As he woke, he knew nothing but pain and the words that followed him. It felt as if they were engraved into his very being. He tried to stand, his legs trembling and his mind a dizzy, spiraling mess. He couldn't think straight; everything was a blur.
"Yo, kid. Sit the fuck down," a veteran said.
All Keruim heard were mumbles. He tried to find the source of the voice, but as his eyes landed on the man, he couldn't focus. He rubbed his eyes and gazed again, but all he saw was an endless pit of darkness.
"Ahhhh!" he screamed, the trauma of his body being broken over and over finally surfacing.
He frantically felt around his body, trying to find a mark, a wound—anything that proved he had actually gone through that nightmare. But there was nothing. Of course there was nothing. It was supposed to be a dream. How could something follow him out of a dream?
But he knew. Something had followed him. It wasn't scars; it was words.
The veteran watched him scream. "You're not listening, you little bitch."
As the man charged, he lifted his leg, pulled it back as far as he could, and spiked Keruim's head like a soccer ball.
Splat. Blood sprayed from the force of a kick no twelve-year-old should ever have to handle.
"That's what I fucking thought, bitch," the man spat.
…
As Keruim's eyes began to flicker, he finally regained consciousness to the rhythmic sound of footsteps.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Those were the footsteps he vowed to get revenge on. The pain was gone now; everything was clear. There were words in his mind that wouldn't go away. He didn't know what they meant, but he knew what time it was. It was time to go to the mines.
…
Clink. Clink.
As he struck the ore he had been hitting for days, he looked around. If it was noticeable that people were different before, it was undeniable now. People were changing—not just their minds, but their bodies. They were becoming stronger.
One thing came to his mind: the boy in the mist.
Did they all get some sort of power? How? This isn't fair. Why them? Why only them? I need revenge on them. Only my words should matter. Why am I the one who has to be different?
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
"I'm being singled out, too," he muttered, looking around. Everyone was avoiding him. Everyone. And the people who did look at him had nothing but hatred in their eyes.
"You're a monster."
The girl's voice echoed in his mind. As he looked at her, she began to walk toward him, five others trailing behind her. Someone was finally breaking his loneliness, but the arrival was unwelcome because of the words that followed her.
"You monster! I will kill you! How could you do that to someone you didn't even know? You're just a little bitch who needs to die in a ditch. You don't deserve to live!"
Keruim pointed at himself. "Me? A monster?"
"How can I be a monster?"
"You killed her!" they all screamed at him.
"No, no. I saved Mom," he said, opening his hands wide. "Monster... you throw that word around like it means nothing. I killed her to save her. If no one else wanted to do it, I would be her savior. I will be the savior!"
He flashed the craziest smile he could manage. "The world can hate me, but I will save my family. There are monsters everywhere! You're telling me no one here has killed their own kind? Just yesterday, everyone was killing the friends they made the day before. Endlessly choking kids to death..."
"Saved?!" the girl, Emma, screamed. "You 'saved' her? She choked on her blood while you stabbed her from head to toe! You fucking maniac! I'll kill you, don't worry. I'll kill you just like you killed her. I'll stab you starting at your feet, then your thighs, your arms, your neck—and then I'll butcher your face just like you did to hers! I vow to kill you!"
Hearing that, he thought to himself: Die? Death? Do I want to die? Can I die? I want to die. I want to die.
"I want to die," he mumbled in a trance. He couldn't even react as they charged him.
Fists punched his face. Legs kicked his ribs until the bones snapped. It hurt. He didn't know if he should scream or beg them to stop. He wanted to die, but it hurt so much. Every bone that broke brought unimaginable agony.
Stop, stop... keep kicking me... a voice echoed in his mind. Hit me. Beat me. Do it. Do it. Do it.
Five people jumped him while everyone else watched, doing nothing. That was how it was in here. Everyone did what they had to do to survive; if you yelled at a group that had numbers, you would be killed. So, they just watched every kick and every punch.
They watched as his bones snapped and stabbed through his skin, jagged white shards piercing his own flesh. They watched as his fingers were wrenched back until they shattered, blood pouring out of him in waves that soaked into the sand like a thirsty floor. Every punch pulverized something inside him; some of them were far too strong for a mere human, and they were delighted to feel his ribcage collapse under their knuckles.
As they got more vicious, Emma picked up a heavy rock.
"Emma, are we really doing this?" one of the boys asked.
"Yes! Of course! He killed Amelia, so he has to die!"
She walked to the middle where the boy lay. But something was wrong. They had beaten him until his shattered bones were scattered on the ground, literally torn from his body. They had seen the splinters of his skeleton piercing through his skin, yet as they watched, the gore began to writhe. There was blood everywhere.
So why were there no wounds?
"What the fuck?" she whispered. She dropped the stone, missing his head and crushing his leg entirely.
Splat.
As his leg was crushed, Keruim screamed in such intense pain that the people around him backed away.
"It hurts!" he wailed, staring at his mangled leg. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Someone stop the pain! Please... help, Mom..."
Once again, he caught himself pleading for his mother. She wouldn't save him. She couldn't. He had killed her.
But then, the pain began to shift. He felt the agony, but when he looked down at his leg, it was perfect.
A
No scars. Nothing. It was like newly cut marble. He was perfect.
Body
But it still hurt. He wanted to scream, but in the end, he smiled.
That
"Hahaha... no scars. Nothing to remind me of my pain."
Wont
"I will forever be alone. Nothing will follow me... not even my own scars. Haha! It hurts so much, I want to die so badly! Nothing can remind me of the pain I faced. Not a single mark to prove I suffered."
But he knew he couldn't. This was his power. No—everyone else received a power, but he had received a curse. He would always heal, no matter what. He could be tortured for days; he could be disemboweled and farmed for his flesh as an infinite food source. His body could be eaten by maggots endlessly while he remained wide awake to feel every bite.
This curse didn't make him any stronger. It didn't make him any smarter. It only guaranteed one thing: he would never find peace in the grave.
And in the end, he couldn't even die.
Scar.