Ugh, so I know now that I can never finish a fanfiction-seriously, I have at least thirty stories on my computer, all different variations of the same freaking people and all Transformers, because that's where my muse is raging hard right now. Coincidentally, that's what this type of fanfiction is-even if there aren't any mentions of them in this excerpt, which is a pitiful attempt at a prologue. Of course, it's way better than the only other story I have published on this site, from like three years ago or something from when you all knew me as Falling Storm or Captured Spirits or Fandom Jumping Expert or even my first stupid username, StormxRaven. So bad. I'm horrible. Now I changed my username to something I hopefully won't have to change again, Gavoot the Scoot. Feel free to ask me how some random person came up to me and told me that before going off again to eat lunch in peace. It stuck. I liked it. So yeah.

It was horrible, I never got around to deleting it, and about a month ago I figured 'hey, why not try and rewrite it like I said I would all that time ago?'

Nah, didn't happen. I actually have a few chapters of that, new and improved, but seriously? I forgot everything I knew about Warriors in the few years I haven't even looked at the books. And I'm really regretting that-because Warriors is a beautiful series, one I am definitely putting on my read-again list. It's just not at the top of my list. That spot goes to the two series The Belgariad and The Malorean, both by David Eddings. My dad actually introduced me to the series, and I've been hooked since five years ago. And then we moved and most of the books got lost somehow. So yeah. Looking to buy replacements of those, not to mention all the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson books I've read to the point those books are falling apart.

So yeah, Life is my excuse for not publishing any stories and just going around, reading others and writing my own, not-even-half-finished Transformers fanfictions. Thirty of them! I counted! Ugh, and that's not even including all the stories I've deleted because I don't like the way it turned out. Much like my other story, which I won't mention on here because it's so bad. To be honest, I feel embarrassment for myself every time I go through it again whenever I'm bored and feel like burning my eyes out.

Can't believe I wrote all that out on a tablet. Two years ago. Hopefully I can say I've improved a ton since then.

But yeah, a little more before you go on to the story-excerpt-thing. This is just a teaser thing, something to see if I want to continue to let it grow. I forgot about this for about a month before I remembered I was going to post on here to see, but if you do, just please be aware that if I do continue this, updates will be sporadic, ranging from days to weeks to months, maybe even a year. It's just how I am, my attention span for my stories is way too short.

So there we are! Read on, I guess, and leave your comments in the review. Don't be shy, if you hate it, slam me, I'd honestly rather have harsh criticism than a one-worded review. But I can't exactly complain, it's really good enough for me if anyone even reads the damn thing. Pardon my language. Enjoy the story I edited at midnight yesterday.

And Happy Holidays (for whatever holiday you may celebrate)! Have a good night (or day, wherever you are).

Also please forgive any spelling or word errors, a few keys on my laptop aren't working because it's an old hunk-a-junk and spell check doesn't catch them and the words end up being something I don't mean it to be. And I know my luck is that there are a few words I'll catch in a few hours or days when I reread, even though I've gone through this thing (more trouble than it's probably worth) about a dozen times, combing through for any errors of that type. I should probably have put most of this stuff at the bottom. Oh well.

It didn't hurt at first, if she was being completely honest with herself. If she really tried, she could almost convince herself that it wasn't really happening. It was only in her mind. An engine had just backfired in the parking lot, right?

The fact that her body was falling forward limply was only a hallucination, that the people screaming her name—or screaming in general—were just the results of ringing in her ears. Because the bullet that had flown hadn't really hit her, had it? Because the blood wasn't really soaking through her clothes, pooling on the shiny linoleum underneath her, was it?

And her eyes weren't just staring blankly upward. They were searching, moving, darting about. Everything seemed to happen so slowly. Her brother kneeling above her, worry and fear covering the entirety of his face—but mostly converging in those ocean—blue eyes. Already she could see how they were going to dull, how dark circles were going to form in his eyes from lack of sleep, how those lip would never pull into a mischievous grin around her again. But she was still breathing, wasn't she? Her chest rising up and down? Her heart still beating?

His mouth was moving, but she couldn't really hear anything. She wasn't sure what would happen if she tried to speak. Would she be too loud? Too quiet? Would the pain start?

All her life, she'd been all right with the thought of dying. That she wasn't really afraid of Death taking her by the hand and leading her down the path to the afterlife. But that had been on the assumption she was going to die peacefully, old, after a full life of longevity and happiness.

Not at the age of seventeen, in a run-down diner, with a bullet lodged in her left lung. Maybe her heart.

Now that she was faced with the thought of leaving them, her family, what few friends she had, her life, she found she didn't want to die. She didn't want to die. Why have that thought now?

She had to try and speak. Just one last time. Even if it meant the hazy bubble settling over her body would burst, and everything would come rushing in at once, and her death would suddenly become very, very painful.

So the girl attempted to take in a deep breath, wincing as a small streak of pain shot through her ribs, and forced her gaze over to her brother. The one that had always been there for her, especially when their parents had died. Car crash, pretty cliche. But no one ever thinks things like that could happen to them until it did. Just like . . . she never thought someone would come to their small town, to this tiny diner hardly anyone knew about, and just start shooting.

But she needed to get back on track. She had to do this before she died.

"B-bryan," She managed to choke out, voice gurgling in her throat behind the hazy fog that covered her mind. She was kind of glad for it, even though her words were slurring horribly. "Bryan, I-I—"

The older boy hushed her softly, one hand moving to cup her cheek. "Save your strength, the paramedics are coming, they're almost here."

She sagged, trying to communicate through her eyes that she knew they wouldn't get here on time, that she was likely going to die before they even managed to set up around her. If she was lucky (or maybe unlucky), she'd get to the ambulance before her heart gave out. She was dying either way, and she'd really rather not have it drag out.

"N-no," She mumbled, vision blurring. Was she crying? Or was she going? This soon? She had to tell him. Just—just that, and she'd go. Go willingly. She didn't care anymore. Just stop the pain! "I-I love you." Her voice was slurring to the point her words were hardly recognizable, but Bryan seemed to understand. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he ran his thumb over her cheek. She felt something wet smear across her skin at the action.

So she was crying.

But her face was numbing, as well as the rest of her body, and she knew it was almost time. But I don't want to go.

"I love you too, Kat," Bryan whispered. "Don't cry. Ok? You—you'll be in a better place, painless, and you'll get to see Mom and Dad again. Don't wait up for me, all right? I've still got a ton of things to plan, might be a few decades late to the party." Her brother smiled wanly (or at least tried to), and she tried to return the gesture.

She wasn't sure it came out how she was trying to get it to look.

Kat hummed softly (well, as much as she could with blood pooling in her mouth and trickling down the corner of her lips), keeping her eyes on Bryan, drinking in his features one last time before she closed her eyes, exhaling softly and shuddering. She didn't inhale again.

Darkness surrounded her, pressing in, deafening, suffocating, making it impossible to tell if she was standing up, sitting down, floating, spinning, or just existing. Right now, she felt like a mere thought, a single feeling, and that scared her. She didn't know how to react to this. She didn't know what to do.

And Kat hated not knowing.

Then something else wrapped around her, slightly less suffocating, and while it did nothing to push the darkness away, she felt as though maybe, somewhere, there was a light she could reach for, a path to venture up to the final part of her life. Death.

She was dead; that was one thought she could not shake no matter how much she might have liked to forget. But this wasn't how she imagined it to be. She thought it would have been more of a forest, an old, well-trodden path, a stone road through an old town that could have been centuries old but no living soul had set an eye on. This darkness, it was boring. Scary.

She could have been there for seconds, days, lifetimes, and she'd never know. Her only clue was the faint whispers that slowly got clearer, then louder, to the point she could just barely make them out.

Come to me, They crooned, spreading around her like mist would a person's breath on a freezing day. Come with us. We can give you everything. Anything you have ever wanted . . . .

At first, she was tempted. To have everything she wanted? It sounded like a good enough deal to her. She found herself reaching for the sound, the different, the way out of the seemingly God-forsaken place, but then hesitation pushed through. Those voices—they sounded intoxicating. Smoke wreathing around a drug addict, the high fogging a person's mind as they lit a joint, the alcohol whirling in their veins, slurring their words and shortening their tempers.

The voices sounded like everything bad her mother had warned her against. Every dark thing humanity had to offer, every man-made thing that had gone wrong, even nature's attempt at poisoning the parasite leeching off her life, getting rid of the pests that infected her home.

And so she shrank back from the voices, attempting to skirt around in the darkness to get away from the offers, the temptations, the fakeness of if all wanting to make her scream.

She wanted out of there, out of it all, even if it meant she ended up just vanishing forever. She wanted away from the voices, away from the growing loudness, away from the screeching demanded to Take it and love it and the increasingly anger whipping around her, shoving her about, squeezing her tightly and threatening to rip her very soul to shreds, to leave nothing behind.

A ringing started up, loud enough to contest the voices, harsh enough that she flinched away from that too, whirling around desperately and hopelessly, trying to get away from everything!

And then it was silent, so silent she was sure her hearing had been cut off entirely. The only difference to the darkness and the silence was that it felt warmer, more welcome, easier to approach.

You have done well, Another voice, older, larger, more comforting, whispered, wrapping her around in safety and love. Just like how her mother's hugs would feel. You are safe. Approach your destiny.

The darkness disappeared, making way to a bright, pure white light that had her flinching back again, trying to shield herself.

It felt like she had a body, now—just corporeal. See-through. Barely there.

But it was there and she had one.

Through the bright light, Kat could have sworn she saw a face, smiling down at her with all the warmth and love a parent should possess, but it disappeared as fast as she noticed. The light continually grew brighter, until she had to turn away lest she lose her sight for good.

And everything turned black again.

So there was the prologue for Gone, tell me what you think. Please tell me anything I may or my not have done wrong, or anything I could have improved on. I have a different version of this ready to turn into an original novel, but I wanted to take a crack at writing a fanfiction first. Maybe this time I'll get off my lazy butt and start continuing this story (haha I'm so alone I have none of this story written except for what you've read what am I doing with my life) but it all depends on what you guys think.

And I'm sorry if the bold font is hurting your eyes, it's hurting mine and I'm up way later than I'm supposed to be but oh well.

Meh, I can take refuge in my bed full of teddy bears if I need to. But it's actually starting to kind of get cold here, I may need a blanket tonight.

Well, you can go back to your lives, now. Have a night. Simply have a night. Exist. Just be.

-Gavoot must now Scoot