It Begins.
So, if you’re reading this, I guess it means you found or were given my journal. Well, that means I’ll have to start from the beginning…I don’t remember if I’ve been like this since I was born. All I know is that I’ve had this “talent” for as long as I can remember. To some people, I probably seem like a judgemental jerk because of it. The only person who only knows about this is my best friend, Sabrina.
By now, you’re probably wondering what in the world I’m talking about. Well, let me explain, though, I know you can’t relate. To sum it up, I have this strange thing about me, and it affects my vision. However, it’s not just like I have sight problems and see differently than everyone else. No, no. It is much more than that.
I can see the world perfectly fine. In fact, I can see better than most people, according to Sabrina. But, there’s just one thing. Humans, and only humans, are just figures of one, solid color. Normally, people are just blobs of gray. So dull, lifeless, expressionless. Though, I do see some pure white tones every now and then. Those are the people you wanna be around. But there are people that are just splotches of darkness. Not even figures. They have a glowing aura of hatred that seeps into your soul and gives you the worst feeling imaginable. They can tear you apart with a single glance. Luckily, it’s very rare that I come across these people. Long story short, the gray beings are just normal people. They’re, of course, a mixture of black and white, meaning they have a certain level of kindness and hatred bubbling inside them. These, not even beings, these atmospheres of darkness, are, of course, evil. Evil that illuminates a room, but in a disastrous way. Evil that will send a shock down your spine at the thought of it. These things have no emotion, feel no remorse, have no regret or sadness or sympathy. They are pure hatred.
Now, the pale, alabaster beings, on the other hand, are basically creatures of perfection. They have a small silver glow that can be seen slightly trailing behind them wherever they walk. These creatures, unlike any of the other people I’ve come across, have facial features. Well, sort of. They have a smile engraved into their face. Though, not the creepy kind of smile that you might imagine. More of a faint, soft smile, that just gives you the feeling that the words “Everything will be alright” will be whispered from that mouth.
I, personally, believe that the white beings are angels, and that the dark entities are demons. With this in mind, I obviously believe that the gray blobs are humans. Also, I don’t believe I mentioned this, some of the gray beings are different tones and shades. For example, someone that is optimistic and kind more often than pessimistic will be more of a steamy gray, while a person that’s always negative and rude will be a bit more like a smokey gray, if that makes any sense.
Anyways, with that boring explanation out of the way, let’s get on to the actual story, shall we?
When I was born, my parents didn’t want me. At the same time, however, they didn’t feel like getting rid of me. I was their fourth child. They wanted me to be born, but they wanted a girl. Their first child was a girl, who they ended up naming Bianca, which I consider to be the sassiest name in existence. Of course, no matter what they named her, I’d still end up saying it was a sassy name. Bianca was seven years old when I was born, making her twenty-one as of right now. Two years after Bianca’s birth, my parents were “blessed” with twins. Two bouncing baby boys, who they named Michael and Marcus. So, when I was born, these young lads landed at the age of five. Now, they’re both nineteen years old. Of course, four years after the birth of the beloved twins, I came along. Jackson Lee Thomas. Like I said, my parents wanted a girl. They were originally planning on naming me what the girl’s name would’ve been; Jasmine. So, let’s take a moment to thank my dad for not letting that happen.
Anyways, I’m currently fifteen years old, and a lot has happened in my life. My dad became an alcoholic when I was too young to even pronounce “alcohol”. My mom debates taking her own life every time he picks up a bottle of beer, and can’t allow herself to kick him out. My sister refuses to get a job or move out of the house, and all she does is complain, fight, or start random, unnecessary drama. The twins are still in high school since they both got held back twice each. It’s not that they aren’t smart, because trust me, the cruel, yet clever, pranks they come up with would take a genius. It’s that they don’t care about school. They go to school to mess around with friends and hit on girls.
Sabrina is a completely different topic. I met her in the first grade. She wasn’t the alabaster, glowing white that I sometimes see, but she was pretty close to it. Though I can’t see her real appearance, I hear people talk about her. “She looks so creepy,” or “I don’t think girls are supposed to look like that,” or even “She looks like a demon,”
However, I understood that since she was so close to that angel-like color, that she was a lot friendlier than everybody talking behind her back. I could even see this one girl back in first grade, and I remember that everyone thought she was so cute and innocent. “She’s so pretty!’ or “She’s so cute!”
And then that cute little girl went off and forced people to do her bidding.
So the moral of this story? Looks can be deceiving. Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about that, because I have the power to get away with judging a book by its cover.
All of that is in the past. Forgotten about. Let’s talk about the present. Trust me, there’s a lot to cover. Currently, I’m a freshman in high school. I have all my classes with Sabrina, luckily. Over time, her bright, pearly color has faded due to continuous hate and bullying directed towards her. Sometimes, I wonder what’s so terrible about her appearance that could cause her to receive all this hatred. Sabrina has told me that she has black hair and that her eyes and skin are different than most, but she’s never told me more than that. I’ve always figured that she’s uncomfortable with her true appearance, so I’d never force her to tell me what she really looks like.
Tomorrow is Monday, and I’m not necessarily excited about school. Ever since I started high school, Sabrina and I have been huge targets for bullying. Sabrina usually tells them to leave us alone, while I ignore them completely. We’re hardly halfway through the school year, and it feels like it’s already been forever.
It was around midnight when I fell asleep. I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock screaming at me. My hand automatically went to hit snooze, but then I stopped myself and turned the alarm off entirely. I stood up and stretched, going to my dresser to grab an outfit for the day. After searching through it a bit for something comfortable, I decided on an old, gray hoodie with various paint splotches on it and a pair of jeans. I got dressed and proceeded to continue my morning routine of polishing my food stompers and styling my mane, or as you normal people say it, “brushing my teeth and hair”.
When that was done, I went into the kitchen to get breakfast. My family never had that typical “Let’s eat together for every meal!” kind of thing that you see on TV. The twins, who happen to get along quite well, eat their breakfast in their own rooms so they can use their phones to watch videos (Speaking of which, I’m the only one in my family who doesn’t own a phone. My parents don’t trust me with many valuables and think that it’ll just be a waste of money,). My father is at work by now, and my mother is sitting on the couch drinking coffee. As for Bianca, she’s still asleep.
I’ve always had to make my own breakfast. I don’t mind, though, because most of the people in my family are terrible cooks. I ended up just making some scrambled eggs and grabbing a cup of yogurt from the fridge. I poured a glass of milk, as well, and sat down at the old wooden table in the kitchen to chow down.
The eggs tasted fine, but were slightly burnt. The yogurt, I noticed, was a few days past its expiration date, but I didn’t care, because the eggs were slightly past expired, too. The milk was okay, though.
As I finished breakfast, I headed out the door in an old, beat up, muddy pair of tennis shoes, with a torn backpack hanging by one strap over my shoulder. Today is going to be horrible, I bet, but maybe something good will happen…
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