As I'm writing this I have no idea what I'm going to name this prequel...hmm...give me a moment...right now I'm listening to Surrender by Billy Talent on Z 103.5...but aside from that...hmm...not to waste your time anymore...+I think I've found a flower in a field of weeds...Searching until my hands bleed+ ...sorry...I just had the urge to do that :D (by the way, I start guitar class this week! Actually, today :D every wednesday this month. :D So excited...+I'm so excited+... except i hate that song so...okay I've been writing this for a long time now...the song playing is now Makes Me Wonder (you know, I never heard the first verse properly and when I looked up the lyrics, I was appalled...haha. Yeah. Dirty. Okay, whatever...omg can you believe I haven't spared a thought for finding for the name of this story yet!? Grr...

HEYYY!! I just got an idea :D:D:D For my story title, I mean. Congragulate me, please... +vesta pulls on a proud face+ haha, you don't have to. I'm just rambling now...

I hope you like :D This is the first chapter of my prequel to What will become?

Well, more like a prologue. But I'm not absolutely sure. I wrote this a few days ago.

---

In the shadows underneath a palm tree, silver glinted in the oblique moonlight.

Colorado Jesse Villas had drawn his sword. He held it with both hands and observed it for the hundredth time in his life. Momentarily mesmerized by its captivating beauty, his thoughts directed him back to the person who’d given it to him. Jacob Matthews. Matthews had bought it for him a few years back—when he was still alive.

Villas shoved those painful memories aside, and dared to peek out from the tree he was standing under. Seeing nothing, he sighed softly and turned back to his position. They were bound to catch up to him. The narrow tree didn’t provide much cover at all, but he had the advantage of being much further ahead.

At least he thought.

Quiet footsteps were slowly approaching him. The slight crunching of fallen leaves on the ground was a dead giveaway to their presence. Colorado clutched the red laced ebony handle of his sword in his right hand, willing to use it again if he had to. They had come up to him in surprise at first, but he was ready for them now.

Big sweaty hands suddenly clamped over his mouth from behind the tree. His eyes widened and he struggled to make a face. The tree has arms now—who would’ve guessed? Colorado realized his voice would be muffled if he tried to yell, “ever tried washing your hands, you big sweaty freak?” But he didn't think the man would care, so instead, he flipped his sword around and dug it hard into the waiting flesh behind him. He didn’t miss from his position, so he figured his target was a little wide. Fat ass.

The hands around his mouth fell immediately as the owner of them screamed in agony for a split-second. Colorado wiped his mouth and turned around. “Ehck!” Gross. He looked down at his large attacker, who he had stabbed in the gut. The body lay perfectly unmoving on the ground, dead. He appeared to have been in his mid-forties. Attacker? This guy doesn’t look like he could run ten feet without falling over his himself. He grimaced. There’s obviously more out there…

Colorado took his gaze off the unworthy man and spotted more dark figures in the distance. It wouldn’t be long until they reached him. What to do now, just fight them all off on my own? he thought. He’d already gotten the best of three, but who knew how many of them were out there? Well, this is what I do.

Bloody pirates.

He decided he would not wait for them. The best he could do was hide, and if they found him, he’d simply fight them off. He shook his head. It was warm that October night. Of course, October had every right to be warm, as this was Floridian autumn. Hot, hot, hot.

An invigorating fall breeze wafted by, the salt in the air keeping Colorado alert as he continued on walk on away from the enemy. He didn’t want to fight them unless he absolutely had to. But it gets fun.

The young boy had walked through the darkness for at least half a mile when he understood that no one was going after him. They’d probably found the man and thought it was wise to stay away from Colorado. Perhaps the man had been their best. Yeah, right. Their best was a pudgy old man done in by a fifteen-year old. He sighed and tucked away his red and black sword.

They’ll be back.

---