2 II.

My friend once compared me to a cat. They described me as fickle and curious. Common stereotypes for the misunderstood felines. I denied the curious part pretty quick; I saw myself more reserved, and definitely less likely to stick my head in where it wasn't needed. Being 'curious' only brought unnecessary trouble. You could find out too much and understand too little; ask a little more and stay safe a little less. It wasn't worth it.

My friend might've missed the word 'rational' because it was what I thought suited me best.

But Jamie brought the topic up again after the whole fiasco that occurred shortly before. She said, and I quote, "Normal human beings, like, don't even need to experiment with their fear and panic responses, Alex. You can't just throw yourself in a dangerous situation just to see what would've happened. Cat, remember? You said nooo, but you haven't acted not like one. What I'm saying is, don't do it again, like, ever. You could've given me a heart attack."

Jamie was a reasonably serious person. No nonsense and I liked that bout her. She knew a lot but never pretended to understand. It was strangely pleasing. Her ticks and tocks intrigued me. Jamie was nurturing, like a mother-figure but never overbearing. She was stability.

But she cuts, and I'd never understand why or how.

I did ask, practically pried the words out of her as I sat to patiently bandage her wounds. She called herself broken and dirty. And that was another mystery added to the already lengthy list to my character development bar. Because I felt… funny? It was an indescribable feeling when Jamie looked so remorseful of something. Like a drenched kitten. Why was she broken? dirty? Jamie was the cleanest person I knew.

When the explanation delved further however, I understood the logic behind those feelings but I was still unable to comprehend why Jamie felt that way. The unconsented assault wasn't her fault, never her fault. She said she felt dirty, but wasn't she so pure and clean still even in her 'broken and dirtied' state?

So many questions with too little answers. Perhaps Jamie was right about the curiosity thing. Like a cat. And I wondered how many lives I'd left yet.

I was brought to the infirmary sooner than later within the day. The nurse checked for any other injuries other than the throbbing nick to my neck. He found nothing else. I received an embarrassing amount of attention with the way the nurse bandaged my injury. He wrapped it with layers upon layers of soft cotton fabric. It made the cut look a lot more serious than it actually was.

The school's carnival resumed without too much of a delay. They were indifferent like that. After dragging Marissa out from the building's compounds, the hours simply went on. It was like the commotion never occurred. It hadn't in a sense, just like how if everyone said the sky was red and not blue, then it actually was red.

Society was a funny thing.

I was fine with it that way, or wasn't. I didn't know-

I wasn't always unclear with where I stood in the pyramid. It was something that went unbothered to me on some good days. Bad days left me pondering. Always unsure, but worse of all doubtful of what I felt. It was as though I couldn't even trust myself with a well-functioning brain. Made me dysfunctional. I do feel, but the emotion would mostly be muted. A penny to my thoughts, let's hope to become a millionaire before the age of 35.

Blank, always blank.

The thump in my chest was my heart. The throb in my neck and wrists were my pulse. The source of my unconscienced troubles belonged to my brain. I was gifted in all the wrong places.

I kept sighing even as I bought food at one of the breakfast stands. Got myself 2 servings of waffles with peanut butter. It tasted great and cost me alright. A crowd was gathered in the middle of the canteen. I approached the circle of people quietly. An announcement was being made.

'Beware of any foreign intruders. VHC 6-25 has escaped from its cell from a nearby facility 350 kilometres from [Providence High School]. Have fun during your carnival, students, but immediately alert an adult if you've caught sight of the prison escapee. It is highly intelligent and dangerous. Flee immediately upon sight.'

I found the announcement suspiciously neglectful. Despite being ignorant of what VHC 6-25 actually meant, criminals were criminals. Their identification was distinctly different and it could be frustrating for some. I'd know a thing or two in the future maybe. Still, I had a haunch the announcement was only for duty's sake. Nobody believed our school- of all the other, better, higher-end schools would get an alien guest visit.

It was soothing, in a way. The atmosphere remained lax and not at all tense.

But to be a self-narrating narrator of one's own life had its perks. We got the 1/45 chance to catch an attack. I spotted the large blue head of VHC 6-25 fairly easily when she, I was later told, looked down at the stairs from the third floor.

She/ It had large budging eyes. All black, without pupils or retinas. Plus, an awfully blue complexion, in darker hues than the day's skies. It wore a collared uniform I suspected was from prison. All grey with white lines by the sleeves and collar. 6-25 also wore a witch's hat. On its tip was a tiny chameleon. I wondered if something existed in our water sources. People- blue otherwise- had strange hobbies.

6-25's ability was as strange as the pet she chose to keep because an upbeat song started to drift within the air in an almost visible soundwave. I hurried to inform the teacher even as the music seemed to chase after me, nipping at my heels. It was awfully loud, making my head throb.

[It is the year 2XXX, humanity continues to push forward. But looking underneath the thorny rose, only God knows how many have suffered to possess abilities outside having a pair of eyes to see, ears to hear, and a mouth to speak. Not too long ago, the government had released news on the first successful [FREAK]. Besides having paranormal powers, these death row inmates are also subjected to human experimentation for the greater success of this decades-old project.

Netizens argue of its ethical premise and worry for the safety of their walking alter egos before the screen. Powerful, anonymous individuals have shut down said arguments, claiming 'Progression at its best' and '… simply releasing humanity's full potential…' as an argument against public outrage.]

(Further details on what a [FREAK] entails can be found on page 10)

Excerpt taken from World Magazine, Year 2XXX

I spotted a teacher. Male, short, and the football coach. Everything was getting hard to identify. Music stuffed the background, the surroundings. Sound was everywhere. I came closer to the emotion known as mad irritation than I ever had before.

Scratch that. I was definitely irritated. Patient as I believed myself to be, it wasn't the most pleasant feeling.

My hand grasped tightly on the shoulder of the dazed coach. He seemed quite out of it if his blank stare into space meant anything. I jerked him to attention, his eyes snapped into focus soon enough. The calmness in my voice seemed to scare him back to earth even further. "Alien," I said firmly. "Get help. Quick!"

I sighed for the nth time that day. For once, thankful for my almost non-existent panic button. I feared for the hours to come if some strange music from the alien intruder kept all the company at school in a dazed state. I knew I wanted to return to the orphanage in one piece and alive.

Was that considered a valid feeling too? The want to stay alive?