Samara

Sometimes, they’re terrible, cruel, unspeakable evils. Sometimes, they’re acts of beautiful, wondrous kindness. I never know which one I’m going to get, but now… Well, I’d say I’m perfectly accustomed to receiving them. I know that’s not a normal thing to say, but I’ve grown use to the thought that I am anything but normal.

Normal people don’t wake up in a sweat after seeing horrible creatures attack innocent people. Normal people don’t stare at a person’s face and see beasts or beauties. Normal people don’t have powers. But for as long as I can recall, I’ve been this way.

It used to be that I just got visions. And they terrified me. But each year I grew, my powers did the same. Before I knew it, I was able to do incredible things. I can move an object just by thinking of it. I can get a person to do just about anything I want to with a smile. I can conjure green fire in my hands, and make plants grow with a single touch. I’m sure I could do more if I tried, but… why should I?

At twenty-three, I’d say I’m freakish enough, wouldn’t you? But I have to believe there is a reason for this: why I am the way I am. If there isn’t one… well… it would just make my existence sad—purposeless even.

But this last vision has given me a bit of hope. It keeps recurring. Showing me the same thing over and over—even while I’m awake. This vision is potent. I’d go so far as to say dangerous. I can barely function when I have it, and on some level, I think it’s telling me to find him.

In my vision, I see a man. A most handsome one, I must admit. He’s sculpted to perfection. Tall and muscular with keen amber eyes. He always looks like he’s in pain or angry. His mouth perpetually in a frown. His brow furrowed in distaste. I wonder what makes him look like that.

Why is he always dissatisfied?

Each day, this vision gets stronger. They do that sometimes: prompt me to find a person or place. To intervene. I can’t help but to do it. It helps to relieve the pounding headaches the visions sometimes cause. But none have been worse than this.

Where to begin though? I guess, I’ll have to wait… for just one more glimpse of my fuming stranger.