Untouchable
The air is rank and smells of death. Filth slowly drips down the walls of my cell as I wait for my captors to return. What did I do to deserve this?

"How are we to know that you do not deserve this?" you are probably wondering. My only crime was to be born the way I am. Some say it is a blessing, but they are few and far in between. The rest just stare at me with horrified eyes, afraid that if they speak I will leap and rend them apart like some sort of monster. The boldest of them torment me in all ways imaginable. They don't even understand what I really am. This is why have no hope left for the human race. Normal human beings are such petty, hateful creatures.

No one fears me for what I look like; I look like any normal person you know. I have seen the poor souls that have been cursed by irregular bodies or hideous mutations. I see how they are abused and scorned but still I wish I could be them. The weight they bear is nothing compared to mine. People are not repulsed by my appearance, but by my very essence, or should I say lack of one.

Who am I and how is it I am such a pitiful wretch that I envy the lives of mutants? I shall tell you what they call me.
Blank.
Untouchable.
Mutant.
Abomination.
No one calls me by my true name and I have given up on telling people what it is. What use is a name when no one will call me by it?

Today had been such a good day compared to the rest of my life. These people, they had shown kindness to me. I had almost forgotten what kindness felt like. But it had just been a facade, a way to make me feel at ease and comfortable while the steel jaws of the trap closed.

Now I am contained in this wet, horrible place, surrounded by the worst scum that I have ever seen. Even these people, people who have murdered and plundered and dabbled in the dark arts won't talk to me.

A sudden beam of bright light spears into the darkness of the prison from the now open door, and for the first time I clearly see my last words to the world.

"No one will be able to read this," I think to myself while looking down at the grubby piece of paper in my hand. The paper is filthy and ragged, making the words hard to read.

"Not that that is going to make any difference," I think morbidly to myself, "Noone is going to bother reading this anyway."

I crumple up the last evidence that existed on this planet and throw it into a corner along with my ink wand as heavy boot steps echo through the chamber. A tall, authoritative figure strides forward, flanked by two imposing men in full body armor carrying bulky versions of what I think are lasguns. To my surprise they stop at my cell. What could such men want with me. I notice a small gold necklace with the stylized "I" of the Inquisition around the center man's neck and my heart stops. I am about to die.

But none of the men raise a gun to kill me. Instead the center man does the unthinkable and opens his mouth to speak.

"What if I were to tell you that I could free you from all of this?" he says in a deep gravely voice, "Not just from this cell, but from your horrid life."

"I would say that I would do absolutely anything that you would ask of me." I reply.

The man takes a small key from his front pocket and unlocks the door to my cell.

"Than follow me and leave this place, and you shall leave your old life behind."

The man and his guards turn to leave through the door and I follow them into the light. Finally, I am in the light.