Alive

When I was 17, shortly before I ran away because I had accidentally killed my parents (may they rest in peace) I found out about the things I could do. It started with wounds healing in seconds, till nothing could even penetrate my skin. One time my parents and I got into an argument. Today I don’t remember what it was about.But I do know that I got angry and plates started flying out of the kitchen cabinets, shattering against the wall next to my mothers head. I didn’t touch them. I simply thought about it happening when I saw a cup standing on the counter. My parents weren’t happy about the things I could do, other than I. They didn’t like me using my gift. They were two of the people calling it a course. I remember the day they told me we were going into town. Their thoughts were raging in my head, shouting and warning me. They thought I was some kind of witch given to them as a punishment by the devil. I was horrified when I saw myself, bound to a mast on a burning pile of wood, in their heads. I couldn’t believe that they would actually do this to me. To their own daughter.

They were dead minutes after. Look, I didn’t directly murder my parents. Only told my mother to murder my father, who then had to kill her, so she wouldn’t kill him first. He cried as he held her dead body in his arms- I knew that he had truly loved her – it was a real waste of true love. If only they’d loved their child like that to. He yelled at me, coursing me, telling whoever was ruling over hell to take me back. I made a step forward, ready to let my father join my mother when he pointed a knife at me, tears streaming down his face, pain and fear in his glossy eyes. His pupils dilated and instead of throwing the blade at me, he plunged it into his chest, a gasp leaving his lips as blood started to run over his fingers. Then he fell to the ground with a loud thud. I stared at them for a moment, then turned and walked out the door. We had never been close. Like I said, people had always known there was something wrong with me. A smirk played at my lips as I walked away from my life, now standing in flames. Another one of my gifts.

I felt powerful. I could do anything and more. I was the most powerful creature on this planet.

But I never tried to rule the world like so many others with my power would have tried to, no. This story isn’t about me being a villain, because I had never been one. (Not on purpose at least.) This story is about Aaron. Or Harvey.

Mostly me, but Harvey has a lot to do with me.

My whole life I went from fight to fight,
from war to war, from battle to battle.

All the same.

I don’t know in how many battles I’ve fought, or how many were won just because of me.

God, the devil, whoever…gave me this gift for a reason.

This was my purpose.

Fighting for the good.

(God, why had I to be such a nice person?)