By the time I was 13, everyone from the neighbouring towns knew about me. ‘The cursed child’. The rumours only got worser from than. ‘I heard she killed her own dog.’ ‘Apparently, her grandparents died in a car accident because of her.’ ‘She’s cursed.’ ‘You shouldn’t go near her.’

But there were always those irregulars that tried to approach me. I don’t know if it was out of good will or to seek attention but every one of them ended up in the hospital for some reason. And they all blamed me for their injuries. However, I always had an alibi.

“It was her! I saw her above the stairs! She pushed me!”

“She was behind me, holding that shovel! She tried to bury me alive!”

“Witch! She’s a witch! She tried to kill my son!”

The more they approached me the louder my rumours echoed. So, I started to shut them down. Whenever someone walked my way, I’d move to a different place. When they became my teammate for a group project, I’d call in sick and stayed home. I knew I was a monster, so I stopped trying so hard to deny it. It was so much easier but also so much lonelier.

Just like that, years had passed till I was old enough to understand the world a little better. Everyone in high school wanted to graduate to enjoy adulthood, but I wanted to escape from this hell. I had never been apart of a group. I never learnt how to communicate with girls around my age. I didn’t know anything the girls my age felt, liked or had interest in. The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t like them. I understood that to them I was nothing but misfortune. But I always wondered why that misfortune wasn’t towards me. Sometimes I wished it was.

Last year of high school. Everyone was so excited to go to prom. Of course I wasn’t planning on going. I’d ruin the whole thing or may kill all of them with my ‘curse’. Mid-April, they started hanging the flyers. Ever since then, walking through the hallway became the most painful thing every morning. Their stares cut me deep where it was still aching. I knew I wasn’t worthy of complaints, but it hurt bad. As bad as when my friends died. It was like I travel back in time to when their funeral was held. The whole town was drench in black, having a mass murder suspect running loose in town wasn’t the best thing.

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There was no evident left on the scene, so the police had to call it off. The killer was never found, and the solely surviving victim became the one to blame.

My friends’ funerals were held on the same day not too long after my return. It was held in the central church of the town. Everyone in the town gathered to mourn their death. The death that was caused by me.

I became sick after Mrs. Evaline, Ava’s mother’s visit. My parents suspect that it was from the stress I received through the kidnapping and Mrs. Evaline’s attack. I can remember my chest burning and my head feeling as if it was being ripped apart. The doctor’s said that it was just a cold, but I sure didn’t feel like it. According to my parents, I cried my friends’ names during my sleep. They believed that their souls had something to do with my sickness and didn’t inform me on their funeral. My last chance to ask them for their forgiveness.

On the day of the funeral my sister came into my room. She was dressed in all black. My sight was blurred but I could clearly see that she had been crying. As she stepped into my room a drop of her tear landed on my carpet. She hurriedly ran to me and hugged me tight. And whispered that their funeral was going to be held at 3pm on that day.

I don’t remember everything that happened and how I got there but I remember running. Running nonstop till I reached the church. I slammed open the doors and ran through the crowd. I could see the four tiny caskets. There laid my four friends, who had died from my misfortune.

I waddled and crawled till I laid my hands on a casket. It was Ava. I grasped her cold flesh and cried my soul out. Her face was clammy, and her eyes were shut. They could never be opened again. I can remember the pressure I felt from everyone’s stares. Their stares were sharp, it stabbed me through the heart multiple times. It hurt, but it didn’t hurt as much as my heart that shattered seeing their faces. After minutes of my sorrowful cries, I was thrown out of the church.