The little girl has been staring at me for more than a minute. Usually people try not to, but you don't know tact when you're young. I don't want to look her in the eye. I hate scaring people like that. Well, certain people. Certain Times. I was probably around her age when it started to happen. Probably something to do with puberty. I didn't notice any real changes in myself, and maybe I haven't changed, maybe it's everyone else. Wishful thinking. The only change I saw at first were people's eyes when they looked at me. Uncomfortable would be a perfect word to describe what I saw. My presence caused discomfort. It was as if my skin was blistered and scarred, but no one wanted to mention it. Even my own parents could barely stand to be in the same room with me for an extended period of time. I used to hide from them and try to listen in on their conversations to find out exactly what was wrong with me, but they never mentioned anything about it. Then I would walk into the room and they would stop talking, no matter what it was about. They tried not to look at me, as if I weren't the reason for their sudden silence. I would look at them both, watching them squirm under my gaze, then I would leave the room and hide around the corner and wait. After mere moments passed, they continued their conversation as if nothing had happened. I felt like an abomination.
I lived like that for years before finally running away, living at the fringes of society, scavenging the considerable waste left in its wake. As time passed, the look in other people's eyes changed. It transformed from discomfort to fear. I would still spy on people after encountering them. I saw an attractive girl my age once, in a mall. She made my knees weak. It wasn't that she was just beautiful, but the beauty she had was hers alone. It wasn't stolen from magazines or prime time tv. I still remember her face. All I managed to get out was "Hi." before she stiffened with fear. She was paralyzed. I wanted to die with shame. All I brought was suffering to others. It wasn't fair. Why should I be the one cursed. Why me? Anger coursed within me and my eyes narrowed, glaring at this girl, this bitch. Her eyes widened, and I realized she could feel my anger, or at least feel that I was angry. I didn't even say a word. Tears flooded her eyes and she dropped into the fetal position, moaning. I turned. There were others watching me with those same eyes. I wielded my anger as if it were a twenty foot blade and struck the bystanders with it. A collective cry escaped the onlookers as they all dropped to the ground, some sobbing, some just shaking violently. An elderly woman was rolling on the ground, clutching her heart. Concern replacing my anger, I moved to help her. However, the closer I moved to her, the worse she convulsed and moaned until she fell horribly still. I looked into her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, there was no fear. I wanted to vomit with shame. I gave the cowered masses around me a final glance before running. I think I'm still running, even now.
As the years passed, my power grew, but so did my control. People did not flee at my approach, but they were never comfortable with my presence. I had come to accept that they never would be. I never looked at anyone, though. Despite how much I ached to see those eyes without fear, there were some things worse then fear. I went through life with imagined blinders, never looking up, never daring to glance at another person's face, even for an instant. I was in a world all my own, and I was horribly alone. It took a surprisingly short period of time for the idea of suicide to become incredibly appealing. I decided to do it deep in the woods, so as not to disturb anyone. Armed only with a rope, I traveled far away from civilization towards my own demise. I tied the rope around a low oak branch, so it would not break. I noosed my neck and prepared myself for a short drop and a sudden stop. Then I heard a cry of fear and desperation. The brush to my left rustled and two figures fell out, a man and a woman. The man was viciously tearing at the woman's clothes. She was sobbing and screaming for help. I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then my body moved of its own volition. I slipped off the noose, moved towards to struggling couple, and grabbed the man's shoulder. When he looked up at me, I unleashed all of my power. His mouth opened to scream, but his throat constricted in fear and no sound escaped his lips. His body began to convulse in terror and he dropped to the ground. I didn't know if he was dead, but I didn't care. I helped the woman to her feet, but when her eyes met mine, they widened in fear. I tried to bury my power within myself, but to no avail. Without a word of thanks, she turned and ran in terror. I stood alone in the woods, contemplating this new turn of events. I had the power to do good. I saved that woman. Through no fault of my own I had been born a monster. Could I change that with a mere act of will?
And now this little girl is staring at me. Usually people avert their eyes. Could she be different? Someone who didn't see me as a monster? I smiled at her, a difficult task for lack of practice. Her eyes widened in that familiar fear and she dug her face into her mother. No. Hope was beyond me. So was redemption. However, I could still help this world, in exchange for bearing the burden of my existence.