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He opened his eyes.

Pupils dilated, nails scraping the cool cement floor.

Pain.

So much pain.

Glass dug into his now too thin back and penetraded the stretched and yellowing skin.

A small whimper escaped his lips as he realized that his hands were still in shackles, scraping his skin.

His own blood ran down the walls, down his wrists, on the floor.

The blood.

Crimson on grey, black on yellow, glowing yellow and black all mixing together to create a perfect little hell.

His hell.

He thought he was atheist, but no.

He was wrong.

This was his own hell.

A nightmare turned reality.

Almost too real.

These kindof things don't happen to 'ordinary' boys living 'ordinary' lives.

Oh no.

Such things were written about by sick and twisted minds.

Dreamed about by madmen.

He was going to die and he knew it.

This was only lesson number 1 as the man said.

"Good boys obey their master."

The problem with that was that the master was unknown.

Lurking in the shadows.

Portraying all his inner demons and making them a reality.

He knew too much.

The master was now the puppeteer of his life, all that was left of it for that matter.

Three days.

Three fucking days he's been here.

Surely they'd be looking for him.

At least, he hoped they would.

He hoped she would.

His friend. The best of kind.

Natalia.

Would Gerard search?

Mikey?

Frank?

Bob?

Ray?

Would they even think where to look?

No.

He groaned aloud.

He didn't even know where he was.

All he knew was that his strings were in the hand of the puppeteer.

A personal marrionette.

His life lines tangled up in the mans fist.

He was here for some reason he himself did not know.

He was given eleven lessons to live by before the slightest notion of him being released was even thought.

Each one to be learned the hard way.

Torture.

Endless, mindless torture.

Eleven chances.

Eleven lifelines.

Eleven strings.

Eleven lessons on how to be a good boy.

The last thing Alec heard before blacking out was the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the cement door and a set of keys jingling, his sweat mingling with his metallic blood on his lips.

Torture is an understatement.


A/N: sooo?? this is only the intro. Shadow of the Day will be updated soon. i promise. i still can't believe how much people like it. Anyways, i wrote this at 1:14 am here in lovely, boring Pennsylvania after watching super 8 (hated it) with my friends. My mind is halfway on. I wrote this on a motorola zoom so sorry about grammatical errors. They'll be fixed ASAP.

Goodnight.

xoxo