Sciath

Year 1

To Ava, if ever you read this...

I am not sure what I'm doing. It all happened so fast. But I just had to write it all down...because I know this may be the only thing to keep me sane. Both the act of recording and the possibility of reflection.

My name is Aoife Deora, but really, it's just Ava. I'm 15 years old.

Wow. I don't even I can continue after that cheesy line. Even as I'm jotting this down behind my half-assed math notes, I feel cliche. Wonder if that will go away when I'm older. Guess I'll find out.

Yesterday afternoon I was walking home from school as I always do when I found something. A man was dying there all alone in the filthiest alley in the city. I can still see his blood staining the pavement as it seeped from a knife wound. I don't know what happened, a mugging maybe. Something went wrong and the guy left him for dead. I wish I could have seen who did it. Or something. It...whenever I look into the darkness, the shadows lurking in the corners, the pitch void of my eyelids, I can't get his face out of my head. I did all that I could to save him. But I'm no nurse.

Except...I don't think that would have made a difference. He was different. His blood was a sticky black goo and his skin made of paper thin fish scales. He wasn't human.

He wasn't human.

I can't even believe I wrote those words. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head until it all turned into a bad dream. But my shirt still hangs on my chair, soaked with the foregin blood and bits of flesh. No, stop it. You're getting stuck again. Move on and focus.

The man was still alive when I found him. He seemed so scared, so frightened of the unknown just seconds away. But there was something in his face when he realized I knew who he was. Almost like relief. Of course I was more concerned with the fact that he was bleeding out fast. I could see he was slipping-there was that far away look in his eyes. So I pressed him for information, if not to just keep him here a bit longer. Selfish, I know.

He called himself a Freak, like it was a proper name. I don't know much. The man said there were a lot of them and so many types. I had so many questions. Who are the Freaks? What did he mean by types? Are they all passing as...humans, I guess would be the word? If there's so many than what would their culture be like? Just imagine it.

His mind must have slipped back to memories because he started talking about how he was a champion swimmer. But everytime he got into that pool he was petrified that they would find out what he was His entire body shook just recounting it...although it might have been the fact that he was dying. I will never forget how scared he was.

Man, I sound like a broken record don't I? But I never want to forget him. He died before I could even get a name. That man died all alone in a filthy alley bleeding out and his last thought was his terror in school.

So naturally I've been bawling in fits since I came home that day. Lily was completely shell shocked. I told her everything of course. How he wasn't human, how I couldn't save him. She didn't want to believe me-but she trusted me. Lily even convinced me to go to school today in my depressed state. Which in hindsight was a terrible idea. Anyone who accidentally bumped into me in the hallway faced the wrath of my death stare.

I felt ashamed more than anything. How could I walk the hallways as such an innocent child. When others were suffering right next to me? Anyone, anyone, could be a Freak. And I don't mean to get all paranoid and all, but just imagine being that awesome and then...being afraid because of it? Or forced to feel shame? The thought actually made me throw up in the middle of a lesson. (I'm not proud of that one.)

I was and still am currently convinced that spiral would have been a huge tipping point in my life. Except I was miraculously broken free from my depressive burden. It was all thanks to Elizabeth Gelbaugh and her unmistakable handwriting.