Hello :) For as long as I could remember, I have enjoyed writing. Ever since I could write, I have been determined to become an author. I am currently writing a novel (which can be found on Wattpad) and thought "Why not share some of the novel on We Heart It?" Below is the prologue. I hope it is as good as I think it might be. Without further ado, here is the prologue of "The Girl Who Can't Be Moved."

She never imagined to see herself lying there helpless, hopeless. She never thought it would be at the hands of her best friend, either. She never believed it was possible for someone to do such a cruel thing, yet it happened. She never knew, and it cost Emma Smith her life.

She heard the wails of the sirens as they came closer and closer. Her mind was wandering to the deepest depths of her thoughts: why? Of all the people, why her? Of all the moments, why then? Of all the places, why there? Why?

She turned around to look at the one who had found her. He was the light of her life, and he had just found her dead. Her heart hurt as she watched him struggle with this reality. Maybe it was all some awful dream. Maybe it was a thought that had prevailed into something horrific. Maybe it was real life. The boy’s cell phone rang. He was hesitant to answer it, but he got up and answered it anyway. Emma followed him to the bushes to hear the conversation.

“Zack, Emma’s dead.”

Silence.

“I was the one who —” his voice broke off. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I was the one who found her.”

More silence. She couldn’t hear what her brother was saying. Was he a mess? Was he upset? Was he emotionless?

“It looks like she was stabbed.”

Stabbed. She was stabbed. Her stomach churned and she could hear her screams. She could feel the knife sink into her. She could feel the warm blood on her hands. She could feel everything. She could hear everything.

“I trusted you! You were my best friend and you left me. I loved you, Emma and you tossed me, you tossed us. I hated you for that!”

The words rang in her mind. They bounced off the walls of her head. Every thought, every word, hurt her. But they would not go away.

The ambulance and police had finally arrived. Nathan hung up the phone and walked over to the policemen. Emma followed close behind him.

“Nathan Michaelson?” a policeman asked. He had gray hair, blue eyes, and was rather tall. His circular glasses only added to the intensity of the man standing before Nathan.

“Yes,” Nathan says.

“You said you were here to meet your girlfriend, Emma Smith and found her like this?”

Nathan stared at the ocean. This was Emma’s favorite spot to go. If she ever needed to think or relax or spend time alone, this was the place where she would go. This is the place where she lived half her life. And this is the place where she took her final breath.