I didn’t always used to have scars. One day a couple just showed up, the next there were fifty. Sometimes I wonder if it was something I’d done in a past life that cause me to be cursed with this. If I had the choice I’d walk away from it all in a heart beat.
In the beginning of all of this I didn’t know there would be an emotional battle each day that would walk through my nightmares and make them worse. I thought I just had a superpower that would make me the hero every child dreams of being. When I have to choose though I want nothing more than to be ordinary.
I have the ability to save lives. That’s all great, until I have to take another life in return. I don’t know why it happens or how exactly, but when someone is going to have a heart attack or be hit by a car or an airplane above me is about to crash, I can stop it. I get a feeling, like the ‘spidey-sense’ or a gut feeling, but it’s urgent. The people who will die beg me from the point of their decease to save them. Pleading with me, needing me. To deny them is almost as hard as saving them. Within the next few hours I have to cause an accident. Killing is the easier part though. I merely have to begin to think about ‘what if that car’ and the front bumper finds a target. Every time I killed another person I would receive a scar later. In the case of the plane, where I had to kill several people, a large range was burned into my face in my sleep awaking me to a screaming voice that sounded similar to my own.
I do my best to look for those who live there lives in the wrong; drug dealers, rapist, criminals, general no good doers, but still who am I to decide who lives and who dies? I never asked for the responsibility of balancing human life like some god among the mortals. If I could stop I would, but whatever this power is, however I got it, makes me. It’s my own will but I’m persuaded heavily. My mind gets weakened from the to-be dead soul begging for its life. My emotions become unstable as I have to decide to watch another breathing person of my same likeness and make-up becomes another inanimate object.
I try and use my powers for good though. As the super hero I always wanted to be, kind of, I save as many lives as I can. And take the lives of those who are less deserving. It never gets easier to decide though, and I still think I shouldn’t be able to. No man with a mother and a father raised in a town that put him through a schooling system with other people that were nice sometimes and mean other times should be permitted to hold life in his hand. I guess that’s why I’m writing this journal, so that everyone knows I’m a good person. I didn’t ask for this, to kill people, or to save them. When this journal is found and people read it they will pass it off as crazy or a fictional story, though I assure you I am very real, and still around. I can save myself too from old age and death from natural everyday events, by taking another life for my own every so often, but it’s for the greater good right?
And so, given this power that was never asked for, I suppose it’s time I really use it. Every opportunity to save a woman or child I have to take, and pass the fate they would’ve had on to a prisoner with a death sentence. I don’t know what exactly I should do, but I’ll do it anyways.