Cursed with Power

Chapter 5

I never knew how long I lay there, my body writhing with endless, all-consuming pain. It must've been a few hours, however, judging by the fact that the moon now shone so much brighter than before. The darkness of the night had set in.

I padded across the floor, too tired to tiptoe anymore. I just wanted to sleep, but I knew I had to return that phone, else I might never wake up again.

The dark humor of the thought made me chuckle as I cautiously turned the handle to open the door. All was silent inside; my parents were both obsessed with being healthy, so snoring was an absolute no-no.

"It's one of the first signs of developing a heart disease." my mother would say. "It's quite alarming how normalized it is."

The memory was one of many imprinted on the inside of my brain, all of which brought me as much pain as I had experienced barely a few moments ago. My head still throbbed, and while it was much worse than anything else I had experienced in my life, it was a million times better than the sheer agony I had experienced on the bathroom floor.

After safely returning the phone, I made my way back to my room. The short walk had caused the slightly muted ache to flare back up into the excruciating feeling of having one's very blood being boiled under their skin while thousands of white-hot needles slowly, agonizingly pierced their body. 

I stumbled onto the bed and fell into a dead faint, from which I didn't rise until the next night. It had done nothing to improve my condition; somehow, I had still been in misery, as if I couldn't escape the torture even while I was unconscious.

Sitting up, I rubbed at my eyes and noticed that I had fallen asleep while still on the floor with my head on the mattress. No wonder my neck felt so cramped. But that wasn't all. Something strange was happening to me. It seemed... as if the world was split into two parts. One of them was the world in front of my eyes. The other was the world behind them. 

The world in front of my eyes looked almost normal, except for the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to focus on it. The other part of my consciousness seemed to demand my attention at the same time. This one was dark, scary, loathsome and repulsive, but I just couldn't ignore it, as if something was forcing me to remain that way.

What the heck is happening?

I felt strange, almost surreal. it was as if simply just existing was something foreign, an out of the world experience that bordered between what existed and the world beyond it. Somehow, I just knew it. I knew what was happening and what had happened and yet, at the same time, I did not truly know.

It was the disease. My first encounter with it. It was the very first stage. It was... the Beginning.

The thoughts seemed to have been put there, in my head, as if deliberately. I had no idea what this 'beginning' was or what it signified. The disease was obviously the NHD. But that was all I knew. And knowing it didn't help either. All it did was give rise to a number of questions that bounced around in my skull, giving me a monster-sized headache.

What was the torture about? I thought it was supposed to target emotions! Is it going to happen again? Will it be worse? What is with the 'first stage' thing? What's going to happen next? Why did it make my consciousness split into two?

And then, there was the most dreaded question of all.

How much time do I have left?

I did not wonder if I was going to die; I had known that for quite some time. If the disease did not finish me off, the government certainly would.

My depressing musings were rudely interrupted by a voice. "Ellys Davidson! Get down here, this very minute!" Mother yelled for God-Knows-What-Reason.

I winced. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get used to the harsh, grating tones the faux-parents or, as I had grown used to calling them, the FPs used. But I made my way downstairs anyway, fearing, quite literally, for my life. 

Mother stood at the bottom of the staircase; her eyes stormy as her eyes raked over me from head to toe. I self-consciously shifted from side to side before clasping my hands behind my back and standing up straight. I probably looked like a cheap imitation of Adolf Hitler or something. I had never really paid a lot of attention to history, being more focused on not drowsing off in the middle of class.

My mother muttered something which sounded rather ominous, although that might've just been my own paranoia speaking. She went on to criticize my behaviors, manners, appearance... whatever could possibly be found lacking, she pointed out.

How much longer is she going to go on?

My feet were starting to ache and I wanted to get back to my room and try to think in peace, rather than listen to the lady's mindless drivel. Her words as well as Father's were something I had grown used to and no longer cared about. 

***

A gruelling two hours later, I flopped back onto my bed, sick and tired of my life.

What a strange thing for an eleven-year-old to say.

I rolled over and stared at a painting on the wall. It was beautiful. My mom and dad had painted it together, with me occasionally adding a few shaky strokes here and there, with my mother guiding my hand and father maneuvering the canvas.

But then, I'm not really an eleven-year -old, am I? Eleven year olds don't go about fearing for their lives and looking over their shoulders every few seconds. They don't just accept the fact that they may die any second. They go about their own happy way, with no knowledge whatsoever of what a horrible, cruel and murky place the world is.

Pain still gnawed away at me. My mind was still split into two. The only difference was that the dark side was... growing. As if it was going to eclipse the whole world. 

It was becoming clearer now. It showed me things about the world that I'd never known existed. But it didn't feel like it was painful, unwanted or harmful. In fact, as absurd as it seemed, it was fun. It was like watching a horror movie my parents had forbidden me to.

 Instead of seeing the world in front of my eyes, I would be looking at the gory details and underhand motives of people. In each and everything people do, there's always a reason. Now, I could see the reason as clearly as if someone was holding a flashcard in front of me. I felt excited and thrilled. It was my very own, personal guilty pleasure, one that made adrenaline course through my veins. 

Slowly, as more days passed by, I felt more and more compelled to focus on the dark side. It was such a bore to return to the agonizing reality of the world. Honestly, it felt like the pain I had felt was worth this thrill, this sense of freedom and forbidden pleasure. The more I focused on it, the clearer and bigger it grew, and I felt even more attracted to it. No one and nothing was forcing me to tune out of the world and into the recesses of my mind. I was doing it out of my own free will.

 Because I liked it.