Prologue: Part One

My story starts five years ago. It’s not a pretty one nor is it a light hearted one. I was the daughter of a single mother; my father had left the day after my younger sister was born to go and pursue the company of younger men and women. Since that day my mother had sworn off relationships and raised me and my younger sister, Lucy, single-handedly while teaching us the dangers of marriage.

And before you jump to any conclusions, no, the woman in the picture is not me, it’s my mother and this was the last day we saw each other. If you’re wondering who she is talking to on the phone, then let me inform you, it’s the police. Apparently being called to help her oldest daughter was a major inconvenience to her, all she had to do was put the dinner to one side and reheat it later.

When my mother finally got to the police station, I don’t know what took her so long we only lived around the corner, she pulled me away from my friends. Typical mother, she never did like my friends and left them …


I must admit I have been finding it really difficult to pick up where I left off on the Temple Legacy. As I was re-reading the story to familise myself with my character I remebered how much I loved Charice so I have decided to re-start the legacy under the new title 'Twisted Heroes'. So watch this space as I plan on posting the new story soon.

Temple Legacy, Generation 3: Eclipse – Chapter 3: The Dark-ness Rises


Temple Legacy, Generation 3: Eclipse – Chapter 2: Darkest Night

I know I said mid-week but I just couldn't help myself. 😄
WARNING: This chapter focus’ on suicide, and the self-hate that accompanies this.

“Eclipse! Help me! Why won’t you help?” Thomas stretched his hand out, “Eclipse!”
“Daddy? Daddy! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just … It’s too … I’m sorry”

I bolted upright in bed. Ever since Dad passed away in a fire at our old home my dreams have been plague with nightmares. In the dreams Dad would follow me wherever I went burst into flames, blaming me for not helping him.

He was right. I didn’t help him. Earlier that evening I had snuck out to go partying with my friends. While I was dancing the fire started. If I had stayed behind, not stuck out, I could have helped him, could have done something and maybe he’d still be alive, but I didn’t. Ever since than I have hated to dance, I’ve even forced myself to not have fun. It was my way of punishing myself for not helping.

I started to fail at school, I hardly went and was barely passing, but it…