In the dead of night, the memories come creeping back into my darkened, broken mind. The last memories I have of my parents, which are now nothing more than a ghostly thought that brings me to tears when the last memories of them come etching back to torment me.
Their screams that stuck in my mind ever since that dreadful night two years ago. Their eyes as the life was drawn out of them painfully, and all I could do was stand there and scream until I could scream no more. My heart was shattered in that moment, the moment I became an orphan, and the moment something inside my soul changed. Giving me the power I'm unsure whether to call a blessing or a burden.
Since that day I've barely spoken. Social services believed me to be crazy when I explained that it was a hooded figure that murdered my parents, and not any freak accident. My explanation landed me in rehab, and I've been trying to escape ever since.
I know something happened that night. I know something within me changed. Because ever since, the nights that followed I sit in bed with the darkness around me, and the objects and furniture in my room spin in the air, all due to the power of my mind.
I know I'm not crazy. They just believe me to be that way.
