Dear Mom:
I'm writing this because I can't put this in my diary. It doesn't fit in with what I like to put in there.
Mom, I'm tired. I'm tired of you not being here. As much as I hate you for just packing up and leaving to go off hunting down the people that killed Daddy, I want you to come to this school Aunt Sylvia sent me to, I want you to get me out of this crazy place, and I want you to take me home. I want to go home.
This is your fault. It's your fault everything's turned upside down, because this is nowhere near anything I would ever want for myself. Why did you send that pendant to me? What were you thinking? It's not enough that you dragged Daddy into your craziness, now you've got to bring me back into it now that he's gone?
Someone broke into the house to get that stupid vial you sent me. They came into our house to get it. I wish I'd never opened that stupid package. I wish that whatever it was that splashed all over me when it broke had been anything but what it was. Some nights I wish it had been acid. At least I could get plastic surgery for the scar, but there's no fix for what I've got now.
Now, I have these "powers" (I feel so silly even saying that word) that aren't the blessing everyone else here seems to think they are. God, if they only knew.
Do you know what I'm going through now? Did you know this would happen? Do you even care?
It's not little things, like the bees or the hummingbirds following me if I stand too long in one spot. I actually smiled the first several times that happened. It was like being a fairy tale princess in a Disney movie. And yeah, I was so happy that my complexion cleared up. I haven't had a zit in forever since The Night, and if zits were going to come, they would have been here long before now.
If it were just those things, I'd be okay with it. But it's not just those things. Everything's changed, I don’t recognize myself any more.
What does it mean when I get cut, and blood doesn't come out? What does it mean I haven't had a period in over six months? Or when I hold my breath for an hour and I still don't have to take another breath? Or when I dig into the ground with my hands and I taste the dirt in my mouth? It means I'm not human anymore, Mom.
This is a nightmare. The changes come every day, without warning, and you're not here to tell me what is happening to me, and where it's going to stop. I have to fake lunch and dinner whenever I'm hanging out with someone because sooner or later I throw it up again just to get it out of my stomach, because it's not digesting. I can keep less and less down every time.
What am I turning into? I wake up every day wondering if I'm going to take root if I walk barefoot in the grass like I used to back home. It's crazy. It's CRAZY.
My smile is breaking my face, Mom. Every time one of the students at Saint Joseph's says, "Hey, we've got powers, we've got to use them to help other people," I keep thinking, "How are those powers helping me?" They benefit everyone else BUT me. But I keep smiling and nodding at everything they say, because I can't think of what else to do. I try to do all the normal things. I've been asked to the Homecoming by this boy…this wonderful boy, who feels like home and the way I remember life being before The Night. There are so many friends I could have, if I could just let them know. But I can't let them know. I can't get that close. I don't know what's happening to me.
I'm afraid of forgetting who I am, who I was. Will I disappear, some day? Will someone come into my room and find a girl-faced tree outside the bedroom window, blooming white flowers? Right now, there's a sign in front of an oak tree inside school grounds that says, "Vote for Tree for Homecoming", and I know that can't be coincidence. It's like a sign.
The teachers are trying. They think that if I can just control my abilities, I can control these changes. But these abilities are just happening. It's all instinct. How am I supposed to control what I don't understand?
Mommy, where are you? I need you to tell me what's going on. I need you to fix this. I want to die. I want to live. Help me. Please.
Reflections in Green and White
Moderator: Student Council