HUMAN-LESS

Prolog

1933, June 8th, six o' clock.

Someone grabs the back of my neck. I turn around but remain under the warm water.

Mother looks quite hale and hearty, considering her internal organs are decomposing. It's been a long time since she has seen me up close.

Diphtheria suits her well, much better than that Chanel satin suit, yet there is something else that I cannot grok and somehow that something else is killing her.

"According to my husband's journal, you exhibit a remarkable ability to regenerate missing structures." Her lipstick is a mess and her posture no longer seems to be one typical of a sadistic and spiteful person; not even egocentric.

To most people, Jared Corbel Bradley was an ordinary man. If one were to ask, he would say that he practices medicine, which is true, but not entirely. He was also a man who could make things and people vanish. He did not rest until his job was complete.

It all started with his frustration; with how little he could offer most patients. He desperately wanted to make a scientific breakthrough.

Mother clears her throat to get a hold of my attention. Her neck is covered in blisters; small pockets full of fluid. Some with blood, others with yellow pus.

I have a strange feeling about this. Something isn't right.

"Your wounds heal in two hours and thirty minutes with no scars left behind." Her forehead creases; a line appears between her brows. There's a small amount of fear in her eyes.

How desperate must she be to supplicate for my help of all people she knows? Mother worked at Helena Havre Hospital, at the very bottom of the hierarchy. In the cafeteria. Below the doctors, the nurses, and the patients. She felt repulsive, but that caught someone's attention.

"How can an abomination be immune to all diseases?" She avoids eye contact.

Mother gives me an exaggerated sigh.

Ouch.

The bacterial infection is spreading; it's coursing through her body now, attacking her tissues; wherever it can get in. As soon as it reaches her heart and her brain she dies. I can feel it; I can even smell it. It's a mixture of mulsified coconut oil for shampooing with bacteritic meat. There's also a hint of Morton's iodized salt.

She crosses her arms over her chest.

At some point, you just have to let go of what you thought should happen and live what is happening.

She chokes.

I laugh. It takes me a minute to realize what she really wants. And that's a blood transfusion; from me. It will heal her. She will be able to continue her life as this never happened. This time, no such luck is coming her way.

"Do you know what your father's first words about you were?" Mother raises an eyebrow. She only acts nice she needs something.

Stupid, stupid woman.

"Nor do I care." I bite my tongue. The temptation to hit her is still there. To watch her bleed from those special crevices of her average body; from where it hurts the most. To hear her scream for help and have her realize no one is coming to save her; that she's all alone and no one cares.

But I won't let her know that's how I still feel.

"She will be a smarter, stronger version of us." Mother exhales noisily. She can no longer avoid the fact that she is ill. "Aliza always wanted a family. Don't take that away from her." She draws her lower lip between her teeth. "If I die there won't be any of it left." Mother has a voice some people might describe as soothing, but not me. "I will see my own way out." She holds her breath for a moment and hesitates. Then, I suddenly hear the creak of the door; a harsh squeaking sound. I've just been dismissed.

I give myself a final rinse and turn off the water. Glancing outside, I notice that Mother is gone. It's easy to like her when she's not here.

You always have a choice. Hers involve despising my existence and the fact that her other daughter looks exactly like me.

Isn't it strange how a look on someone's face can bring back all the memories you're trying to drown?

I stare at myself in the mirror. A tear slips from my right eye and slides down the cheek. I certainly don't look like a monster that enjoys hunting humans as much as breathing.

There are noises coming from upstairs. Damn these humans. They smell like Campbell's vegetable soup and toasted corn flakes.

I stand there for almost an hour, trying to figure out what to do next. Let mother die, which results in Aliza's hate or keep her alive, which results in nothing good for me.

There is nothing more to do but wait for her hate to come. But that is just my assumption.

I force myself to breathe and focus. There is no other option.

I push the bathroom door open and squint in the darkness at the bed in front of me. It is empty. Cold, but dirt free. I lay down. Then I picture myself as a young girl, sleeping on the grass with my sister, Aliza, Those were special times, but people change. So does love. It becomes hate.

I remain quiet, still lying down. A long time ago there was a little girl who wished to be loved, not as much as her sister, just a tiny little bit. She grew up unloved and later she became a monster.

I slip lower in the bed, pull the sheet over my head, and begin to cry.

I refuse to be a victim. 

Author's note: 

A very special thank you goes to dreamy-harold for editing this chapter.