Pariah

Chapter 1

Rain.

I could smell it. Feel it. See it. It ran down my arms, crisscrossing like a river until it dripped down onto the road. My hair caked my face, my clothes clung to me like a child would their mother. I shivered and folded my arms around my torso to warm my body. My make up smeared down my cheeks, making me look all the worse. My teeth chattered and my knees shook. Blood combined with the water and ran down my arms and legs. Pain ambushed me, making me keel over and hit the ground. A cry escaped my lips, I cursed myself for allowing to show any kind of emotion. But how could I not? I was nothing compared to them. A mere ant trying to fight a boot. A foot came crashing down to my ribs, I could hear them crack and break. Another scream pierced the air. But compared to the storm raging on, it was a small mouse squeak versus a lions roar. Their smirks and hate-filled eyes clouded my vision. What did I do to anger them? Perhaps I l looked at them wrong, or maybe I chose the wrong outfit.

No, I knew why they were treating me like the scum of the earth. It was because I was different. I was a Pariah, a literal outcast to society. All because of my defect. They all possessed abilities, each of them could do phenomenal things, but there was a small percentage of us who possessed an incredibly rare genetic disorder called Pariah. Fitting name for such a curse. No matter how many times I moved away, hid away from the world, tried to stay out of their way. They always found me, and they always hurt me. I was nothing to them, they were better than me. People like me weren't allowed to walk the streets, and if we were caught doing just that, we would be brutalized, or worse -- killed. A man with sky blue eyes wound his leg back and hit me in the stomach. Air forced its way out of my lungs causing me to gasp and wheeze. Pedestrians and cops milled on by, acting as if there was nothing wrong. Their main concern was to get home and out of the storm, not saving a Pariah.

Just when I thought they would kill me. A woman with red hair held out her arm to stop blue eyes from doing further damage. "We should stop, or else we won't have another Pariah to beat on." She smirked, kneeling down beside me and scoffing. "This thing doesn't deserve death. Death is too good for it." She ended the sentence by spitting on me. "Come on, let's get out of here. Its filth is all over the street."

The rest of her minions copied her and spat on me before striding away from me, leaving me half dead on the sidewalk like garbage. I wheezed and tried to push myself off of the ground, but a searing pain engulfed me. I yelped and dropped the road. Water rushed by me, washing my blood away and cleaning my wounds. As if to hide the evidence of my assailants. My bottom lip quivered as I huddled into a ball, wishing the storm would take me away from here. I just wanted to be normal, to have abilities like everyone else. But that would never be possible. I went to hundreds of doctors and specialists, they all told me the same thing, "Kael, you're a Pariah, I'm sorry," and then they would send me on my way. The look of distaste on their faces would forever be edged into my brain. This is how my world worked. I was what people called street scum. I wasn't apart of any class, I had my own -- my people had their own. The Royals were on top, the people with amazing powers. The Architects, the ones who could create anything, the Legions, individuals with multiple powers, and the Corporeals, these were the rarest kind of them all, close to being as rare as Pariahs. They could harness black energy, something that held the universe together -- some even think it's what our very souls are made of.

I winced as I held onto my ribs, limping along, trying to avoid hurting myself further. I examined the houses, I was in the higher-class district, the place where most of the populace lived. Which was strange, considering other cities had more middle-class. But what do I know? I'm street scum. The city slowly transformed into middle-class, then lower-class, and then the underclass, the place where the lowest of the lowest resided. I lived in a literal shack, my house barely stood. One blow from a Mistral, or Elemental, and I was sure it would tip over. I lugged my shivering body up the stairs of my house and yanked the door open. I was greeted by a small all-in-one kitchen, dining room, and living room. I trudged past my poor excuse of a house and entered my bedroom where a half wall separated my small room from my all-in-one living space -- my sleeping area was barely big enough to fit a twin size bed. I threw open my bathroom door and slammed it behind me, I placed both my hands on either side of my sink and stared at it before glancing at my reflection. Make up streaked my cheeks, my hair was strewn about, and my eyes red and puffy from crying. Bruises covered a majority of my face, a large cut trailed from the bottom of my left eye and disappeared behind my shirt collar.