Don't cry, the world will never understand.
So today started off like any other. I struggled to find the strength, let alone a reason to get out of bed. Life didn't have a purpose to me anymore, after all, what am I? Hayden Applegate. The most diminutive minority in the world, who wouldn't be missed by anyone if she was gone.
I looked deep into the mirror sitting before me, studying the face that I knew all too well but seemed to foreign to me. I watched as her hand – tainted by the strange mark, reached to her face and brushed the long, dark hair from her lifeless eyes; the deep brown orbs holding such a past that I knew no one could ever understand. I held my hand against the mirror, meeting that of my reflections, and tried to imagine that the girl staring back at me was a person trapped behind an invisible wall of all the hate, pity and guilt that I never wanted, but got anyway. The same wall that held me in my own personal hell.
I raised my right hand to my face and examined the unique birthmark I possessed. It was all that covered the repugnant self- inflicted scars that were an everyday reminder that no matter what I did, I would never part from this mark. As I ran my fingers across it I closed my eyes and listened.
'I'm never going to be able to pay these bills-'
'Who's going to pick the kids up from school? Judy? No she's working late too-'
'She's on to me I know it. Act normal John, act normal. I'll break up with her when the times right-'
'Shit, I killed him! He's dead! I can't go back to jail. I'll have to stash the body-'
I snapped my eyes open, but didn't gasp or flinch; I have heard plenty of thoughts like this. Seems these days I can see when other people's lives are too short, but not my own. All my life I've been outcast and alienated, condemned to live a life where I have nothing and no one. I can't even close my eyes anymore in fear of reliving that hellish night in vivid memory; watching it like a horrifying movie playing infinitely behind my eyelids, that I can never escape, slowly inching me towards the abyss of insanity.
I looked warily at my alarm clock, 12:09 flash brightly in red neon numbers. Another day had started. Another day to put on a mask of feigned happiness and front people like nothing is wrong, that I'm fine and everything is fine and dandy, when it's not. But there are some things you can't hide from people no matter how hard you try; looking at me now, compared to three months ago, I had changed dramatically. I'd grown scarcely thin; my skin had paled into a lucid, translucent colour, my eyes had dropped from the weight of the black bags under them and Trichotillomania had me obsessively pulling my hair out. Insomnia had robbed me of my sleep and the couple of precious minutes of sleep I got were ridden with nightmares of the worst kind...memories. It doesn't help that I'm never in complete peace and quiet – my mind is always muddled with the minds of others. Sometimes just simple things like thoughts other times riddled with stray images or dreams which caused me to appear detached as I watched.
I stood up. As I walked towards the bedroom door I thought about how this had become such a drawling, time consuming, obsessive ritual. Since the that night, I've gone to bed at ten-thirty, fallen asleep at ten-thirty-five, then woken up at eleven-fifty-nine, sharp... the exact time that it happened. I waited for the door to be fully open before I flicked off my light; I always leave the lights on now because believe me, you never know who's creeping around in the dark. The only light that could be seen in the house what that of the flickering television; I walked down the stairs on my toes, carful to miss the squeaky floorboards. Sure enough Helen – my foster Mother – had fallen into a deep sleep; her hushed snores made me shiver. I don't like her. I don't like the way her short, solid body seemed so intimidating against my tall, slender physique. I don't like the way her voice was loud and commanding, the result of years in the police force. But most of all I hated the way she always makes me feel so guilty for what happened. She suddenly jerked forward, her eyes staying shut; a smile played across my mouth as I laid my hand on her arm.
'"Put the gun down!" Helen screamed, the masculinity in her voice shining through. The tall man stood his ground, gun pointed towards Helen, angry brown eyes glaring at her from the holes of the balaclava masking his identity. Suddenly, Helen's backup officers disappeared, leaving Helen alone to face death.
"Please. Please. Please." It was unclear whether she was begging for mercy or praying to God but her voice was instantly soft, youthful in the face of fear. The man shook his head and raised the gun higher, tightening his aim. His gloved finger pulled the trigger.'
As I pulled my hand away from Helen's arm, the scene before me dissipated and I was once again in the living room with the television flickering away, the light dancing in contrast with the shadows. I smiled evilly; some people call me a sadist because I get joy off other people's pain, nobody sees it as a form of grieving. I crept ninja-like into the kitchen and turned on the lights, shuddering as I realised that I had left my drawings and pencils strewn across the table; I hurried over to them. The thing about my drawings was that they are also one of my gifts. I can draw anything perfectly, copied or free hand, eyes open or closed. I can see something for one second and then draw it perfectly a week later. Sometimes I draw things I see in pictures that I receive from other people's minds. I frantically tried to pull everything into a single pile, praying that no one had looked through it; I try to keep my personal life as far away from Helen as possible, so of course she doesn't know about my...abilities.
My body covered itself in Goosebumps from the freezing temperature, not surprisingly though, since I was only wearing a wife-beater and a pair of denim shorts, my typical pyjamas, yet the pockets were stuffed with my mobile phone and my Ipod. I shuddered, hugging my arms close to my body, I knew that I had thrown a hoodie somewhere in a fit of frustration last night, but where? After a long, boring search for the hoodie, I found it crumpled under the chair of the table; rolling my eyes I bent down, scowling at myself for not noticing it in such an obvious hiding spot. Slipping it over my torso I sighed with pleasure at the abrupt amount of heat that began to course through my body from the simple jacket. Helen's snuffed snoring suddenly elevated, sounding as one loud snort, causing me to jump.
I snuck across the linoleum floor; the buzzing fluorescent lights irritated my eyes, making me rub them profusely. A deep yawn managed to claw through my locked jaw, wrenching my mouth open in a silent sign of my insomnia. My hand reached over slowly, clicking the power button on the kettle, it instantly whirred to life. My hand then lingered, hovering a few inches off the bench top, searching. Sugar. Milo. Tea. Crap, no coffee. I shifted my gaze anxiously to the clock. 1:02 it read in fancy cursive numerals. My eyes flicked to the window, the menacing darkness was somehow softened by the full moon splaying glittering rays of silvery light onto the Earth, silhouetting the suspicious shapes that I knew posed no threat.
'The BP station is only a two minute walk from here, nothing will happen, I'll just duck down there, get some coffee and come back'
I dug my hand into my pocket searching for loose change. Balling my hand into a fist, I pulled it out, studying the contents inside: two-dollars-fifty in change, a five dollar note and a button. I rolled my eyes and dropped the button on the floor whilst turning on my heels.
I pulled on my brown ankle-high converse, wincing as my thumb got caught between my heel and the back of the shoe. I opened the door, thinking for sure that the creaking that the old oak made would have woken Helen, but surprisingly, her snoring echoed through the rooms as loud as before. I recoiled slightly as the chilling night air nipped at my skin, sending Goosebumps frenzying all over my uncovered legs. After a while I stepped onto the porch, welcoming the autumn night air; shutting the door quietly so as to not wake up Helen I glanced around, maybe this wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had. I quickly shook the feeling off and took off, walking quickly through the driveway-gates. I pulled my black hood up and reached into my pocket and pulled out my Ipod, plugging it into my ears; I turned it on shuffle and turned the music up full bore. Generally that wouldn't be a smart move but in my case, I would hear them coming long before they reached me, one of the perks of telepathy. The green luminescent lights of the BP station glared from a very short distance.
"Ah, here we are. NesCafe," I muttered picking up the jar, my voice rasping slightly from lack of use. The automatic sliding doors opened, just in time for a tingling sensation to run down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My eyes picked up on the TV screen security camera through my peripherals and I watched as a man wearing a balaclava walked calmly towards the counter, but his mind told otherwise.
'Man, what am I doing? I need this money. I need this money. I have to pay him back or he's going to kill her. I can't let that happen. God, Sophie don't worry, Daddy will be back soon'
I looked down at the floor sadly. Another drug deal gone wrong, another innocent life that would be taken, another family that would be left broken.
"Put the money in the bag," he paused, pulling a gun from inside his thick black jacket, "and don't even think about calling the cops." He turned, swinging the gun in front of him. "All right, everybody on the floor!" He screamed. I heard a chorus of screams as the few people in the small shop, including a young girl, pressed themselves to the floor. I stood my ground, despite my heart pounding loud and fast in my ears. His dark eyes bored into mine. "I said get on the floor, now girl!" He shook his gun threateningly towards me, I looked at him. I could feel the tendrils of power worming their way from my mind to his, latching on like hands.
"No," I growled. His eyes narrowed into slits as he aimed the gun for my head. "Stop," I commanded. His eyes widened and the tendons pulsed from his arm as he tried to move it.
"You don't want to do this," I whispered, "think of Sophie, what would she think of you if she knew you were doing this? There's already too many scary things in the world these days, don't make yourself one of them." A sudden smash sounded from beside me and a flick of my eyes was all it took.
People say that when you're going to die your whole life flashes before your eyes. Not true. If I had that split second I wouldn't have heard that bang, felt the cold metal bullet pierce my forehead, or seen the darkness swallow me whole. No; none of those things would have happened, but I also would have never been standing in front of that gate.
I stood dead still; my ragged breathing was all that could be heard as I stared up at the beautiful detail on the gate. An eerie creek echoed as the gate door began to open. I took a cautious step closer, trying to look into the pitch-black belly of the gate. Whispered voices carried like wind around me, calling me to enter; cooing me with gentle harmonic tones, inviting me in.
"Come child," one whispered.
My gut was roaring for me not to go, to stay put and close my eyes. But something about the voices was so alluring, I just couldn't help myself. I walked closer to the darkness and reached out as far as I could, the whispering voices encouraging me. Suddenly small, thin arms shot from the shadows and wrapped around my body, pulling me inside. I thrashed about, trying to wriggle from their grip but failing miserably. Eyes stared at me from all directions, the bright lights emitting from them gave me strange comfort knowing that the abyss I was being dragged deeper and deeper into had at least some form of light. I looked across my pale arm, my reaction from feeling tugging on it; my eyes widened at what I saw. At first I didn't know what they were but at second glance, I saw that they were babies; skinny, deformed and disturbing but babies nonetheless. A group of them had latched themselves across my left arm, pulling with all their strength. The silence of the gate was enveloped by my ever growing screams of pain, as my arm began to glow and before I knew it, disappeared. My screams became several octaves louder as something I knew I would never be able to describe ran through my head: pictures, memories, tragedies, dreams... truth. I couldn't handle it, things like this should never be known, it was enough to break... no shatter my insides as I was engulfed in what I feared the most, darkness.