I am not human. Not truly. Not in the ways that actually matter. I suppose what matters is actually rather subjective. The body I posess looks human enough. I have twenty digits. Two eyes. Two arms. Two legs. A head. A penis.

My organs are human, if somewhat oddly functioning. My heart beats about ten times each minute during strenuous activity. While asleep it is far less. I have never been ill. I have never had an infection.

They tell me that my genetic material is unusual, that it is not human. How different they do not say. I only know that I can do things that my parents couldn’t, that nobody human could.

I have felt different for nearly a decade now, ever since my parents brought their holy child to the Doctor to show him what I could do.

I moved my fingers and swirled the coffee in the doctors cup. I used to do it to amuse my baby sister. I’d sprinkle some pepper into the water and swirl it around until a miniature tornado moved inside the glass.

I have not seen my parents or sister since.

They tell me that I am not human. I have always believed them, but now I doubt. What is it that defines a human? Is it our bodies? Our genes? Our soul?

I feel human. My heart hurts for the parents that I will never see again. I am lonely, and I will never have anyone to love, because I will never be allowed to leave this place. I long for the life I might have had, although I can hardly imagine it. If I could, I would leave this place, with it’s pale orange walls and sterile floors. But I will never be able to do so.

I will stay here until I die, unless Jared keeps his promise to me…

Heart pounding, he grunts in effort and throws his body to one side. Hands squeeze tightly on the bars as sweat drips into his eyes. The light is too bright and it pounds numbingly into his brain. He drops his legs through the bars and up the other side, extending his arms fully and reaching for that poised spot. The blood rushes to his head and he eases his balance over, lowering himself slowly until he is bent double before shoving himself back into the air, releasing his hands and dropping to the mat, where he promptly collapses.

–

“I’m fine, Mom. Really, just take me home.” Jaysen pleads. Jacqueline, pale hair glowing sunlight, glances at the EMT behind her son. When he nods she returns the motion and presses her lips tightly together.

“Come on then Jaysen. Lets go.” Jaysen says goodbye to his coach and teammates as his mother picks up his bag and stands impatiently by the door. He looks longingly back at the gymnasium where the competition continues without him. Rubbing his temple he puts his sunglasses on as they walk through the sunlit hallway towards the parking lot, trailing after his mother.

He’d never missed a landing before. He’d never even fallen before, not accidentally. His eyes hurt, even behind the dark glasses the sun seemed to burn through them, piercing his head painfully. He gets in the passenger seat and keeps his eyes closed for most of the drive home.

“I told you I didn’t think Gymnastics was a good idea. I told you you’d get hurt.” His mother said when they were at home. “You had to do it though. Just had to be special.”

“I didn’t fall because of gymnastics Mom, I had some sort of freak headache.”

“Stress is what did it!” She was ramping up into hysterics, Jaysen had seen it a dozen times before. “The paramedic says your blood pressure probably spiked and caused you to black out.”

“They don’t know that Mom, it’s just a guess. I’m fine, I just need to take some Tylenol and I’ll be good as new, you’ll see.”

“I will not see. You’re going to the Doctor tomorrow, and you’re not going back to gymnastics. And that’s final.”

Jaysen, knowing better than to try and argue with her when she was like this, just hurries out of the room. He dumps Three Tylenol into his hand and swallows them with a chug of water from the bathroom sink, then hurries to his bedroom, leaving his mother fuming in the kitchen.

—

After her son has gone upstairs Jacqueline calms down quickly. She takes a deep breath and goes into the bathroom. She rubs her right arm and pulls up the sleeve. A small pink birth-mark is situated right over the vein about halfway up her forearm, shaped like a fat little ‘s’. She frowns and leans in towards the mirror, turning on the higher powered lights. She blinks her eyes a few times and looks at her eyes. The pale gray is shot through with white lines, bursting from the tiny pupil and bisecting a halo of the deepest black that lines the disk. She takes some Tylenol herself, sighing in sadness before getting up to make dinner.