Desperate Pain

Prologue

February 9, 2052

"Anything is breakable if touched by cold." Is what my mom would always say.
And she knew, she knew I was deadly. That I could kill, just by simply touching. And because of this, she saw me as a threat. Though, who wouldn't?

I don't blame her, not at all. I'm even surprised she kept me alive. Ever since I was born, I was a nuisance. Ever since I was born, my curse got worse. And my mother knew this, so I don't blame her for giving me away.

People always told me that I should die- that I was a waste of existence. Which is true, I don't know why I still keep myself functioning. And those people, they would be happy. Happy that I wasn't a waste of space anymore. Those people, were my family. The only people I've ever known, who've ever cared.

Whatever I touch, whatever I go near, it freezes. It curls up and seizes to work. To move. To breathe.

I was six when I first killed someone. When my curse got the best of me and just decided to end someone's life. That person, was my brother. It was by far the worst day of my life. I remember, vaguely, how he'd fallen off of my bed. It was simple, a quick and senseless death. He was trying to get off of my bed, trying to grab the candy bar on my desk. He'd fallen, and I'd tried to catch him. And when I'd let go of my hold on him, he was already dead. A frozen, dead corpse on my carpet.

And I remember screaming, screaming so loud that my parents came bolting through the door. And I remember their screams, too. An example of how it'd all started, how my life turned to black and white.

I am lethal, I am terrifying, I am everything bad in this world.

And the thing is, nobody can explain it. No one can explain why I'm like this, and it slowly kills me everyday. My own body is foreign to me.

After my brother died, my parents wanted me dead. They wanted me gone, just as I've always knew would come. And they had a solution, one that could fix everything. And they didn't hesitate at all when they told me I was going somewhere, far, far away. Away from them, away from society.

Not like I ever went to school, I was too dangerous. At least, that's what they said. I never learned to read or write, or draw or do anything at all. But the only thing I ever learned was how to dance. That was the only good that came from me, showed my innocence and emotion. Showed that I wasn't just some scary, ice monster. But no matter how much I danced, no one ever saw me from what I really was. A scary, life taking monster.

"Have you heard of the Fraites' child? Her touch can kill you," "Stay away; she will hurt you," "As graceful as a flower, yet as deadly as a plague,"

I remember their words, and sometimes they still ring in my mind every so often. Yes, I have killed before. But not in the way people think.

My own body is foreign to me. It is foreign.
I don't know myself. I don't know what I look like. It's almost like a fear; seeing myself. Seeing the girl I could have been and never will be.

So, to go along with the story of six year old me, need I mention the psychiatric wards. My family had moved when I was just born, from Kyoto to Maryland. So basically from Japan to the US. There was too much pollution in Japan, the area was becoming a wasteland. Water wasn't safe anymore. The US was the place that was clean, hadn't been ruined yet.

Moving was a good idea, yet also a bad one. That was the place that I got dragged to a hospital. For mentals.

I'm not insane, and I know this is true. I'm not insane, and I just knew it was true. Yet, they'd dragged me from a normal life to an unreal one.

John Hopkins Hospital, my new home.

February 6, 2040
"Mom- no mom please, stop!" I shouted, tears falling down my cheeks. My eyes crusted with ice, I could hardly blink. Yet the tears kept coming. "Mommy please," I sobbed as our car drove up to the gate of the psychiatric hospital. I didn't budge as she parked the car.
A loud sigh came from mom, and she turned slowly in her seat to look at me. "Sweetheart," she hesitated, "please get out."
More tears, more ice. My door opened, a man with a big pair of black gloves glared down at me. "Come here," he said, his voice deep and demanding. I looked from my mom to the man, and my mom started to nod. "Go," Mother said, looking annoyed.
I sat up out of my seat, my palms slowly turning it to ice. The man grabbed onto the back of my shirt, yanking me out of the car. I let out a small shriek, another tear slipping down my cheek. "Momm-" And she was gone. Gone before I could even finish her name. The car flew down the driveway, going out of sight. A lady dressed in grey approached me, putting on a fake smile as I caught her eye. "Hello miss, welcome to John Hopkins Hospital, sorry for the rude introduction," The lady gave a glare to the man. She then turned and showed the hospital. Two freshly painted doors sat on top of three concrete steps, bushes and ferns surrounding the area. The building was a rustic color, with a brick arc at the front that read, 'The John Hopkins Hospital.'
It was a very, very big building. I couldn't even see the top of it. Massive trees stood in the front of the building, a nice color of green.
I felt snot weaving its way down my lips, and I wiped it away with my sleeve. I sniffled, trying to stop crying. It wasn't getting me anywhere anyways.
The lady led me inside, starting to talk about the history of the hospital. Little interest did I have in this subject. I gazed down the corridors as we walked quickly, seeing small humane touches here and there. It wasn't like one of those stereotypical mental hospitals, it had rooms and windows and bookshelves.
I heard footsteps behind the lady and I, only to find out that it was the man that yanked me from the car. He was following us to my room. "What number am I?" I asked the lady quietly. She stopped babbling about the hospital's history and looked down at me, "I believe you are in room number 1,194."
I inhaled sharply, "That's a lot of numbers." Numbers that I've never learned, never even seen. We were already in an elevator by the time I started to think. This couldn't be so bad, right? This place seemed nice. Maybe mom put me here for a reason, she said they could help. That they were looking for cures. But was there a cure for cytokinesis? I doubted it, and swiftly pushed the thought to the back of my mind. The lady pressed the lowest button in the elevator, giving me a quick glance afterwards. I tried to read it, but I couldn't even make out the first letter. It all looked like an unknown language to me.
We stepped off the elevator and that's when I saw it. Room 1,194. It was all alone at the end of a hallway, a metal door enclosing it from the rest of the world. We were underground I realized, there was a distinct smell of mold and dirt. I could hear water dripping from afar. The man stepped in front of us, unhooking a pair of keys from his pocket. He unlocked the big metal door, showing a small room with a single bed and a few books. Books that I'll never know how to read.
The bed, small and barren, held one sheet and a blanket. No pillow, it was rather pathetic. Maybe they reserved this kind of treatment just for the special kids who have nothing to objectify about. Who knows who's in control here, who knows when I'll be let out.
The lady led me in, and I took in all four walls of the room. Not much space, but it was enough. I realized there was a small sink in the corner, it looked new and polished. The lady tapped my shoulder lightly, knowing not to touch my skin. "Miss, we would really appreciate if you could change into this," the lady held out a hand, a brown pair of shirt and pants. Two white socks, and a bracelet. A thick, black bracelet with a device attached to it.
I stared at it for a moment too long, taking it from her, careful not to touch her bare skin.
It didn't freeze under my touch, clothing never did. It always confused me as to why; maybe it only had an affect on flesh. The man left the room, talking into a phone, mumbling words I couldn't hear. The lady watched me get dressed, silently and closely. I didn't mind. Might as well count her as my new mom.
I handed her my old clothes, which she took and left the room with. I looked down at the big bracelet on my ankle, the one with the device. It was sort of heavy, but I couldn't tell what it was. It was all black, even the device.
"Odd," I whispered to myself as the lady came back in.
"I'm Ms. Lynn, by the way," The lady smiled at me. Another fake smile. I wonder now, what she is hiding. What lies have come out of that same mouth that is smiling brightly at me.
I could see myself in her eyes, fear was written all over my face. I cleared my throat, trying to change my expression. "Kaitlyn." I whispered, looking back down at my device. I could feel the lady shift in front of me as she spoke, "There's books in the back if you like to read. The bed should suffice for a while- sorry it's not perfect. The budget isn't simple to manage anymore," I wondered why she was giving me all this information. I didn't really care, just more babble that I seemed to not notice.
"That black thing around your ankle, it's a tracker. Don't try and take it off," the words that caught my attention made me look up. She stopped before continuing, surprised to have my attention for once.
"You get fed twice a day, and a little tip, try not to freeze your food. Showers are available three times a week," I flinched at her comment, clenching my hands together. Why did everyone always have to point out my curse? Is it mandatory to make me feel horrible?
The lady stopped talking, and flashed me another smile. "Okay miss. I'll see you around." She waved a hand at me, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. The door slammed loudly, making a creaking sound as she locked it. There was a slot in the door I now realized. A slot big enough for a tray, a tray of food.
I poked at it, trying to open it, but it wouldn't budge.
I exhaled deeply, only to find my breath. My breath, a visible vapor in the air.
I looked up, around me, at the stone walls. The stone walls, that were already covered in ice.
I flinched again.
I flopped onto the bed, silence was deafening. All I heard was my own rugged breath, and that was when I'd realized, that was the beginning of the end.

February 9, 2052
My story remains untold. Nobody knows me, nobody knows my thoughts.
I haven't spoken in so long that I've forgotten my own voice. My lips, sealed together with silence, never break open, even just to take a small gasp of air.
These familiar stone walls, covered in everlasting ice, are the only things I ever see. But by now, I've memorized every crack and every crevice of this small room.
I dragged my fingers across a scrape in the wall, the scrape that I've touched more than a million times. The scrape that resembles my lost family.
I led my fingers down to a crack in the floor, which resembled my loss of sanity. Yes, I am far gone. Too far gone to even think normally. And I know this, I just know it.
I haven't seen another face in more than 10 years. Not even that one lady, the one with the bright and toothy smile.
I sat down on the hard floor, looking up at the door. The door covered in ice, ice that I've lathered up ever since I got here. The door wouldn't budge, not even an inch. Like me, the door was also too far gone.
I wish I could talk, I wish I could see another human, but all I could see was wall. And that's all I've ever been able to see for years.
Time goes by, slowly, so slowly everyday. Yet somehow I've kept track. It's been 11 years and 3 days since I've arrived to this horrific place. Counting is the only connection I have to humanity left. Even the walls know this.
The walls, standing so still, know my every move. They watch with close eyes that search for any sign of life.
My family came up into my mind a lot.
I barely remember my mother's face. Her brown hair with red freckles, staring at me with those wild green eyes. Those were the only eyes I've ever known. They used to look at me with warmth, but they changed to hatred within a matter of seconds. Seconds that had meant so much to me.
The books in the corner, untouched for 11 years. Their covers were frozen with ice, small little crystals glinting in the light. I've never even tried to read them. They remind me of the books I saw at home, in my mom's office.
I played my first day here over and over again in my head, flipping and turning every second to capture everything that'd happened that day. Soaking in every breath that I gave, every look that I took. Yet it still didn't ever make any sense to me.
I laughed.
I actually laughed, my lips breaking their seal only to let out a tiny sound. I felt the smile, forced. It hurt, it hurt to even move my mouth. I licked my lips, hoping to regain moisture.
It took me a moment, but then I realized. I was never going to be let out, I was going to be trapped in here with my own horrible thoughts for the rest of my life. The thoughts that torture me every second of the day. Never able to see myself or any other person for 80 more years. To die, in a cold and harsh world that I wasn't even meant to be born in.
And I cried.