Sunshine ~ Diego Hargreaves

Prologue

Aka: My Crappy Life

On the 1st of October 1989, 43 of us were born. 7 of us were adopted. I, fortunately, was not one of them. My mother was good enough to me. I hardly saw her, but I know she worked hard for me to have a home and a normal life. She did everything to keep me away from them.  Now, who exactly "they" were I hadn't quite figured out yet. Something about an academy and a horribly rich man. I never cared. As far as I was concerned, I was completely normal. My mother never told me she was only pregnant with me for one minute before labor nor did she tell me that there were 6 children who fought crime with special powers that they had due to the abnormal circumstances of their birth. No, my life was completely and utterly boring. And I quite liked it that way. You see, I wanted exactly what my mother wanted for me, an ordinary life. Or at least until my 13th birthday that is.

Now, when you're twelve, you have an unexplainable excitement about turning 13. It's as if you think the whole world will be completely different when you wake up, expecting to feel one year older rather than one day.  Now most feel rather disappointed at the lack of difference in their lives that morning, but that day was when my life changed forever.
I woke up at approximately 3am to my mother screaming. Not abnormal, my father had undoubtedly just come home from the bar, yet these screams were different than the symphony of begging that I was used to; as if she truly believed she was going to die. I had managed to muster up enough courage to pull myself out of the safety of my covers, unlock my door, and inch my way down the hall towards my parents' room.

The door was ajar and the wood splintered around a hole that was shaped remarkably like a foot. I took in a deep breath and squeezed through the door, attempting not to hit it in fear of a creak that would alert my father to my presence. I wasn't quite sure what I planned to do, but all I knew was that my mother was in danger. He had his hand wrapped around her neck, pushing her against the already blood stained wall. And in the other hand, he held a gun. I wasn't quite sure where he got it because I knew he was not legally allowed to have one, yet he pointed the weapon at her face nonetheless.

At this point, I froze. How was I, a little 12 year old (scratch that I was 13 by that point), supposed to stand up to this 6'3 man? My mother must have had the same thought run through her mind because she made eye contact with me and I saw the panic in her increase. She attempted to claw at my father's hand but he did not relent. Then she tried to speak. Whether or not she would've been able to get the words out with my father so tightly gripping her neck didn't matter, the gun fired and her body crumpled to the floor.

Then he turned to me. My fear and sadness overwhelmed me all at once. I panicked. I screamed. Or at least I thought I did. Rather, it was my father whose voice echoed through the walls of my childhood home. I watched in shock as my mother's murderer shrunk to the floor, curling into a ball. The same exact position I had taken countless times whenever his wrath was turned on me. I was confused at the time as to why he would do such a thing. I had no idea that I was making him do it. All I knew was that he had just murdered my mother; the one person who I felt truly cared for me.

So I ran. Back down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door. When I reached the end of the street I looked back to see the moon hanging directly about the house I just fled from. Almost as if it were a beacon, leading those who follow it to pain and ultimately death. I took in a deep breath and turned the corner. And I never looked back.