This is Magic… (scene 1)

Mercy decided to go out for a walk. Picking up some groceries earlier in the week and some snacks for later tonight. Killing two birds with one stone. Crossing the street at a leisurely pace, watching others run across the crosswalk or to their cars. The downpour had been a surprise, but a pleasant one. She was soaked to the bone. She didn't care though, she quite enjoyed the chill on her skin and the smell of the rain on her clothes. It blurred everything, mixing up every smell near her. Blurring the senses in a way that calmed her immensely. She wanted to feel comforted. Rain brought her comfort. More comfort than the sun would ever have .

Yes. Rainfall was exactly what she needed today. She hoped for a rainbow.

At some moments she felt strange for feeling so. Odd and abnormal for these comforts. She knew no one else that felt as she did about this weather. About any weather. Then again, she had no one to discuss the weather with. No friends, and her family were not ones for idle chatter. Her parents were blunt, straightforward people.

She admired that about them. She had to. Or else she would hate that about them. And she could not go around hating them for those things. Her parents were all she had. She was grateful for them.

How pathetic. The small voice in the back of her mind echoed. She shook the thoughts away and spurred herself on.

She had finished shopping at a record time, seeing as the grocery store was small. Her town was just as small. Maybe about six hundred people in total. Her senior class comprised of forty students. She was the only outcast. It didn't mind her as much anymore. A daily routine now, ignoring them and their remarks and silly pranks. Childish and petty. Dramatic. Their reactions to the few times she broke. Acting as if she would murder one of them.

The last incident had been the tenth year. She now being in her twelfth year. A certain twinge of pride flew to her chest. She had yet to be broken in almost two years. A few more months and she would never see them again. She was already applying for colleges. Her grades were excellent. If she were ever to brag about something, it would be her mind. She was an intellectual. Always scoring the highest marks.

That had been another reason for the bullying. The torn notebooks and destroyed textbooks. Gods, the kids in her school had nothing better to do with their time than figure out ways to torment her. They may as well have opened a club for it. Everyone would join aside from her. She chuckled at the thought of showing up for sign-ups in this daydream.

She wondered if her pride would get to her anytime soon. She had plenty of it. Plenty to expel, pride that has been burying every insult into the deepest and darkest parts of her soul. She had no worries about her should corrupting. They were just words, just actions. She had never seen a problem in her ability to detach from a situation, from reality. "Perhaps I should." Her mind wondered as she kicked a rock out of her path. It skipped along the sidewalk and then veered to the side. Disappearing into some bushes. Followed by a yelp, an animal like yelp.

Was that a cat? Mercy stopped in her tracks and bent down. She could not see clearly. She came to her knees, and with palms bracing herself on the cement, looked to the side. Pavement inches from her face. There was a cat, a small and frail looking one. Its hair seemed matted and when it caught sight of Mercy, it froze.

She felt instantly sorry. She adored cats. Having harmed one, especially in this condition… made her feel guilty. A poor animal, hurt by others without a care. She and the cat had something in common. With a sympathetic smile and a calm hand. She reached under the bushes slowly. Her palm up. She had never approached a stray before. She did not know how to go about it.

She decided coaxing it out with her voice would help.

"I promise not to hurt you. I want to help." Her hand inched closer, and the cat ceased back and hissed at the hand. Mercy thought it might scratch her. She did not waver, though. She will not show any means to harm the animal, but that didn't mean she would back down. Her mother was a vet. She had brought strays home all the time and healed them up miraculously. She loved watching her mother soothe the poor animals and earn their trust. She wanted to do it for herself.

She would do this for herself. She would prove to be someone worthy of trust. Even from an alley cat.

She tried again.

"I will not hurt you. Trust me." At her last words, the cat seemed to ponder its options. Looking around and then back at Mercy. Did cats usually behave this way? It finally decided and relaxed next to Mercy's hand, allowing her to grab the cat and haul it out. Then sitting up on her knees and cradling the stray. Trying to analyze how badly it was hurt.

She saw a bit of blood on its paw. Just how hard had she kicked that rock? Guilt coursed through her when its eyes connected with hers. They looked tired and glazed over. Just how long had this poor thing been on the street?

"Let us get you home. My mother will take good care of you. Consider this consultation an apology."

About to stand, Mercy heard some people talking to her left. Across the street were some girls. They weren't whispering, but they were far enough away that Mercy could not piece together what they were saying entirely. She caught pieces.

"Freak…"

"Is she talking to it?"

"… she has no friends, no wonder…"

Mercy allowed her brain to detach. She felt the cat move in her arms but did not look down at it. Simply stood straight. Turned to the girls with a polite smile. A tight nod of her head. Collecting her bags, and headed back home.

She would not give them a reaction. She would not give in. She was better than that. Their disgusted faces would not get to her. The comments that would surely come next school day would not faze her.

Mercy, I heard you made a friend. A stray, how fitting for an animal like yourself.

Two loners.

At least one has the decency to know when they aren't wanted.

Her thoughts were drowning her. She felt pathetic and hated. She was both of those things. She had been pretending not to believe it for so long. She always wondered what had made her the target. A soft caress against her forearm and a glance down at the cat eyeing her scar had her recalling the reason.

How could she forget? She both loved and resented the scar. It was unique to her, strengthened her identity. It came with the story of her parents taking her in. It also came with the story of how she got it. Of the cruelty she had been on the receiving end of since birth.

The story of a girl, a baby girl, outside the gates of a closed off cemetery. Found by two doctors on a rainy day. Blood soaking the sheet, they swaddled the baby in. The cuts made into her forearm. Reading the name Mercy. Her name had been imprinted into her skin from a young age.

She was rushed to the hospital. The doctors were confused as to what was used to cut her arm. The precision of the incision of the likes they had never seen. They thought her a miracle child. Having lost so much blood at such a young age.

They thought my parents were saints for taking precautions on the way to the hospital to make sure Mercy did not bleed out entirely. Those were her parents. Saints. They were the only people in the world that loved her. That understood her and were willing to have a conversation with her.

They had kept the name engraved on her skin. They thought it best, thought it would help her cope with it if it meant something to her.

The day the kids in her early school days had seen the scar for the first time was the day Mercy had begged her mother to let her wear something other than a long sleeve shirt. Her mother reluctantly agreed.

The first kid to see the scar had looked scared of it. Then looked to Mercy's face and had the same look, but amplified. It confused Mercy. This kid was her friend. They were all friends. But from that day on, they kept their distance. They told their parents of the scar and the teacher had a talk with Mercy's parents, asking about the scar, then asking to dress her in a way that covered it. Around the age of fourteen, Mercy had been tired of being forced to wear concealing attire. She had told her mother she would wear what she wanted now. The kids were already torturing her as much as they could. She would not suffer heat stroke at the same time. Her mother was more agreeable this time.

Mercy had been confused about it. She thought she would have to fight her mother and father on this. They seemed to not really give a damn what she wore. Told her to do what she wanted. From that day on, they were more distant as well. They chalked it all up to her getting older and understand more. That they had always been that way.

Mercy accepted it. They were still her parents. They were still there for her. She had no reason to think otherwise.

They loved her. They did.

Over the years, the relationship hadn't gotten better. Not that it got any worse. She decided that this was how relationships were with adults. She was growing up, and this was how normal life was. She was maturing. That was all. Nothing to worry about.

They loved her. They did. They had to.

The cat's meow had her thoughts fading away. Her attention was back on the injured feline. And just in time, a car was zooming past the intersection, just inches from her body that stilled a few feet into the crosswalk. There was no signal for her to go yet. She took a step back, then another and another. Her back hitting the side of a building.

That was close. Too close. Way too fucking close. What was she doing? Getting lost in her head like some five-year-old. She needed to get a grip.

The cat meowed once more. Looking up at Mercy. A look of wonder on its features. Mercy chuckled.

"You are a lucky charm. Perhaps mother will let me keep you." She doubted it, but there was no harm in asking. The cat licked at her forearm. "Oh, that old thing. Don't worry about it. Doesn't hurt."

Not physically, at least. They had left her alive, with a chance to love if those that found her were kind enough. The scar, the person who had given it to her. It was a mystery. One she dreaded, she might never figure out. Why had they not just killed her? Why leave her alive?

An act of Mercy.

Another huff of amusement and Mercy crossed the street, signal on this time.