Well, I've began writing this for a while now. I didn't really want to post it up here, but oh well. I'd just like to give thanks to all the writers here on FictionPress as they've inspired me greatly with writing. Hopefully I made something enjoyable to read, or maybe I didn't.

Each to their own, right:) Please read and review!

There’s only one good thing about my life. And that was my bedroom. It’s small, sure, but it’s probably the coziest place of all coziest places.

And no, I’m not ten. I’m seventeen, mind you.

Back to my bedroom, the best thing about my bedroom would have to be my bed. Again, it’s not big, but it sure as hell soft. And comfy, especially after long days trying to concentrate on healing. We were working on dead mice and to be quite honest, I was horrified.

…And aggravated when I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do anything. While everyone succeeded in using their abilities, I sat there, staring wide-eyed at the injured little creature, horrified and disappointed. I did what the instructor told us to do—to feel for the animal, to imagine the pain, and to want it to be better again.

What sucks is that I think my sympathetic and loving feelings are on a short—okay, rather long—hiatus to God-knows-where and are having such a great time, that they weren’t planning on coming back any time soon. And I was fine with that. Except for when it came to training and actually using my “ability”—or lack thereof—then it was a different story.

Aunt Jen says it was nothing to fret and go up the wall about—same as Uncle Sam. They say that I have what it takes, but time is what’s not working out for me.

I think they’re wrong. I think it had something to do with the fact my parents died. When I was four…because of me.

And I couldn’t and didn’t do anything about it. Because I didn’t know.

A “tragic accident” was what it was called. But really, it was my fault. Entirely my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn and stupid, maybe, just maybe, my parents could have lived. I never go through one day without thinking about it…

x-x-x-x

“Please, Jayde, let’s go!” Michael Breton said to his four year-old daughter. She sat crouched in the corner of her room, refusing to leave.

“No! I want to stay here! I want my toys!” Michael looked helplessly to his wife, Lara, who in turn looked at the door in fear.

“Please, sweetie, it’s dangerous. We have to go now!” She reached down to pick up Jayde, in which she was successful, but the little girl began to cry very loudly.

“Shush, shush,” Lara said, gently patting the girl’s back. “Look, you can take your lion with you.” She bent down and picked up a stuffed lion and handed it to Jayde—who was beyond happy and immediately stopped crying.

“Come on, we have to leave, now!” Michael quickly led the way out the door and quietly down the steps, listening for any body that might have came in. There were steps. Many of them.

“Quick, into a room!” He whispered, as the three hurriedly gather their steps and into one of the guest bedrooms. Jayde busied herself playing with her lion, not knowing what was going on.

“What are we—”

“Well, look what we have here!” Three dark clothed men stood before the small family.

“Can I get rid of them?” One asked, getting ready. He steadied his stare before the leader cut him off.

He walked over to Jayde, who in turn stared at him with large hazel-green eyes. “Who’s you? You look scwary.” She remarked, directly to his face. Her parents winced as they watched, afraid to do anything.

“I, little girl,” he began, kneeling down beside her smiling, “am the ruler of the other side. The darken end of our land. The place where—”

“Can I just get rid of her? Please? Her cuteness is rather annoying.” The leader turned around and eyed him.

The sound of screaming and squealing could be heard miles away as he shriveled up and fell to the ground, hardly a bone could be seen and all flesh removed. All that was left was the dark clothes and shoes.

He was gone. Just like that. Jayde’s eyes went even wider. “WHERE DID HE GWO?! WHAT HAPPENED?”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” The leader turned back to her and gently ran his hand along her cheek bone. “As I was saying: the place where desire and lust is—”

“Wust?” He sighed. He was getting no where. She was too young. He was just wasting his time. Perhaps the cuteness was getting to him. He shivered and immediately let that thought go. Too horrifying, he thought.

The leader gestured his finger to Michael and Lara, who were silent. “Any last words?” One of the men asked, stepping forward.

“Please don’t hurt our baby, please!” Lara bursted, as tears spilled from her eyes. Her husband held her steady. They knew what was coming; there was no try in stopping it. They went against everything they believed in to have a “better” life. They both prayed that Jayde would be alright, because nothing meant more to them in the world than their only daughter.

The leader looked back down at Jayde, then at her parents. “Why would you think I’d kill one of us? She’s so young…so fresh. She has done no wrong. I am sorry this has come upon you—it was your decision, your choice. I am truly sorry.” He paused. “And I’m only so kind once in a while…with exception…” as he swayed his hands in the direction of Michael and Lara, before their eyes slowly fell shut and they both slumped down. Their bodies lay, without motion, on the ground. They were gone. Not a breath left.

“They widdn’t diswappear,” Jayde noted, looking at the master. “Why?”

He only smiled and looked down at her. “I saved you a lot of trouble in the future. Thank me.” One of the men left rolled his eyes.

“Uh…Tank you?” His smile grew. “Little girl, what is your name?”

“Jayde.”

“Well, Jayde, my time here is done. Perhaps I will see you in the future, yes?” She stared at him. “Or not,” he muttered. Reaching into his cloak, he produced a small toy—one much like the lion Jayde had in her hands still, but this time, instead of a bright orange and brown color all lions had, it was gray, and black. She took it nevertheless and watched as he and the rest of them left.

She got off the bed and walked over to the limp bodies which were her parents.

“Mommy, look! He gave me a toy! Bwad coloring, and funny feeling, but a twoy!” Her mother didn’t respond. She frowned and shook her mother. Still no response. She tried talking to her father, no good in that either. She was scared, even frightened. Why weren’t they moving? Why were they not talking to her? Did she do something bad? She sat down and started to cry, hugging the two toys she had.

“Master, why didn’t you remove the little girl?”

“Why would have I? She isn’t even five yet. I’ll let her live.”

“But—”

“Are you questioning my doings?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Now back to work.”

x-x-x-x

I sighed. I thoughtfully looked around my room as I eyed each of my belongings. I didn’t have much, just some books and a few little toys I had. My eyes stopped on the lions I still had—the bright, orange and brown one and the dark, gray and black one. They stood beside each other atop my stack of books—looking like polar opposites of each other. But somehow, I had this little feeling inside me, that they weren’t different at all. They were both toys, stuffed, and were portrayed as lions. The only difference was how they looked.

Then I started questioning my sanity. I was comparing two toys I had. And I was seventeen. I’m quite sure it’s not normal…

Oh wait, hah, neither am I.