Prologue

 I'd always been a curious kid, possessing a soul that yearned for adventure, an insatiable hunger to unearth the secrets that lay hidden just beyond my grasp. When I was little, I'd venture into my neighborhood, my small feet carrying me down familiar streets that still held an air of enchantment. Every crack in the sidewalk, every rustling leaf, seemed to whisper tales of a world waiting to be discovered. I'd get into some trouble, testing boundaries and pushing limits, always wondering what magic would unfurl if I dared to go just a bit further. I mean, there isn't much to explore on the south side of New England, or so I would have thought if I were older and my heart had grown jaded. But as a child, everything was new, everything was a marvel. At the time, I was so small. At such a young age, everything seems so big; so intriguing. The world was a vast and wondrous tapestry, woven with threads of mystery and awe.

 I hopped from foot to foot on the scorching asphalt, not caring enough to don my shoes. The heat radiated up from the ground, burning the soles of my feet, but I barely noticed. I was too caught up in the thrill of the moment, too focused on the grand adventure that was my childhood. In my imagination, the mundane became extraordinary, the ordinary transformed into the absurd. I jumped over every crack in the road, acting like I was being chased by some sort of monster. In my head, he was always a slimy green goop pile with fangs made out of gold. Kind of like Slimer from Ghostbusters mixed with a punk rapper. I'd picture him vividly, his gelatinous form undulating as he lurched after me, his gold fangs glinting in the sunlight. He was the perfect monster, the perfect villain for my childish games of tag and hide-and-seek. I'd jump into bushes to hide from the goop, giggling while hushing myself. My heart pounded in my chest, not with fear, but with exhilaration. I loved the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline that came with each narrow escape.

 I was hiding behind a bush in front of some slate brick house, when I heard this crash. Then came the yelling. The sounds were muffled, but the anger and frustration behind them were unmistakable. I felt the tension in the air, the weight of the argument that was unfolding like a black hole, slowly pulling me in and ripping me apart. I heard many things that I could not make out, but some profanities that made me blush. I didn't know what they meant, but I knew they were bad. They were the kind of words my parents used while fighting, the kind of words that made me feel uncomfortable. After a few minutes, a boy who couldn't have been much younger than sixteen ran out the door. He had pink welts on his body that were bound to leave dark marks. His skin was mottled and inflamed, a testament to the violence that had just occurred. I saw the pain in his eyes, the fear and the confusion. He ran to the end of his driveway and started puffing on something that at the time I could only describe as one of those things my parents used. He inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as if in relief. It was a desperate attempt to escape, to find some semblance of peace in the midst of chaos.

 He then spotted me and gave me a crooked smile that matched his teeth, which were off-putting white. There was something charming about him, despite the bruises and the cigarette. A charisma, a confidence that drew me in. He shoved the cigarette into the asphalt and greeted me by holding out his hand. I took his grasp and hoisted myself up. His grip was firm, his hand warm against mine.

 "Let's get out of here." The boy said. He led me to a forested area behind his house. We sat down on a mossed rock and he took the lead. I had a tongue in my mouth and a body on top of me before I could even ask for his name. Everything happened so fast. One moment I was standing, the next I was on the ground, his weight pressing down on me. I was scared, but also curious. I didn't know what was happening, but I couldn't bring myself to push him away. The look of satisfied malice in his eyes warned me to not do anything.

 He hastily pulled up his trousers and turned his back to me, a look of disdain etched on his face. 

 "Now, kid, you better keep this to yourself. It's not my fault, you know. The way you were eyeing me earlier, I could tell you were asking for it," he said with a threatening undertone.

 "Don't act so terrified," he continued, reaching into his pocket and tossing some half-burnt cigarettes in my direction.

 Attempting to speak, I found my throat constricted with nausea. As soon as he strode back towards the front of his house and disappeared from view, I mustered the strength to roll off the hard stone surface. I let the vile mess expel from my throat, mingling with the blood trickling down the jagged rock.

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