Bad Blood

Born under a bad sign

I didn't do anything to deserve this. I was born with it. That's really what defines a curse, in the end-what awful mistake got you to where you are now. Only this time it wasn't my fault.

I was born Decmber 30th, 1996, in a very small town north of Seattle, Washington. I didn't have my mothers eyes, or my fathers smile, or anything. I had murky black hair, and faded tawny eyes nobody could look at for very long. I didn't cry, or babble, or make any noises. My parents were worried they'd brought home the wrong baby, and had multiple tests done to prove it. Unfortunately, the only thing we really shared was blood. 

The crippling silence drove my mother insane. My father wouldn't go near the despairingly quiet and still nursery, and hired several attendents to raise me in their places. Of course, as a child, I didn't understand it. Now? I'm not even upset. I understand, and I'm sure anyone in their right mind would have done the same thing. 

They tried everything they could think to do, but nothing got rid of me for more than a few hours. By the time I finished elementary school, they were practically convinced I was some sort of punishment from god, and lord did I suffer for it. By the time I was twelve my late mother couldn't stand it, and took her own life instead of trying to take mine. The only difference was that she stayed dead. Her funeral was a small, somber get together, that nobody but family attended. I didn't understand, but they all seemed to understand why she'd done it.                                                                                       That evening, my father moved everything I owned to the basement, and installed several locks on the doors. That was my life, after that. I lived in the room under the house, and my father got to pretend he didn't have any children. I was nearly happy for him.