Little chapter about what Nathan thinks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 11:
It was already six o'clock when Nathan finished visiting the school. To his little delight, he didn't cross too many students. Somehow, he felt uncomfortable around people when he knew they were mutants. For him, being a mutant was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders. It was a curse. It would have been fine if his mutation didn't give him any trouble, like controlling fire like a boy he had seen, or the ability to fly, like Max. He disliked his mutations because he couldn't explain clearly to himself what he could do. He, who had always found a reason, an explanation to anything he found bizarre. It had always been like that with him. If you can't explain it, it doesn't work, it's not real. Like aliens, he thought. There isn't enough proof to really show that they exist, so Nathan didn't believe in them. He didn't like complications.
When his mutation had appeared, all of that changed. He who was always been so secure felt so vulnerable. When he had talked to the professor, all of that had disappeared; what that old man had done to try and protect mutants simply astonished him. but still, a little voice of his mind made him feel in danger, telling him to run, run away from all civilization and stay hidden. That same voice mixed him up, telling him also the right contrary. It told him to go to the humans. To fight and to kill. That voice always made him doubt, made him fear and hate normal humans because they weren't affected, weren't cursed for the rest of their lives, weren't obliged to run from their homes searching for a safe place, a place where no one cared if he was a mutant or not. He felt so defenseless and weak, but at the same time a part of him felt strong, unshakable and wild. That part scared him so he locked it away in his mind. but it was a wrong thing to do because as a wise once said, 'keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer'. That part of him was getting stronger everyday, without Nathan noticing. It was digging through the wall in Nathan's mind, the one through which his sanity was staying.
Days passed and he stayed at the school, wandering in the halls, mostly thinking about what to do next. He died to go into the classrooms with the other students, but then, he remembered that they were all mutants, and so was he. The difference between them was that they accepted it, and that he didn't.
Since his little talk with the professor, when he saw his reflection, a very strange feeling came over him. A werewolf was what he felt like. Two personalities: himself, and that little voice that he hadn't heard since he had woken in the back street, surrounded by dead bodies. The worst was that he knew he was the one that had slaughtered them. Took their life away in an instant of uncontrollability.
When all other mutants considered themselves as unlucky or simply as gifted people, but Nathan, Nathan felt like a monster, being restrained into the cage of his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And in the next chapter, Nathan goes to a psychiatrist.
. . .
(Hello, it's a joke)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 11:
It was already six o'clock when Nathan finished visiting the school. To his little delight, he didn't cross too many students. Somehow, he felt uncomfortable around people when he knew they were mutants. For him, being a mutant was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders. It was a curse. It would have been fine if his mutation didn't give him any trouble, like controlling fire like a boy he had seen, or the ability to fly, like Max. He disliked his mutations because he couldn't explain clearly to himself what he could do. He, who had always found a reason, an explanation to anything he found bizarre. It had always been like that with him. If you can't explain it, it doesn't work, it's not real. Like aliens, he thought. There isn't enough proof to really show that they exist, so Nathan didn't believe in them. He didn't like complications.
When his mutation had appeared, all of that changed. He who was always been so secure felt so vulnerable. When he had talked to the professor, all of that had disappeared; what that old man had done to try and protect mutants simply astonished him. but still, a little voice of his mind made him feel in danger, telling him to run, run away from all civilization and stay hidden. That same voice mixed him up, telling him also the right contrary. It told him to go to the humans. To fight and to kill. That voice always made him doubt, made him fear and hate normal humans because they weren't affected, weren't cursed for the rest of their lives, weren't obliged to run from their homes searching for a safe place, a place where no one cared if he was a mutant or not. He felt so defenseless and weak, but at the same time a part of him felt strong, unshakable and wild. That part scared him so he locked it away in his mind. but it was a wrong thing to do because as a wise once said, 'keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer'. That part of him was getting stronger everyday, without Nathan noticing. It was digging through the wall in Nathan's mind, the one through which his sanity was staying.
Days passed and he stayed at the school, wandering in the halls, mostly thinking about what to do next. He died to go into the classrooms with the other students, but then, he remembered that they were all mutants, and so was he. The difference between them was that they accepted it, and that he didn't.
Since his little talk with the professor, when he saw his reflection, a very strange feeling came over him. A werewolf was what he felt like. Two personalities: himself, and that little voice that he hadn't heard since he had woken in the back street, surrounded by dead bodies. The worst was that he knew he was the one that had slaughtered them. Took their life away in an instant of uncontrollability.
When all other mutants considered themselves as unlucky or simply as gifted people, but Nathan, Nathan felt like a monster, being restrained into the cage of his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And in the next chapter, Nathan goes to a psychiatrist.
. . .
(Hello, it's a joke)