Soul Searching

Chapter Three

"We know what we are, but know not what we may be."
-William Shakespeare

The first thing Melanie felt when she came to was the intense cold where her Mark should've been. It was almost painful. She groaned as she opened her eyes, aware of the two worried faces staring down at her.

Maybe it was all a dream, was her first thought.

But then she looked at her mother's puffy eyes and red nose, and felt the panic return to her. Her stomach still felt terrible, her throat tight and constricted. She sat up, her heart aching.

"Are you okay?" her father whispered, his face red from all of the fierce rubbing he did to it.

"I'm fine," her voice was slightly hoarse, but she was determined to make it look like it didn't affect her. But inside, she was screaming out endlessly for help.

"We can cancel the party if you like," her mother added, oblivious to her calmness, "your friends should be here in two hours, but I'm sure they would understand."

"No!" And she was most certainly bent on not canceling her party, because that would show that something's wrong. No one ever cancelled their ninth birthday party.

"If you wish." Both of their faces looked quite relieved, and they immediately set to work with the decorations. Melanie suddenly felt alone and depressed.

I am alone, she realized, no one else shares the pain I am experiencing right now. I'm different.

And once there was a time when her parents told her it was okay to be different, good even. But Melanie knew they were only trying to give her subtle consoling for what they were to tell her in the near future.

She trudged up the stairs, careful not to let her parents catch sight of her misty eyes, her lower lip trembling. She wanted out of her Welcoming dress. She wanted to burn it. She wanted to throw the ashes into the sea, making sure they were never seen again. She wanted to fall into a dark, bottomless hole and take her last breath.

Their way of life; it was important. It run everything, it kept the whole world from collapsing on them.

It was their structure, keeping everything upright and balanced, never letting any harm come to them.

Melanie reached for the top of her dresser, her fingertips just barely grabbing ahold if what was up there. Melanie's stature was small; only four foot three. She was very petite and beautiful, and she sang like an angel.

But none of that mattered anymore. She would be an outcast.

Melanie looked at the object she held in her hand: a picture. It was of her, her mother, and her father.

She was about five at the time, a vibrant and energetic little girl. She was sat on the one shoulder of her mother, and one of her father. Their smiles lit up their whole face, but if Melanie looked closely, she could see a glimpse of the despair that haunted both of them.

Because of her.

She hated herself for placing such a burden on them. For causing her mother's tears, her father's distress.

Melanie brought the picture slowly to her and placed it against her chest, one hand overlapping another on top of it. She backed up so she was leaning against the bed, letting silent trickles of tears escape.

Be brave, she said to herself, be strong.

She stifled another sob.

"Melanie?" She flinched at her own name. Quickly wiping her eyes, she stood, smoothing down the wrinkles on her dress. With a last glance at the picture, she slid it under her pillow.