My fourteenth birthday was spent in tears. I'd resigned from karate. It seems insignificant now, though it felt important at the time. From where I am now, crying over things like that is just babyish. I did know it was much too dangerous for me to stay, that's why I left. I acted tough, but it still hurt. I said goodbye to my friends, crossed my name off the register, and left. They were my only friends. And I mean only.

I've not seen them since. It's such a tight knit group that I'd never fit in now I've left. That was my first choice as a slayer.

I wanted to tell my parents what had happened, but the right moment never appeared. I kept putting it off, and with every passing day it got harder. Harder to keep silent, but also harder to tell. Secrecy became a habit.

I'm surprised I never injured anyone in a fit of rage. I wanted to use my strength all the time; I could've done so much good. I could've done anything I wanted, but good intentions wouldn't make it right. Might does not make right.

Or does it? Surely the ability to act confers the responsibility to do so. Maybe I should've stepped forward, all those times I let things slide.

That's just getting too complex for me. I'll leave it at- I did nothing 'cause it seemed like a good idea at the time. OK?

Of course, I wasn't just logically thinking the situation through; I'm not a machine. All of this was mixed up with sheer disbelief. An unspoken hope that if I just ignored it all long enough it'd go away.

I never believed in the super-natural, but in the end I found myself trawling internet sites for information; searching frantically for the vaguest of hints. For any single clue as to what I was. What I'd become.

I found absolutely nothing about slayers. Not a single word. There was some other stuff, but not much I could actually trust. Vampires seemed to crop up everywhere, and the methods for killing them remained similar. I read for hours every day, researching countless demons, and getting more paranoid by the minute.

For a while I thought I was turning into a demon myself. I thought I might hurt my family, kill them, even. My parents, my baby sister… I couldn't let it happen. That's when I left home. You could say I ran away from my problems, and I wouldn't argue. I did leave a note; told them not to worry. Said I had some things to sort out and I'd be back when I could. Not that they listened- there was a full scale search- but I couldn't disappear without giving them some sort of explanation. It wouldn't be fair.

I'm must have driven my parents mad with grieve. I wonder, now, what they thought had happened, but I doubt I'll ever know. I'm never going back, not now. My family's in the past; water under the bridge. A weakness. Something that can be used to hurt me.

And then I really was alone in the world. Being a slayer meant sacrifice. Having to give up the things that were most important.