I tried to go to school after I woke up. It didn't work, but Mother always said trying and failing was better than being me and failing anyways. Each walk down the long, desert orange painted hallways made me wonder when it was that I'd gotten so different. Was it when I was in the coma, or had I always been like that? I don't think I'll ever get to know.

Then, there wasn't one time I could be found in class. Whenever asked why I never told, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the reason why I wanted to go to class.

People were in there. People with thoughts. People with faces and feelings and friends. People I wanted to be. People I wanted to become.

I wasn't a person.

After waking up, everything was different. Mother never really wanted me, but she seemed to hate me after that. She kept whispering under her breath and holding a cross to my chest at night. In the candle light her face was twisted. She could blend into the darkness. She, who looked her color, and I, who was pale like the moon, would lock eyes and wait for the other to budge. Brown eyes rimmed with red from the tears she'd cry for me. One of those nights I touched her. Just her hand. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

'It's staring at me,' she had thought.

It didn't make me cry. In fact, it hardly hurt at all. My face grew hot and flushed and my eyes stung, but it didn't hurt. All I could think was her thoughts. I wanted, no, needed, more. More of her feelings to tell me what I was. I had one word but it wasn't enough. It. I was an it.

What really stung was the shot I got four hours later when my headache wouldn't end. It was then, in the emergency room while I waited for the papers to finish, that I saw on the news what was going on. I didn't want to go and join them. I wasn't a fighter. I was an it, and my head was still hurting despite the morphine coursing through my veins. I could hear the doctors thoughts when he touched me. He was thinking about some woman that he was going to see before going home. There was a ring on his left hand, fourth finger. He's cheating? The nurse was thinking about a candy bar she couldn't eat. She's starving herself. I was thinking about them.

On the tiny radio located in the center of the wall, I heard the repeated broadcast. They wanted soldiers, I assumed. People to join them. People like me, who went into comas. People who had abilities.

I didn't want to join them. They were people--I was an it, not a person. Distinctly, I remember thinking about how if I joined no one would like me. It'll be like school, I told myself, and I don't want to go to school. School means hallways and wandering and people avoiding me, even if I can work my experiments there. Even as I thought that, some part of me wondered what it'd be like there. If it'd be fun. Would people like me if I went?

Shaking off the thoughts, I had gone back to looking at Mother. Her body shook as she waited for the people, legs twitching and feet tapping against the ground as the seconds turned into minutes that turned into over an hour. If everyone was like her, the world would be different. That world could be seen as we drove home. Looking out the window, I watched it pass by in each drop of water that fell from the darkened clouds. It seemed as though it hadn't stopped being gray since the war. Everyone would have a stern face with deep lines around their mouth and a constant frown. Their eyes would have crows feet and their cheeks would be rough, like needles had been constantly pricked in and out of every pore. Noses would be large and over-taken by nostrils with wild black hairs that just barely didn't poke out. Wigs would be worn and people would ignore their true hair. I didn't ever like that part of it--my mother had beautiful hair, but she hated it. I longed for hair like hers, for mine was oddly colored and stiff to the touch.

Mother was beautiful, yet ugly in every way imaginable.

"What are you staring at, child?" she asked me as we pulled into the driveway. Her hands were shaking but I didn't understand why. "Get out of the car and go inside. Now."

I did as told.

Mother stayed outside, just sitting in the vehicle, for two hours. I watched her before going back to bed, as it was late at night and I was exhausted. My headache hadn't gone away and when I woke up the next morning it was still there, although faint. Looking in the mirror showed me that I had truly become an oddity, if I were not considered one before, as black dots lined the sides of my temples. Rubbing them off didn't work, nor did trying to cover them with Mother's makeup. I had sighed before leaving the bathroom.

It wasn't until I'd eaten breakfast and was preparing to go to the dreaded school that they showed up. Eight knocks sounded before Mother had opened the door. Three men and two women, all dressed in strict military clothing, came in. "This is Stella Pian Vale?" the leading woman asked, looking down at me. Her eyes were like fire, destructive. "I've been alerted that she has recently come out of a coma and has yet to take a psychiatric evaluation."

There was a pause. I don't think Mother comprehended what she meant. Mother didn't normally understand big words like that and by the look of confusion on her face that was clear to see.

"You've been developing abilities, haven't you?"

"Yes." I don't know why I told the truth.

She nodded, then turned to her comrades and spoke to them in low whispers. The desire to touch her and feel her thoughts was strong, almost overwhelming, but I held myself back. After a moment she turned back to me with a forced smile. "You need to come with us, Miss Vale. We have a place where we can train you to use your abilities. We'll teach you, free of charge, and you'll be fed and taken care of. Like a boarding school. You'll be a valuable asset, soldier."

Solider? That didn't sound right. Mother, though, only nodded as if every word they said came straight from the Good Book. My throat tightened and I couldn't say anything, not that I had a choice. Mother was the next one to speak, and her words decided my fate for me.

"Stella, go pack your things."

After that, I was gone. Mother didn't say goodbye to me, nor did anyone else. The people got into a vehicle and I got in with them, sighing into the window and watching as it faded away into black. They didn't want me to see where we were headed. Instead, they rode in silence, and I watched them. Every few seconds I would try and inch my hands up to where I could touch one of them but there was never enough time. Either they would look into the back seat at me or the vehicle would hit a bump in the road. There were several bumps.

My body was falling and rising every few seconds. A game, but in a sickening way as my stomach rose and bile touched the tips of my throat. It was hot and nasty and in that moment I decided never to go on a road trip. Ever. How long do they plan to keep me with them? What's this 'boarding school' like place going to contain? My thoughts were my only solace. Friendship when I had none. They rode with me the four hours it took to reach our destination and they kept me safe as I stepped out of the vehicle into a prison, no, an asylum of rooms and marching feet. Everyone had the same look about them--all the men looked stern and all the woman looked stern, as if they didn't care that women and men were entirely different. What's going on here?

I was instructed to go inside. Like when Mother had me do things, I did as told. They told me to wash so I did, scrubbing myself until my body was red and fresh, no more stains or mud on me. Clothes were set out and I pulled them on, hating the starchy feeling and the way they were stiff with dis-use. As I walked into my actual room, or what they said was my room, there was a loud beeping from the intercom. It was time for things to begin.

"All new soldiers proceed to the mess hall."

*

Any advice?