Not Normal
I’ve never been what one would call a ‘normal child’. We (my parents and I) tried to make it seem like I was normal, but I wasn’t. It was plain as day, which is probably why no one believed us. I wasn’t even normal in my own family, which is odd considering how strange my family is. And no, I’m not talking about my interests, though they were a little strange. I’m a boy, and I like to read romance novels. Not something you see everyday is it? No, I wasn’t normal in any aspect, physical or otherwise.
While most humans had hair colors such as blonde or brown or black, mine was silver. Not white, not a pale blonde; the pure color of silver, with black bangs and streaks. All of which were natural. I am proud to say that not once have I ever dyed my hair. I wouldn’t let even a drop of that hair killing substance near me. My eyes weren’t normal either. They are green, a normal enough color I suppose, inherited from my mother, but there was no pupil. For whatever reason, I had no black in there. Just white and green. It freaked people out, that I didn’t have one. I’ve seen worse, so it isn’t that bad for me. I’m also shorter than most sixteen-year-old boys, standing at a tower five feet two inches. Gigantic, no? I wear dark colors and chains, and even eyeliner.
Yes, my appearance is strange. But I like it, and that’s all that matters. But the strangest thing about me, the main thing that makes me not normal, is my heritage. I wasn’t kidding when I said my family was strange, and my parents prove that. See, I’m not the son of ordinary humans.
I’m the youngest son of a necromancer and the Angel of Death. Don’t give me that look; I’m being one hundred percent serious. If you don’t believe, go get a priest. He’ll tell you it’s true. A real priest anyway, not those pretend ones. My father is the Angel of Death, and no he doesn’t actually kill people. He takes their souls where they’re supposed to go. Death, a demon, kills them with his dice. My mother is the necromancer, and….well, all I know about what is does is he purifies the bad ghosts so that when they cross-over they get a lighter sentence.
Having them as parents made my home-life different. For one thing, it gave me powers I wish I didn’t have. That’s the main reason I’m not normal. My powers. I can see ghosts, I can talk to them, and I can touch them. But unlike most humans, they cannot possess me. My body acts like a portal; if they enter it, they are immediately sent to Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory. Most learned pretty quickly to stay away. I can control this at will, forcing them to enter me and leave. But I don’t do that. Not after I saw what happens. I wish I could say I was immune to their powers, but I’m not. Because there is one thing every ghost can do me, one thing that makes sure someone understands and suffers for them.
The ghosts can make me dream their deaths. And I’m not talking about me standing on the side watching either. When they force their deaths on me in my sleep, I become them. I feel everything they felt up until their death, and the pain of their death. I think like them, eat like them, live like them. For however long it takes for them to ‘show’ me. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’ve tried, numerous times, to keep them out or to wake up. Nothing works. It’s because of them I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in ten years. They’re the reason I wear cover-up, to hide the dark circles that just get worse with every week.
I was six-years-old when these powers came to me. Six-years-old, and still ignorant of my parents’ lineages, and the fact that ghosts even exist. Screw the fact that my older brothers could see them. I chalked it up to their imaginary friends. Even at that young age, I was practical. I guess I never really acted like a child; a normal child anyway. I can still remember the night everything was revealed to me. The day my life went straight to Hell.
As I said, I was six and I had just started first grade. It had been my birthday, actually, and my family had thrown a party for my older twin and myself. Celeste, my twin, had worn me out with playing tag and hide-and-seek, and trying to stop him from annoying my cousin Sophie. Anyone who annoys him is an idiot. When it came time for bed, I was more than ready to sleep. Dad was off ‘working’, like he always was, and Mom was tucking in my brothers. I had been first.
I didn’t know there were ghosts in my room as I drifted off; how could I when I couldn’t sense them or see them? All I had felt was the peacefulness of sleep. At first anyway. I had slept soundly for a few hours, before the clock struck midnight. That’s when the horror began. When the ‘dream’ that would haunt me for years to come and would secure my fate happened.
The day was windy and cold, the perfect winter day. The clouds in the sky looked just right for snow, which the weatherman had said they might get. I could only hope so. Hastily brushing brown bangs out of my eyes, I ran down the sidewalk, hurrying towards my home.
My girlfriend was supposed to be there by now, and I didn't want to leave her waiting. I smiled, looking down at the tiny box in my hand. Not for this. It was because of my hurry that I never saw the car. And because I never saw the car, I wasn't able to jump, skip, stop, do something to avoid it.
Amazingly, the impact with the car didn't kill me. But the pain would have, if it could. One moment I only knew horror. The next, an excruciating pain that filled me to the very core of my being, but that permeated from somewhere around my middle. With what little strength I had I looked down, and found a large chunk of glass piercing me.
No wonder it hurt. No wonder I screamed. I heard people passed out from the pain. I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't. And I didn't pass out. I died. After slowly bleeding to deathbecause the ambulance was delayed.
My girlfriend was supposed to be there by now, and I didn't want to leave her waiting. I smiled, looking down at the tiny box in my hand. Not for this. It was because of my hurry that I never saw the car. And because I never saw the car, I wasn't able to jump, skip, stop, do something to avoid it.
Amazingly, the impact with the car didn't kill me. But the pain would have, if it could. One moment I only knew horror. The next, an excruciating pain that filled me to the very core of my being, but that permeated from somewhere around my middle. With what little strength I had I looked down, and found a large chunk of glass piercing me.
No wonder it hurt. No wonder I screamed. I heard people passed out from the pain. I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't. And I didn't pass out. I died. After slowly bleeding to deathbecause the ambulance was delayed.
That wasn’t the only dream I had had that night. I didn’t wake up until after the fifth and last ghost had made me live his death. The first thing I had done was yell for my brothers. The next had been to get to the bathroom as fast as I could before I vomited on the floor. My brothers had come and had comforted me as much as they could. But I was too traumatized to let it sink in. In the span of a few hours I had, in a sense, been shot, stabbed, raped, and hit. All things a child of six should never have to know about. But I did.
I think that was the day my innocence began to disappear. I never did tell my mother about my problem. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had to bully Celeste and Sulis to keep my secret, but they did. I think my dad knows, but I’m not sure. He’s almost never there, so how would I know for sure? All I know is that on that day, I ceased to be the child I should have been. I grew up, learned how to deal with it the best I could. And that day, one fact was ingrained into my mind.
I wasn’t normal. And I never would be.
