Note: Ahh. I felt somewhat tragic and I am posting this full-length story. The chapters have already been written, and the 32 Ways for Gabriella is halfway done (I NEED SUBMISSIONS). Little Me, Back from Paris has another chapter in the works. I hope everyone enjoys this dramatic tale I'm here to tell.

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Prologue

Maybe they'd remember her. Maybe they would jump for joy and hug her, and throw her a super Wildcats party with crimson hats and surprising out-of-nowhere songs. Maybe they're begging for her return, right now, at this very second. Maybe they're praying she isn't dead. It had been six months; after all, and you can forget a person very, very easily.

Fog rolled in over the dampened streets of the city limits of Albuquerque, where a tattered-looking girl stood on the side of the road, staring down the path to the city. Her hair was matted and flat, singed in some areas and broken in others. Her face was covered in beat wound and scars—the natural beauty hidden beneath six months of poor treatment. Slash marks occupied her neck, arms and legs, and she is dressed in what she was dressed in for six months.

With a heart heavy with lies to come, the broken girl trudged along the road, with a minor limp (due to an untreated sprain), towards the city, where her friends and family lived. She prayed they would remember her and take her back, even if her disappearance was not her fault.

She had been walking home one day, alone, when a stranger drove up to her and ordered her into the back seat. Terrified, she had no choice but to listen to the man. He drove far away, over the horizon and away from her life. That had been sixth, long, grueling months ago.

Even though she had managed to escape, she was still broken on the inside and the out ...but at least she was away from her terrorist. Every night, she dreamt of escape ...back to her loving mother and her caring friends. Her brainy friend used to always make her smile. She wondered if she even remembered how to smile.

But another friend dared to make her laugh. He was strong and protective—it brought tears to her eyes knowing that not even he was able to save her from such a fate. Slowly, she ambled into the blanketed town of Albuquerque, with only one loaf of bread left.

The pain was unbearable. She dropped to her knees to rest, tears streaming her cold, bruised cheek, as she muttered a word of dismay into the dingy, cool thick air. Throwing her head back dramatically, she gazed up at the hidden stars and uttered something so inaudible; it must've been her imagination.

"Why?"

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