A Life, Unforgotten

The Birth Of A Death

It was a slow and exhausting day for a 14-year-old child, their blue hair had been scraped into a careful braided crown. They didn't know why their hair grew blue, but once they had struck the age of nine and discovered their witchcrafting abilities, they stopped questioning it. Grew to love the cobalt blue waves that struck their mid-back so carefully, grew to care for the part of them that made them a freak. And they weren't too happy. Stuck in the back seat of a car with their two elder siblings, both the same blond haired and green-eyed pictures of perfection. They may as well have been the black sheep of the family, mother and father were the same hair as theie siblings, and at the moment, they were all having yet another go at their hair, at their eyes, at their blueness in general.

To the point they were singing that shitty song about everything being blue.

They had only stared out the window, watching the walls carved into steep hills flit by on their way to the western coast, eventually to be up to Canada to move, so they couldn't continue their attempts to flee back to the mountain, to their real family. The one that cared. They flinched as her sister reached and gave a rather harsh pull at the only loose strand of hair that hung in their pale eyes, and not long after, they gave a small yelp at their brother that had 'playfully' punched their arm, they already knew it would well into a painful bruise in a few hours. They didn't even look at them, but hell if it didn't hurt. And while they didn't tear up, they knew that sound would provoke more harsh words and further attempts to get Nova to produce signs of their distress, signs of their pain.

And it did, though they didn't care for the strikes that they gave for sake of making some awful noise rise from them, to the point both mother and father had joined in too.

It was a mistake on the father's end to reach back and take such a fierce hold of their hair, having them unbuckle  rapidly and lean too far forward so they could try to avoid the pain of the hellish pull on it.

The way he'd had to twist to latch on, the steering wheel had whirled to the left, off into an oncoming car that, when he tried to correct it, it struck. Slammed into them first. Their siblings had been able to move more toward the right side of the car, having had spotted the vehicle coming, but Nova, they were trapped by their father's iron grip, something they had never been able to escape in their life. So while they had been screaming in an attempt to free themselves, they hadn't paid attention.

Nova didn't black out immediately. They didn't take a few moments. They took several minutes, felt the entire car roll and the pipe that had shuddered and groaned as it had forced its way through the floorboards, straight through the side of their left lower back and out the front of their abdomen. It was hot, it burned, and yet they couldn't make a sound, not without a lancing pain spiral through their body.

They felt the gasoline soak their back, mingle with their bright blue blood, they felt it ignite, saw their other family members slip out of the car before any true damage could be done. They thought they saw their sister's pants catch a lick of flames, but they weren't sure.

They were the only one trapped, the only one that couldn't cry for help, the only one that could only attempt to gasp and scream and sob at the pain that was far too slow in its inevitable end. The only thing they had done was hope, pray, beg for this hell to end, yet time had no concept in this. They weren't sure if this was seconds or half an hour, it all hurt, and some instinctual part of them knew that the nearest help was in a town they had passed through almost an hour ago. Oceanside, California.

They could only embrace the blackness that would finally wash over them as distant sirens came through the roar of the flames that swallowed them whole, and while they had the same fear of death as all living things have, they had welcomed it, greeted it with open arms, finally able to rest.

They remembered seeing the Goddess in Her full midnight glory, they remember how welcoming and warm and motherly Her own embrace had been. The last thing they remember is also the first, a gentle kiss to their brow that left this bubbling, tingling warmth all through their limbs.

This was what the teen opened his eyes to the sensation of. The one with no name, no family, no friends, and no memory. This is no longer Dana, no longer Nova.

No, this is a new being. A wildness, a curiosity, and one that woke to an empty room save for a nurse that took her time to ask his name. This was a ghost, a wisp of the former self. And yet a creature of Light. And that word was the only one to tumble from cold blue-tinted lips. The only answer. The only Name.

No-one was there to speak for this ghost. While the staff simply could see the blue-haired oddity, most cast piteous glances before moving along. He didn't understand. Not until his third night in their room, when the Goddess appeared again and told him. Told him what he was then. What he would be forevermore. Not why, not how. Nothing else.

Just a lonesomeness that was left to fend for himself.