on the bottom of their shoe.

The familiar thing that woke me from my inner monologue, was the clammy hand squeezing the back of my head. Their nails digging into my scalp, tearing away the first layer of skin.

I've grown tired of the same old routine every day, a kick in the ribs, a jab in the jaw, the pain only feels like I've pricked my finger on the thorn of a rose by now.

My nose was smashed into the row of lockers. I could feel the smooth, thick liquid, that I'm much accustomed to the feeling, filling my sense's, slowly making its descent to my nostrils; to pour over my upper lip.

My hands found their way up to cover my nose, forming a routine of the other days. Although someone had other ideas.

No surprises there.

My hands were pinned to the bottom of my back, and my calves were weighed down with the weight of ten 'men'.

The pain was unbearable, being added to with being forcefully straddled to the ground. The only thing that ensured me that I wasn't having another nightmare was the laughter engulfing me in my humiliation. It spread like fire to a forest, each person as a tree burning with laughter.

I may not be able to see, but the overpowering smell of Giorgio Armani was a straight giveaway to who the usual culprit is.

Who else wears that much aftershave?

Hands found their way to the waistband of my jeans, tugging on them in a suggestive manner. I squirmed under the weight, still unable to free myself. The skin to skin contact gradually proceeded up my lower back, under my black curtain you might know as a hoodie. 

My hoodie was my safe haven to escape from the outside world. To stop anyone intruding on me and my life. It was what saved me from the danger of the stares I attracted.

The hands abruptly stopped and I became aware of the heated breath that was fanning across the side of my face. The cherry scent amercing my senses. The deep husky voice wreaking havoc on my insides.

"Aww, is plaything getting excited?" The voice asked me. As usual, I stayed silent. Never uttering a word. I knew better than to argue with my tormentors'.

"Haaaa" They laughed sarcastically."I'll send you the bill for the truckload of disinfectant I'll have to use to get your filth of my hands." With that, the weight was lifted off me, leaving me a shaken mess on the floor.

No one comes to help me, see if I'm ok, no, no one.

To the outside world, it may seem like a bit of harmless fun, but all good things have dire consequences. The thing that gets to me most, is the fact that I don't even know what I've done to deserve all of this.

Let me fill you in on what I may have failed to tell you. Like I said earlier my name is Emily, and in my school, I fit into a category that doesn't seem to fit social standards.

I don't know whether it's down to my attitude or simply the way I walk but knowing this educational prison filled with mindless zombies, I put it down to the way that I dress.

I wouldn't say I fit a category for my style of clothing, I'd just say that I express a passion for darker things rather than the light. I wouldn't classify myself as a goth or emo, just an alternative in my own way.

But, like many others around the world, apparently, I shouldn't be this way and should be 'normal'. Whatever is that?

Riddle me that bitch!

In other words, I shouldn't have the freedom to express who I am.
Fuck that shit!

I may not like what everyone does and says to me, but I'll be damned if they make me change who I am. Even if I can't stand up for myself.

Recovering quickly from the usual routine, I stood up to a heard of laughing and pointing. Keeping my head down, I was pushed and shoved down the hall, hearing the encore of this week's popular names being thrown at me.

"Slut", "hoe" etc.

The person to start my torture is the person who rules all. That was Jack Cortez, the son of Satan himself.

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-Amy X-