Failure to Blend

Author notes

Journaling

DoctorKiebeth

on Aug. 17, 2017

Transcript of Aristel’s Journal if you can’t read it: [ sorry about that, I was so excited to use a home-made font I didn't think about how small the size would be when displayed]

School has been… interesting so far. It is fascinating to be around so many minds. I thought the compound was closed quarters, but there I was only in reach of

maybe a dozen or so minds at any time. Here, in this city, I am within reach of many times that at any given moment. It is somewhat frightening, but I am growing more accustomed to it.

I think I made a friend today. Or met someone who was very friendly. Her name is Kendra. She offered assistance if I ever have need of it. I can understand why young adults are encouraged to join teams, to give a sense of comradery… though others on the team look at my skin and feel anywhere from fear to utter disgust. I am to understand that my scars are viewed as a sort of dermatological imperfection. That because my skin was damaged previously, the resulting scars are considered an undesirable disfigurement. A view I cannot comprehend. My scars are marks of survival. They are not imperfections. They are trophies of my experience.

They are wrong. I am not imperfect. I am strong, an that is extremely desirable.

I think someone was watching us practice. I felt someone near the field, but they were receding. Running away, I assume. They felt panicked, scared, upset… I feel like I should tell someone, but I do not know who to tell, or how. Kendra may have offered to ‘hang out’ as it were, but I doubt she is prepared to hear what I am or how I perceive the world… and what proof would I have if I told the school authorities? I saw no one, and explaining that I had a 'feeling’ would not get me very far.

This is so frustrating. In the compound I was a figure of authority among my peers. I was maybe a year or two from completing my education and beginning field work. I had the rights of an adult, the respect of one. Out here, I am merely a child. I might as well be wearing my novice blacks again. I assumed that behaving myself and working my way into a 'foster family’ would grant me more freedom, but it’s apparently considered lawful and responsible for Molly and Garret to keep track of my every move. Additionally, there are regular check-ins from law enforcement to ensure I’ve told them everything about my 'kidnapping’. Now, to top it all off, it’s fully possible that I am being stalked at school. It could be one of the compound’s people, already zeroing in on me. My capture and indoctrination could be imminent, and yet I can do nothing about it without causing a stir or revealing myself by use of my abilities.

I feel trapped. I am afraid.

I do not want to go back.