Prisoner By Heresy

A/N: I don't exactly know all of what's going to happen in this story yet, but everything in it is mine. It might just be another one of those stories that I don't continue past the first couple chapters. Let's hope not. :]

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Her eyes remained closed, but she was awake. One by one, her senses slowly kicked in. Her head ached, and her arm was stinging intensely. She failed to remember where she had fallen to sleep the night before and soon began to wonder. She groaned softly, wishing she could spend more time in the dream world, but her eyes disagreed and slowly opened to meet the real world.

It seemed to be morning or possibly early afternoon. It had rained earlier, either this morning or last night, because the surroundings, including the pavement on which she lay, were damp. The stench of garbage stung at her nostrils, and noises of a busy city filled her ears. An alleyway, she concluded.

She pushed herself up off the ground, stumbling before she could stand. Her once white clothes were now a light gray color. An enormous gash stretched across her arm, but it had stopped bleeding. She went to run a hand through her thick, blond hair and found it to be a tangled, unkempt mess. "Shit." She was in worse condition than she thought.

She slowly walked out of the alleyway, using the brick wall that enclosed her for support. She looked up at the sky, blinded by the sun at first. As soon as her eyes had lain upon it, the clouds quickly came to the rescue, hiding the bright, yellow sphere from view. She chuckled slightly, half expecting it. What she did not expect was to be pulled into some stranger's embrace a second later.

"Oh my God, Frankie. Where have you been?!" the stranger, a stout, plump woman, squealed. She hugged 'Frankie' tightly before pulling away to take a look at her, what must have been, horrid appearance. "What is that ungodly cut on your arm? How long did you leave the kids alone? Your boss called a million times, said you weren't at work. Oh, sweetie, are you all right? You haven't spoken a word. Come, let's go home." The woman took Frankie by the wrist, her bracelets and necklaces jingling and jangling the whole way home.

Home turned out to be a dreary apartment, matching well with the rest of the city. As they entered the door, a little boy bombarded Frankie. He wrapped himself around her left leg, refusing to let go. He was tearlessly weeping, all his words meshing together to make one long cry. Frankie looked at the plump woman for help, but she just stared at her as if she was insane. Frankie bent down, awkwardly putting her arms around the little boy.

"Mommy, I woke up and you-" He sniffed. "You weren't there. No one was here to take me to school." Frankie couldn't help but laugh a little. She couldn't remember ever having a child. She just nodded and hugged the boy. Slowly, he let go of her, wiping at his eyes as if tears had fallen from them. "Where'd you go?" A silence filled the room that was practically deafening.

"Well, I better get going now," the plump woman said, breaking the silence. "I'm already late as it is. People waiting for me to tell them their fortunes." She chuckled to herself, grabbed her coat, and left. Frankie stood up and walked over to the couch. She threw herself down face first, immediately closing her eyes. It didn't take long to drift off into the dream world.

She was hysterical. She was yelling at him, too. He was silent, but his eyes burned a hole in the ground underneath her feet. The hole grew and grew the louder she yelled, and suddenly, she was falling. Falling without any sign of stopping. But it wasn't too long before the ground came into view. It came closer and closer and closer . .

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" The little boy wouldn't stop yelling. She opened her eyes and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Your arm!" She looked down at her arm to see it had been bleeding profusely from the cut with the familiar, yet unknown origin. It had bled all over her whole arm, hand, and even the couch. Her white dress was stained now also.