They shun me.
Every day, they shun me.
It's been seven years now since my birth, and still they shun me.
If I walk into the street, into the light, I'll see a mother turning her child away, a field of glares sent in my direction, a wave of hate. I can feel every stare keenly; I've long since grown used to it. Even animals seem to sense my abnormality, my handicap, my demonic power. Plants have no love for me; this desert makes it nearly impossible, and my care for them is far from adequate. And the sand that is my weapon, my only friend-- it is a dead thing. The world shuns me, one of its most twisted children.
There are things I shouldn't know that I know; there are things I must do that I must not. No one can call me an ordinary child, can they? Never allowed to sleep, never allowed to play. Sometimes I will love, but it is a one-sided love, full of hatred and regret and, above all, pain. No one and no thing ever loves me back. I've never felt physical pain; the experience is alien to me, but somehow I know that this emptiness inside myself, this dark hole in my existence, is pain. To think that a man would do this to his own flesh-and-blood child is repulsive... no, no words can describe the horror of it. But then, how would I know? I don't feel anything but pain - pain and anger - inside this void of myself. I don't even know if I feel hate for the one who did this to me.
Father, do you hate me?
