Hannah Vandimion has always been a little tougher, a little faster, and a little stronger than she should have been. She had to move a little lighter, stand away a little farther, and touch a little softer. Every day a little became a little more. Days became weeks became months became years. There had to be a whole new house—built sturdy and carefully—just for her, away from all her friends.
She had to be taken out of school at a young age to be taught at home with her dad as her teacher. Her favorite topic was nature: he brought her out to the woods in the early morning to explore the forest and read to her at night about everything from the mountains to the trenches. She dreamed to soar those peaks with the birds and delve those depths with the fish, and tell her friends in the forest about what she saw when she came back.
But all dreams come to an end. She always had to wake up to a world that got a little smaller.
She folded her blanket off, one careful crease at a time. She put a little weight on one arm on the bed to slide herself around so that she was hanging off the side. She pushed down one leg so that its toes reached the carpet floor before letting the heel follow it then did the same with the other leg. She held her finger up to the scanners which opened the doors she met as she traipsed her way to the bathroom. She held her hand under the soap dispenser so that it would detect her.
She held her hand under the water faucet which exploded into a thousand fragmentations that sprayed out and shattered the glass and floor and walls. The lights flickered as Hannah reached for something to hold onto. She tore down the sink, bouldered into the toilet, and the water from both boiled and burst ceramic shards. The soap dispenser and the faucet and the toilet corpses vomited and the door spasmed open. Hannah crawled out of the bathroom and the door splattered itself on her.
Her dad came to a steam-filled home and ran up the stairs to the noise to find his daughter drenched in crackling water. He rushed to pick her up but recoiled from a jolt that seared a welt onto his hand. He came in again to hug his daughter even as lightning lanced at his body.
She knew she hurt him; not just when she injured him, her very existence dragged his life down. She knew she was the reason mom left because mom could not stand having a monster as a daughter. She knew they had to hide because other people hated monsters more than mom did. She knew if she said sorry he would say that all that matters is that she is safe. She knew because they’d been through this before. This was the fate of monsters like her.
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Hannah sat in the back of the car while her dad drove them to a cabin deep in the mountain forest. He thought that being surrounded by the serenity of nature that she loved so much would help her stay calm. Or at least, contain the damage she could cause if she didn’t. He was somewhat mistaken.
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Mother nature’s caress did calm the girl, not because of her peace, but because of her power: the waterfall rapids that roared as they ground the Earth, the whitetail deer that crushed all underfoot in their gallop, the blue jay birds who soared far above those who lived in the dirt slums, and the rolling mountains which rested without regard for the passage of centuries. Thinking about it all made Hannah feel small.
By the tail end of dusk, they parked outside of the wooden rail fence that surrounded a one-room cabin. Hannah’s dad opened the car door for her to step out. The first comfort was the gravel trail, which she did not have to tread lightly upon.
Hannah’s dad opened the fence gate and then the cabin door for her. The web that was attached to the door draped onto dad like a bead curtain, making him thrash like a cat in cold water. It was a worthwhile embarrassment to hear his daughter giggle and see her smile. While dad was still entangled, he explained that Hannah’s mom would come to this cabin to calm down and concentrate, such as when she faced archeological mysteries or when dad’s mom was coming over.
Dad lit the lantern on the dresser, then left to make a route for them to follow tomorrow. Hannah went to the desk next to the bed, gently pulled out a drawer, and found her mom’s books. Hannah picked out The Sioux, but when she laid it open on the desk she struggled to read the text under what little sunlight was left.
Hannah went to get the lantern and on her touch of the handle, the flame ignited and the glass burst. Blazing shrapnel flew scattered through the cabin and lit her clothes afire. She flailed, tearing the dresser and the cabin floor, and spread the flames into a bursting inferno.
Her dad crashed through the door and when he came to her, in her panic, she swatted him into an embrittled wall that crumpled from the force. Outside, he choked on the fumes, too dizzy to lift the beam that fell on him. Inside, she curled up and cried and let the flames consume her.
When Hannah looked again, she saw through the flames that dad had disappeared. She wiped away the fire from her eyes to make sure she was seeing this right, confusion supplanting fear and sadness. A cloaked figure, the same size as her, stepped through the hole. They ignored the fire around them to approach the girl who shivered as she was burnt alive.
The figure held out their hand which Hannah reflexively reached for. That motion from her arm was enough to brew a fulmination that discharged spears of flaming lightning. What remained of the cabin exploded in a glittering conflagration. She drew her hand back and closed her eyes as the wood crashed and the flame roared. When she opened her eyes, the figure was still there with its hand reaching out to her.
Hannah did not raise her hand this time because it was still on fire, but the figure took her hand and pulled her up anyway to walk her across the road to her dad. The fire—on both the rubble of the cabin and on Hannah—illuminated the night while the smoke obscured the star-filled sky.
By the time the figure let go of Hannah, their cloak had caught fire and their hand was burnt. She hurt them the same way she hurt her dad so they must have pretended not to feel it to make her feel better the same way dad did too. She took her eyes off the figure for only a moment, but when she looked back all that was left was a burnt cloak on the ground.