Golden Child

The golden child flaws humans in a way that no mutation can. I didn’t realize that I was a golden child until it was too late.

My name is Brian Telt. My brother, Bill Telt, died before he could even experience the phenomenon that is light and the luxury that is sound. I may have taken it for granted, but the senses are a great comfort that we overlook. The sight of our own beauty, even though it comes with the incompetence to realizing our hideousness, whether inside or out, is a gift that we don’t appreciate enough. Auditory sense is the tool to perceiving vibrations. To see art in things that otherwise would have no meaning. I never appreciated those senses. Jealousy plagued me like the Black Death. My recognition of the way we can turn a tactile element into a principle of science. The smell of freshly baked cookies could be enjoyed 100 times more than us by Canis Lupis. Chiroptera can hear prey ascending a plant from 40 feet while us humans can barely make out music from the same distance. Meanwhile, I sat here with a big brain to store those facts, but not enough brainpower to relay those facts into my life other than to scowl on how dogs have it better, for they can survive without destroying planets and several species. I was a golden child. My parents proclaimed that I, at birth, would soon be the world’s most innovative thinker. They hung on to me, letting me believe the solar system revolve around me, that I was a special star. I never achieved anything great in life. I reached the milestone every other human did. I took my first three steps and promptly fell. I was human. I was imperfect.

Now, I can’t go and blame my parents for all my issues. I was also part of the problem. I could never grow up. I clung to my parents. They tried to shake me off, a desperate attempt to ignore me, trying to get me to grow up. I suppose it is both of our faults. Anyway, I’ve been straying from the topic. How did I get here? A place where I realize my faults and learn to accept them. To change who I am, despite my background of being stubborn and spoiled.

October 15, 2423 7:16 A.M.

BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...

I sat up slowly, stretching. I felt productive today. First impressions are everything, and my first impression of this day was bright and cheerful. I then fell back upon my bed. My followers could wait for me for ten more minutes, right? I drifted to unconsciousness. 

~

October 15, 2423 10:16 A.M.

Disoriented, I sat up. I felt rejuvenated, but at what cost? My eyes drift towards the alarm clock positioned by the bed of which I laid. Dreading the ultimate result I would find, I saw it. 10:16 A.M. Maybe I shouldn’t have slept through my alarm. I sluggishly rolled out of bed onto the floor. It was time for me to share with the world my talents. I didn’t even need to get ready. My boss wouldn’t mind, knowing who I was. I was greater than the others. I confidently perambulated down the road. Those who got the luxury of gazing upon me quivered. Their scowls meant nothing. I knew that, deep down, they loved me. They admired me. I believed my sire and mother in their confidence for my social skills. Ignorance is a blissful feeling, so I clung to it, a spider to a web. If that web was the downfall and upbringing of human civilizations. I didn’t even realize I was there until I felt the breeze of air conditioning softly caressed my face. 

“Hello! How may I help you?” A metal machine that was supposed to represent a human called for my attention. 

I turned to scold it, for it was not worth my breath but I would be generous enough to grant it my speech anyway. “Do not speak to me! Do you know who I am?!”

Even a machine could look disgusted. There was nothing to be disgusted about except for the machinery’s various flaws, though, so I didn’t even acknowledge the robot’s distaste. I had better things to do, like sorting uninteresting papers that my colleagues beg me to organize with my talents. I began my journey to the metal box that awaited for anybody that wished to travel to the upper floors. I stepped in, pressed the red button labeled “32” and began my ascent to the thirty-second floor. I counted upwards the numbers displaying what floors I was currently on. 

2, 3, 4, 5 I felt a warning in my stomach. Bile rose to my throat. 6, 7, 8, 9 Something was surely going to happen.  10, 11, 12, 13 I could feel it. An unknown force acted on me. 13, 14, 15, 16 I felt like I was a spectator in my own body. I watched as my thin legs crumpled. My sky-blue hair began to shift slightly in the direction I was falling. Everything drifted to black. 

~

I awoke to a strange buzzing sound. It was the exact same sound when someone refused to leave the elevator for some reason. Something about the society crumbling and even a minor act of retaliation could shake the foundation. To me, it was a stupid reason to stay in an elevator for hours and have to eventually get stabbed to death for not listening to colleagues. Following instructions wasn’t difficult, but some people made it difficult. I stood up and wiped the imaginary dust from my body. Knowing that everybody on my floor had already seen me unconscious in the elevator, I attempted to play it off as a cantrip. My attempt was unsuccessful. I fled to the office of a colleague. Bursting through the door, I feel myself lose balance for a second, only for the effect to go away. Strange... 

“Um… Do you need something? You were already excused with the reason of being sick, by the way, so you can just go home, Brian.” My friend, Ross, was questioning me. I could feel it.

“Sick? I am incapable of achieving such a state! How dare you accuse me of such an act?!” I exclaimed. How could he not see that I was never going to acquire an illness of any sort? Did I come off as weak to him? Ten butterflies erupted in my stomach. I can’t be seen as weak. I’m the most powerful person I’ve ever seen! 

“No. No, no, no. I think you’re mistaking me for Tim. He’s always sick.” I explained to Ross, although he hadn’t asked. He might want to know. There was never that absolute certainty that someone already contained enough knowledge of the situation.

Ross looked at me, confused. “I’m trying to be nice here, but Tim is always here. You haven’t been showing up half the time that you’re supposed to. I think I might fire you.” 

“You can’t do that.” I said. I was the most intelligent, creative person in this entire building. Did he not understand that? I felt fire coursing through my veins. He couldn’t do that, right? I needed this job. My parents wouldn’t be preserved if I lost my job. This was the only thing keeping my family and I intact. I wasn’t prepared to lose it. 

“I think I just did. Sorry, Brian. I heard there’s a great paying store down the street, and they’re looking for a cashier. Maybe you could head there? Besides, this job wasn’t really… meant for yo-” Ross’ hands were desperately clawing at his neck as I pushed him against the wall. 

“You can’t do this. I’m losing my life. I’m not prepared to do peasant work!” Tears flowed from my eyes. I could feel it to. A burning rage engulfed me. In the distance, I heard a voice pointing out what was going on in here, but I didn’t care. I could do whatever I want. These rats knew who I was. My grip on Ross’ neck tightened. His eyes rolled into his head, hazel lost into a white wall. I loosened my grip, realizing what I had done. Ross dropped to the ground. He’s not dead, is he? He couldn’t possibly die in my presence. My aura in itself radiates life. I didn’t just- That’s impossible. As I soon also drifted into unconsciousness, I heard in the background screams of the easily terrified. They all faded to a white canvas, but I could hear the building shake as it struggled to support hundreds of soldiers. Men and women of the militia that searched for the culprit who murdered two individuals, eliminating every single person until they realized that the murderer laid right next to the murdered. There weren’t two corpses. Just a corpse and a reckless killer.

~

The shackles on my hands shook as I kneeled. Every action I did, I did sluggishly. Since the murder I commited, I thought back at the disappointments I caused that I tried to cover up. A thousand errors I attempted to pin on someone else. I could have accepted my mistake and learned from it, but instead I covered it up, shielding myself from life as I shielded my parents from light. They lay in my basement to this day. I didn’t murder them, but I refused to aid them. The flutter of a moth intrigues me at this point. Every flap of it’s wings as it flies through the moonless sky, guided only by the belief that it has a purpose. The moth flies through the Autumn breeze, wishing to be set free from its chains. I could not say I feel the same. The shackles that pull me against this brick wall are the ones setting me free. I am free from disappointing the spirits of my parents again, from feeling the pulse of my victims drop underneath my fingertips. It was relaxing to know it wouldn’t happen again.

Or would it?