Disclaimer: See Part I.
*
Part III: Emma.
Our special little girl.
A miracle baby.
A gift from above.
A sign.
People have spoken like that about her for as long as she can remember, first her parents, later their friends, the members of her circle.
Small for her age, yet glowing with health and infant beauty, her smiling face, framed by her short, reddish-brown curls, has often appeared on the front page of the group's newsletter, a symbol both of childish innocence and of hope for the future.
She follows her parents around the country, marching in parades in support of whatever their latest cause is.
Save the Rainforests.
Protect the Animals.
March for Peace.
End Nuclear Warfare.
She has lent her support to all of them, without ever fully understanding what the slogan she chants mean.
Most of the time, it's a lot of fun and she quite enjoys the attention she receives as the group's unofficial mascot.
The attention she gets for her abilities - her special gifts, her mother calls them - is less welcome.
Most of the members of the group speak of times when, in her presence, they have felt a surge of great joy, of hope, of love, emanating from her.
They consider her to be almost semi-divine, a tiny angel sent to guide them, to keep their spirits high and their cause strong.
They expect her to be an infant Messiah, to heal the world.
It is too great a burden for any child to bear.
She hates them for laying it upon her and feels guilty for being unable to meet their expectations, for letting them down.
Not even her parents can understand how their usually sunny little girl can suddenly break down into uncontrollable sobs, shout in rage or scream in fear, without any visible provocation.
They do not understand that she feels the emotions of those around her as deeply - perhaps even more so - as they do.
The onslaught of feelings overwhelms her. This aspect of her abilities frightens her. It is the aspect over which she exercises the least control.
It is worse when she is in a large crowd, when she attends their rallies, for example. The surge of emotions; love and hate, anger and excitement, joy and sorrow, even some emotions that she cannot put a name to, assault her like a physical force, attacking her mind over and over again.
She is unable to shut them out.
At times it feels as if her mind is not her own.
She dreams of escape sometimes, of finding a remote spot, perhaps in the forests she campaigns to protect, and living alone, away from other people and their turbulent emotions.
She is never alone.
Around her, people are shouting out words she doesn't understand.
They are angry about something.
They make her experience their anger as well.
She turns around to reach for her mother's hand, to plead with her to leave. All these people are giving her a headache.
Her mother is not there.
She cannot see her father either, or any familiar face. They must have moved away, not noticing that she did not follow them.
This is her chance. She can slip away. Nobody will notice her. She can be gone before her parents know it.
Her parents.
She hesitates. She knows how deeply her parents love her. She does not need her abilities to feel it. If she leaves, she knows that they will be devastated.
She feels her last chance of escape slipping away as she reaches out with her mind, searching for her parents.
'I'm here.' Her mind cries out to theirs. 'Come and find me.'
She hates herself for not having the courage to leave when she had the opportunity.
Before she has a chance to change her mind, the sound of footsteps heralds their arrival.
"Emma!" She is caught into her mother's arms. "Thank God we found you!"
Her chance is gone.
She will never be able to escape now.
*
Part III: Emma.
Our special little girl.
A miracle baby.
A gift from above.
A sign.
People have spoken like that about her for as long as she can remember, first her parents, later their friends, the members of her circle.
Small for her age, yet glowing with health and infant beauty, her smiling face, framed by her short, reddish-brown curls, has often appeared on the front page of the group's newsletter, a symbol both of childish innocence and of hope for the future.
She follows her parents around the country, marching in parades in support of whatever their latest cause is.
Save the Rainforests.
Protect the Animals.
March for Peace.
End Nuclear Warfare.
She has lent her support to all of them, without ever fully understanding what the slogan she chants mean.
Most of the time, it's a lot of fun and she quite enjoys the attention she receives as the group's unofficial mascot.
The attention she gets for her abilities - her special gifts, her mother calls them - is less welcome.
Most of the members of the group speak of times when, in her presence, they have felt a surge of great joy, of hope, of love, emanating from her.
They consider her to be almost semi-divine, a tiny angel sent to guide them, to keep their spirits high and their cause strong.
They expect her to be an infant Messiah, to heal the world.
It is too great a burden for any child to bear.
She hates them for laying it upon her and feels guilty for being unable to meet their expectations, for letting them down.
Not even her parents can understand how their usually sunny little girl can suddenly break down into uncontrollable sobs, shout in rage or scream in fear, without any visible provocation.
They do not understand that she feels the emotions of those around her as deeply - perhaps even more so - as they do.
The onslaught of feelings overwhelms her. This aspect of her abilities frightens her. It is the aspect over which she exercises the least control.
It is worse when she is in a large crowd, when she attends their rallies, for example. The surge of emotions; love and hate, anger and excitement, joy and sorrow, even some emotions that she cannot put a name to, assault her like a physical force, attacking her mind over and over again.
She is unable to shut them out.
At times it feels as if her mind is not her own.
She dreams of escape sometimes, of finding a remote spot, perhaps in the forests she campaigns to protect, and living alone, away from other people and their turbulent emotions.
She is never alone.
Around her, people are shouting out words she doesn't understand.
They are angry about something.
They make her experience their anger as well.
She turns around to reach for her mother's hand, to plead with her to leave. All these people are giving her a headache.
Her mother is not there.
She cannot see her father either, or any familiar face. They must have moved away, not noticing that she did not follow them.
This is her chance. She can slip away. Nobody will notice her. She can be gone before her parents know it.
Her parents.
She hesitates. She knows how deeply her parents love her. She does not need her abilities to feel it. If she leaves, she knows that they will be devastated.
She feels her last chance of escape slipping away as she reaches out with her mind, searching for her parents.
'I'm here.' Her mind cries out to theirs. 'Come and find me.'
She hates herself for not having the courage to leave when she had the opportunity.
Before she has a chance to change her mind, the sound of footsteps heralds their arrival.
"Emma!" She is caught into her mother's arms. "Thank God we found you!"
Her chance is gone.
She will never be able to escape now.