Psychometry

What does it mean to have an ability like Psychometry? Well, to understand that, you have to know what it is first. The ability allows you to see the past of "objects." I say that in quotes because my ability is that but on loads of crack. I can not only see the past of objects, I can feel and experience everything that said object has experienced. Now, what does the term, "Object '' extend to? Well, in my case, it includes animals, bugs, reptiles, and of course, people. I experience everything that has happened in their lives, and I mean everything. Every success, every failure. Everything they are confident in, and every insecurity they hide in the depths of their soul. All of the gut wrenching physical and mental pain that shaped them as a person.

What happens when a person has this ability since birth? In that line of thought, that brings us to the Nature vs Nurture argument. With Nature arguing that we are all born a certain way and we grow from there(roughly) and the Nurture argument that states we are simply the culmination of our experiences. My experience is very much in line with the latter argument. Of course, I don't remember much of my own life near my birth, but I do remember every aspect of my parents' lives.

How does a baby, of all things, react to seeing and experiencing the entire lives of their parents? Well, they cry of course. That's only the beginning. As I got older, my intellectual abilities were not where they should be. Not in a negative sense, no, they were way too high. I knew about things my parents knew for a fact that I never experienced, and I could explain them in visceral detail. This, of course, leads to untold amounts of trauma. I mean, how does the mind of a child deal with experiencing pain and mental anguish even adults struggle with? They don't, that's what.

This led to me being sent to multiple mental facilities to figure out what was wrong with me. Therapists couldn't deal with me because any time they brought up a possible solution, I would bring up all the past trauma that led them to becoming a therapist in the first place. Luckily, after meeting so many people, and experiencing more peoples' lives, I learned how to better deal with my trauma, well, how to hide it better anyway so I could live my life as a kid that age should.

A decent childhood wasn't in the cards for me unfortunately. Kids my age weren't exactly the smartest or the best conversationalists, so I would talk to the teachers who were, subsequently and understandably, freaked out by me. Things started to change a bit when I got to junior high. I had touched many people and learned from their experiences directly, so I knew how people worked.I had lived and experienced many traumas, meaning, I could help people get through their own traumas. I was a big fan of superhero shows and I always wanted to help people, so I did.

I helped so many people, and I built up a great reputation with the teachers as I had subtly helped them as well…all junior high teachers really need therapy if you ask me but that's besides the point. The point is, helping all these people didn't help me at all. It made me feel good at first. It even helped alleviate the pain, but just like everything else, it didn't last. I was and still am being bombarded with severe depressive episodes and identity disorder. It's rather hard to figure out who you are when I've lived and experienced hundreds of lives. Who am I, you ask?

I'm Bob Uchiha! The strongest Sharingan wielding sponge the ninja world has ever seen!

…Man, all the weebs' lives I've experienced have really rubbed off on me. Is it good or bad? Idk.

Ah! Hold on a sec, there's a small situation I have to deal with. I'll be back, okay? Wait, who am I talking to? I'm fuckin weird bro…

In a large commons area in a well known school where "geniuses" gather. I use that term lightly as it's mostly just spoiled kids with very rich parents. What happens when you bring spoiled rich kids and smart, hardworking students together. Bullying…bullying happens. What happens when one kid bullies another kid too much in America? Can you guess?! Can you guess!? I'll give you a hint. It's a two word phrase with both words starting with the Letter S.

Sch**l Sh**ter! You got it! Good job, I'm very proud of you. If you're reading this, your parents probably never told you that. I know mine haven't! Again, who am I talking to? Oh, well, it's probably just early onset schizophrenia, no biggie.

Anyway, the kid I'm walking towards is wearing a black, oversized, hoodie along with black cargo pants. The pockets of his pants were bulging unnaturally with what I can only assume to be bullets. He had a maniacal grin on his face with eyes that only a psych patient could love. Man, I haven't done something like this since my hero phase in junior high. I hope I'm not rusty.

Taking off my rain jacket and strategically holding it in my left hand, I approach the S.S. in question with a friendly smile.

"Hey there buddy! Why don't we sit and chat for a moment."

He jumped a little, he's clearly not used to interacting with people, so his brain stalled for a moment before remembering what he had to do. Regaining his hateful expression, he said, "Move out of the way, I need to take out the trash." he said…gleefully? Who gleefully takes out the trash?

"You're happy about taking out trash? What a unique personality you are!"

A bit dumbfounded, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a 9mm pistol.

"You see this…!" he started.

In one swift motion, I turned on the safety of the gun with my right hand and covered it with the rain jacket in my left.

"Now, I'm going to give you one chance and one chance only. Release this weapon and go about your day. There are bullies, and there are victims. You are about to fall in both categories, and I don't like bullies. So, leave this to me and go about your day." I say, 'smiling'.

*Gulp*

"But…but…what they did to me…" the wannabe school shooter stammered.

"Don't care, don't ask."

He simply stood there in stunned silence as I walked toward my first class. Can't be late now can we?

Now the real question is, what do I do with this murderous metal accelerator? Ahh well, I guess I'll just throw it in my backpack for now. Never know when a gun could be useful, you know?

I made it to class and sat in my usual seat. Despite this being a "Genius" school, it isn't much different from a normal high school. Sure, the work is harder and teachers get paid 2 pennies an hour instead of 1; that's about it. Looking around, I see a lot of extravagantly dressed bundles of hormones, anger, and self-esteem issues. Not to say they're all bad, there are a few that are worth mentioning. Take Kyle for example, despite having absolutely horrific grades, he runs one of the most successful drug operations in school. Yes, school, not town, city, or country. Just this school. Who would have thought that rich kids would like "recreational products?" Another notable mention would have to be the child genius, Josh. I know, I know, his name just sounds like he gets abused at home right? Well, you would be correct. As a 12 y/o, African-American, genius with a white step-dad that just so happens to have a raging inferiority complex, home life is all "sunshine and rainbows." Gotta love people, you know?

Between the idle chatter and gossip, our "totally mentally stable" English teacher walked in, looking more lively(not dead) than usual. Maybe her cheating husband actually paid child support this month?

"Alright everyone, please turn in the homework that I'm sure you all remembered to do on the table up front." she said sardonically.

As expected, only I and three other people got up to turn in their work. Most of these kids don't actually need to do anything to pass. Having rich parents has a lot of perks after all.

"Imagine actually having to do work to pass, couldn't be me." Incel number 1 said.

"Yeah, what he said!" said someone who probably has bruised knees.

"Hey, what kind of car did your parents buy you? Let me guess, they can't afford it! HAHAHAHAH!" Incel number 2 said.

"Wow, Damien! I was right to have such low expectations of you, good job!" I pat him on the shoulder.

"Oh, um thanks, no one's ever told me good job before…" he whispered to himself.

Oof, this guy's life has been…oof. After having a mini-pity party for Damien, I once again took my seat.

"Now, for this class…" she stopped.

Why you may ask? Well, it might have something to do with the blood red, RPG looking screen floating in front of every individual that read…

"Round 1 begins in 5 minutes, prepare yourself."