Threshold

I used to live a normal life.

I breathe in quick, sharp breaths as I race down the alleyway. Panic poisons my mind and body; thinking of nothing else but survival.

I used to be an ordinary boy.

My heart pounds in my chest and a stitch forms in my side. I can feel a trickle of blood running down the back of my neck, but push on. Dizziness forms in nauseating waves and I begin to sweat uncontrollably. My vision blurs.

I hear them in the distance of night. I hear them in the sun-high of day.

I collapse onto my knees, and I can see nothing but faint dark shapes that I think must be shadows. I pant and bury my head in my hands, unable to ignore the sharp pain in my head.

I’m weak.

A bright light surrounds me, and I’m gone. Blinked out of existence. My skin burns like I’m on fire but shivers like there’s a coldness that won’t ever leave my bones.

I’m not a good person.

The danger has vanished, or rather I vanished, as I crumple to the ground. I rewind the scenes through my head. A popular, bright-eyed boy reduced to nothing but a villain.

I’m not a hero.

Voices in my head start to whisper and tears streak down my cheek, dripping down my chin as I wince in pain. Pathetic. I’m stronger than this. I thought I was. I really, really thought I was. But that doesn’t matter, because the instinct inside of me was more powerful.

I’m not even human.

So, I’ll put it to you straight. Everything changed the day I became unworthy of living. But neither did the spirits think I deserved the mercy of death.

I’m a monster.

And you better believe it.