There's a time in everyone's life where they question why they were born. For some of my friends-who had been victims of domestic violence-they had begun to question the reason for their birth the more they were hurt, but for me, well I was a special case. I wasn't ever victimized nor was I ever told that I would change the world.
It all started with the bones.
I was 6 years old and I didn't know what the bones meant, but none of my other friends had this power and when I told them about my power they assumed I wanted to play pretend. I cried that day. I was 6 years old and I didn't understand what I was or why it was here.
Hours later I had forgotten about my friends "betrayal".
I thought about ways I could use the bones to help me in my childish endeavors, but the bones were like wild horses: unable to be tamed except by a person truly skilled enough to wield them.
The next day my friend invited me to the park and asked me if I wanted to play superheroes, to which I obviously said yes. Everyone received their roles and I was chosen as the hero(Ironic, right?). I was Majestia, the super-girl with the power to fly, and I was ready to kick bad guy butt.
We began the game with a pretty cliché scenario: save the people strapped to the train track. I concentrated hard on the bones, commanding them to lift me into the air so I could fly and swoop down to save my friends.
Instead, the bones nearly impaled my friend Daniel and unfortunately his look of indignation was not enough to send me home. "Hey! You're supposed to put me in jail not hurt me!"
I shrugged, indifferent about his views on how to play the game. I tried again. I sent Julia flying into a sand pit. I tried one more time and I managed to summon a small foot of bone beneath me.
As an adult I would have gone to a bar and taken the night off of whatever I was doing, but as a kid I only had one thing to turn to and they were never pretty.
I screamed, tears welling up in my eyes and wetting my mask. I dropped to the ground and pounded the floor with my fists, oblivious to the bones that popped out of the ground like Whack-o'-moles. My friends were crying too, unable to understand why just that I was crying and they felt the need to cry with me.
An hour later and the park was quiet. No tantrums, no kids. Just some yellow tape and little white outlines.
I went home that night, my face a ripe tomato red and my eyes swollen from crying. A My Little Pony backpack hung loosely on my shoulders, blankets and stuffed animals crammed tight inside the small bag.
The doorbell rang and my parents, two brunette who lived a apple pie-white picket fence lifestyle, shuffled over to answer the door; tension rose inside the small entrance to my home.
Three well-built men in black suits stood in a pyramid fashion in front of my door. What appeared to be the leader stepped forward, his scarred eye looking down at me. My parents stood rigid in front of the man, looking at each other once and nodding. I looked between the man and my parents, trying to deduce why he was here and why my parents weren't asking questions or saying their signature "Hi, are you new to the neighborhood?".
As if on my cue, my mother extended her hand to the man and said her signature greeting.
However, there was something different about this meeting.
"Miss Smith, I have a package for you and there's something I need to borrow."
The way he said package and borrow sent shivers down my spine and I immediately retreated behind my fathers legs, gripping them tightly just in case.
The man crouched down in front of me and clicked his tongue, beckoning me forward. I only retreated further into my fathers legs. The man sighed and stood up, looking my father dead in the eye. "Johnathan," he warned, "I thought you said she would be ready by now."
My father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know sir, but we have seen a vast improvement since you're last visit. She's offed every single one of her friends with the bones."
"That's exactly why I'm here Johnathan!" The man shouted and I squeaked, running upstairs into my room.