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Life used to be normal.
What is normal? I've recently learned that is a lot more subjective than you'd think. So I guess I should have said life used to be your usual normal. Family, job, friends, studies.......that kind of thing. The life everyone else have, and take for granted.
The day which turned normality on its head, started quite similarly to any other for me, without any sign or clue of how my life would be altered within those 24 hours. My alarm rang, and I was reluctantly drawn from sleep. I dragged myself out of bed, got dressed, ate breakfast, got ready and left the house. Normal day. Routine. I'd walk to my lectures, and spend a few hours doodling mindlessly on my notes while pretending to pay attention. Gossip with some friends over a much needed caffeine fix, then returned to doodling for another hour. After that was over, I had to drag myself into work.
It was just like I'd predicted. 3 hours of boredom, before we could escape, almost running to the cafeteria, grabbing our coffees and a table for each social circle. I just sat there, people watching, listening as my friends discussed what had happened last night. I didn't have much to contribute. Since I'd been feeling ill and drained for the last week, I'd reluctantly admitted to myself that I couldn't go out. And a night spent inside vegging out in front of the TV is never gossipworthy.
Of course, now, I could explain to you exactly why I'd been feeling like that before. But back then, I didn't have a clue. I was so innocent, so naive. I had no idea that this life was drawing to an end.
The 15 minute break over, we dragged ourselves back into the lecture hall, enduring yet another hour as the professor droned on and on about something, I'm not quite sure what it was. It seemed to last forever. Afterwards, I bid casual goodbyes to my friends, with no idea how permanent they'd be, and walked the short distance to the supermarket where I'd work whatever shifts I could fit in for the much-needed cash.
A few hours later, I was on the shop floor, stocking shelves, and a customer had called my attention asking where the ketchup was. I'd sighed, climbing down the ladder to answer the woman. And then.....I still don't really know what happened. My memory of it has always been vague. My head was spinning, I couldn't breathe, my heart was hammering about a thousand times faster than it ought to beat. My senses all stopped. And I felt a rush of energy, like all of life was pouring into me, like anything was possible, and if I wanted to I could have reached up and pulled down the very heavens. And then it stopped.
When I came to, the woman was staring at me, horror and fear vivid in her expression. I could read the silent accusation in her eyes. The truth. And then when she raced out of the store, running as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her, I knew she'd be running to report that I, Ariana Jasmine Mitchell, was one of them.
I couldn't feel the panic which I ought to have, in that situation. Instead, I was numb, temporarily. I knew that eventually I'd be screaming "Why me? Why did you choose me?", but it hadn't fully registered yet. I was staring down at my hands, which in my eyes, in all of society's eyes, might as well now be stained crimson with blood. Those hands would now be the tools for impossible, unnatural deeds. As I ran out of the shop, away from this revelation and away from life as I'd always known it, I was unconsciously evading any kind of reflexive surface: I knew what I'd see. And I couldn't take seeing the mark on myself, not yet. Not the definite proof, as if I needed more than that experience, that reaction. All that was left was for me to start affecting things, I thought with a shudder. That and the customary capture in the early night, followed by being thrown into a cell, experimented upon until an "accidental" death.
No. I knew where I was going, now. The thought might possibly terrify me more than that alternative, but accepting that would be giving in to all of it. And I've never been a quitter.
There was only one place I could turn to.
What is normal? I've recently learned that is a lot more subjective than you'd think. So I guess I should have said life used to be your usual normal. Family, job, friends, studies.......that kind of thing. The life everyone else have, and take for granted.
The day which turned normality on its head, started quite similarly to any other for me, without any sign or clue of how my life would be altered within those 24 hours. My alarm rang, and I was reluctantly drawn from sleep. I dragged myself out of bed, got dressed, ate breakfast, got ready and left the house. Normal day. Routine. I'd walk to my lectures, and spend a few hours doodling mindlessly on my notes while pretending to pay attention. Gossip with some friends over a much needed caffeine fix, then returned to doodling for another hour. After that was over, I had to drag myself into work.
It was just like I'd predicted. 3 hours of boredom, before we could escape, almost running to the cafeteria, grabbing our coffees and a table for each social circle. I just sat there, people watching, listening as my friends discussed what had happened last night. I didn't have much to contribute. Since I'd been feeling ill and drained for the last week, I'd reluctantly admitted to myself that I couldn't go out. And a night spent inside vegging out in front of the TV is never gossipworthy.
Of course, now, I could explain to you exactly why I'd been feeling like that before. But back then, I didn't have a clue. I was so innocent, so naive. I had no idea that this life was drawing to an end.
The 15 minute break over, we dragged ourselves back into the lecture hall, enduring yet another hour as the professor droned on and on about something, I'm not quite sure what it was. It seemed to last forever. Afterwards, I bid casual goodbyes to my friends, with no idea how permanent they'd be, and walked the short distance to the supermarket where I'd work whatever shifts I could fit in for the much-needed cash.
A few hours later, I was on the shop floor, stocking shelves, and a customer had called my attention asking where the ketchup was. I'd sighed, climbing down the ladder to answer the woman. And then.....I still don't really know what happened. My memory of it has always been vague. My head was spinning, I couldn't breathe, my heart was hammering about a thousand times faster than it ought to beat. My senses all stopped. And I felt a rush of energy, like all of life was pouring into me, like anything was possible, and if I wanted to I could have reached up and pulled down the very heavens. And then it stopped.
When I came to, the woman was staring at me, horror and fear vivid in her expression. I could read the silent accusation in her eyes. The truth. And then when she raced out of the store, running as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her, I knew she'd be running to report that I, Ariana Jasmine Mitchell, was one of them.
I couldn't feel the panic which I ought to have, in that situation. Instead, I was numb, temporarily. I knew that eventually I'd be screaming "Why me? Why did you choose me?", but it hadn't fully registered yet. I was staring down at my hands, which in my eyes, in all of society's eyes, might as well now be stained crimson with blood. Those hands would now be the tools for impossible, unnatural deeds. As I ran out of the shop, away from this revelation and away from life as I'd always known it, I was unconsciously evading any kind of reflexive surface: I knew what I'd see. And I couldn't take seeing the mark on myself, not yet. Not the definite proof, as if I needed more than that experience, that reaction. All that was left was for me to start affecting things, I thought with a shudder. That and the customary capture in the early night, followed by being thrown into a cell, experimented upon until an "accidental" death.
No. I knew where I was going, now. The thought might possibly terrify me more than that alternative, but accepting that would be giving in to all of it. And I've never been a quitter.
There was only one place I could turn to.
It's really good. 
Yeah. I'm guessing they wouldn't taste nice 
She's messing her around a bit
