Not Human

Not Human

A Story by Eileen Rose
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Writing prompt: you wake up on your 18th birthday to find out that you aren't human.

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I wake up to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of my dog running back and forth down stairs. This morning feels different than the others. It’s my 18th birthday! I throw the blankets off and rush to get ready. I shower, brush my teeth, put my Hazel- wood high uniform on, and give a big smile to the girl who’s staring back at me in the mirror. I run down stairs to find my living room decorated with balloons and streamers. My dog comes running to greet me first. My parents are at the dining room table. I feel as if I’ve interrupted an important conversation because as soon as my mother sees me she jumps to greet me while my father’s last words to her just seem to drift in the air.
!“Happy birthday Alexandria!” my mother says as she throws her arms around me. “Thanks” I say
“Sit, sit, sit!” my mother says, rushing me over to the couch where a wrapped box sits delicately.
I sit down and my mother places the present on my lap. I hadn’t asked for anything in particular so I was curious as to why my mother seemed so excited. I begin to unwrap the box when my father stands up abruptly from the table.
!“Julia” he sternly calls to my mother.
My father never calls my mother Julia unless it’s serious. Russell, my dog whimpers and lays down at my feet. I stop unwrapping and look at my mother then back at my father. I wait for one of them to say something, but now my father seems to have gone pale a bit. He’s looking straight past me, at my mother so I decide to turn to her.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
My mother’s eager smiles turns into more of a sympathetic one.
“This is just a very special and important birthday for us as a family” she starts off.
My father is shuffling back and forth nervously. I’ve hardly ever seen him nervous or alarmed by anything. My stomach starts to turn a bit. My mother opens her mouth to say something else, but it looks like she can’t find the words. Now my parents are both staring at the box on my lap in silence. I look down at the box wondering why I feel so strangely drawn to it, and it’s almost like I can’t help myself: I start to unwrap it. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me now as I get closer to what’s held within the box. All the wrapping paper has been removed and now I’m staring down at my birthday present.
I’m not sure what to feel, a large book that reads “The Strange and Mysterious: Books of Spells and Aura Controlling Abilities”. On top of this book is a amethyst amulet. I pick it up and run over it’s edges with my thumb. I feel like I got lost looking at it and it wasn’t until my mother spoke that I came back to the room.
“Your grandmother.. left this in her will for you.” my mother said.
My grandmother Leah died when I was about 10 years old. I had seen her often and loved being around her.
“She asked that you receive it on your 18th birthday when your... “soul” is suppose to awaken.” my mother spoke slowly and cautiously.
“My soul?” I said, confused as to what all of this meant.
My father intervened,
“Alexandria, I wouldn’t take this seriously, your grandmother-”
“Don’t you dare tell her this isn’t real Richard” my mother snapped.
“She shouldn’t be focussing on something that doesn’t exist, she should be enjoying normal things like school and her friends!” my father said back.
I stood up with both the book and amulet in my hands, breaking up the argument. I took a few steps forward and then stopped. Everything was starting to come together. I remember my grandmother talking about things such as auras and remedies. I was young, but perceptive. One time I remember cutting my hand while playing outside her house. It had bled pretty badly and looked deep. She wrapped some type of cloth around my hand and said:
“What’s once damaged human flesh can be restored in one day’s rest”
The next day my wound was gone. When I asked she would simply say:
“A grandmother’s touch can heal all.”
Things happened around us, strange things. It wasn’t coincidence, it was something more. I often wondered about my grandmother, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Now ideas were forming, questions, “who was she really?”.
“Alexandria” my mother was standing now.
“What am I?” I asked as I turned around.
“You’re a witch.”

© 2014 Eileen Rose


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Added on June 3, 2014
Last Updated on June 3, 2014
Tags: Witch, fiction, fantasy

Author

Eileen Rose
Eileen Rose

Jersey City, NJ



Writing