Shattered (Completed)

Chapter 9 - Being a Moonhit

"You're stronger than the rest," he had told me. "You're like a deity. . . in a way."

I'm still not sure I believe him - him being Evan White. And I'm still not believing that Mister Florence is my grandfather. What happened to my parents, then? Are they. . . dead?

I can't think about that now. Not when I don't even know my capabilities as a human. Or maybe I'm not even a human. I have to be, though, right?

Currently, I'm sitting on my little bed in my little room. Mister Florence just told me everything, leading up to now. I'm recalling everything, trying to make sense of it. I made a list of my life events in a notebook one of the people here got me. Maybe I'll write a book about my life and people will think I'm insane or think it's science fiction.

The Unfortunate Things of My Life:

•Brother died/Kill himself (ask about him)
•Grandfather (Mister Florence?) wanted to help
•I ran away
•Became a Moonhit (science. . . ?)
•Found by scientists (how did they find me?)
•Failed something (in process discovered telepathy?), hurt scientist
•Put in cooler/freezer, which Grandfather helped me from, death in process (if he did, and if he is my grandfather, how is he here? Moonhit?)
•Tried to escape
•Found out about wind power?
•Failed
•Put under Downing for six years
•All memories. Gone.
•Helped escape by Florence, Evan, aaaaand. . . that's it
•Taken to. . . a place (ask for name or something)
•

I groan and rub my face. That's a lot. I was only seven when half the things happened - how had I been so mature? Had I had. . . training? No, that's too much. No one knew I was going to be a Moonhit when I was seven, did they?

Maybe. Maybe they did. Maybe someone did.

There's a knock on my door. Again. Why can't these people just leave me alone? Am I that important? If so, I don't want to be. I want all this Moonhit business to be over.

"Who is it?" I ask weakly, my voice cracking in the process. I haven't drunk anything, so my throat is dry. . . Neither have I eaten anything. I just haven't been hungry or thirsty. I still have lunch on the small table in here but I haven't touched it. People have asked if I'm starving myself, which, frankly, is not a bad idea. 

"Evan," replies a soft voice. "Look, I need to come in, so if you're getting changed. . . I dunno," And the knob turns without my permission. He walks in. I look up at him and find he's coated in blood and dirt. Why is it that the last time I saw him he was covered in dirt, and now this? What does he do with himself? "We need you on a mission," he tells me quickly.

"Dude, I - "

He shakes his head, silencing me. "No, listen to me. Mister Florence said you had to, despite your condition, which, honestly, is not bad at all. So get up and get ready. We're leaving in half an hour." He's about to leave when he frowns at the sheets beside me - where the notebook I wrote in lays. Without warning, he sits beside me and picks it up, reading it over. When he finishes, he grins at me. "So this is what you think?"