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Guardian Angel

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I had a brown bear soft toy for as long as I could remember, and we were inseparable. Ms. Bear and I would often have long conversations, and I always loved listening to her wise words. However, she never spoke in front of my parents. The first time I attempted to speak to her in front of them, she stayed silent, making my parents laugh and brush it off as my imagination. I was disappointed and ignored her that evening until she told me that if she revealed her powers to anyone but me, she would cease to exist. Ms. Bear was my guardian angel; her presence was meant to be a secret. She made me promise never to reveal it to anyone. I agreed. As the years passed by, Ms. Bear saved my life several times, much to the confusion of my parents, who didn’t understand how I managed to get out of the pool when I couldn’t yet swim, or how I avoided injuries after falling from my bike. Ms. Bear even protected me from threatening strangers, driving them away with what she called her “foreboding aura...
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Home

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Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence I had heard many fairy tales from my mother before she passed away, many of them being so spooky that they kept me up at night. However, our lives were far more cruel than any scary story she told me about witches and ghouls. My father was an abusive drunk who beat my mother to death when I was just six years old. I was left alone to take care of both household matters and raising my two younger siblings. I wished there was a witch out there who would punish him for what he did, but it seemed that things wouldn’t come that easily. For the next three years, he beat my siblings and me every evening once he returned from work. I bore the brunt of the beatings, pleading with him not to hurt my two younger sisters, but he was often ruthless. One day, I decided that we had suffered enough at his hands and started hiding both money and rations in my room in hopes of fleeing with my siblings. A month later, everything was in order. I woke my siblings up in th...
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Whispers of the Wild

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I was just six years old when I learned that I could speak to animals. My parents said it was just my imagination, but even back then, I knew they were wrong. Every sound they made, I could clearly figure out what they wanted to say. Other children my age didn’t believe me, and some even avoided me after I revealed my secret. Mom urged me not to speak of it with anyone else; she said people would only ostracise me even more. I took her advice and kept things to myself. Towards the end of my schooling years, however, my abilities helped me excel at my job at an animal shelter. I was able to detect any animal that was in distress, and I always knew exactly what was worrying them. One of my colleagues said I should become a vet, which I had already considered but was hesitant to pursue. After a discussion with my parents, I was convinced that it was the job that suited me the most. A few years later, I had my own clinic, and it wasn’t long before many people from my hometown, and even its...
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The Familiar

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As a child, I would often see figures moving in the corners; silhouettes that stuck to the shadows and lingered in the distance. Whenever I brought the matter up to my parents, they dismissed it. They said it was just my imagination. However, it only got worse as I grew older, and I would often run to my parents’ room, fearing that monsters were out to get me. I was a stubborn child, often refusing to sleep in my room. One day, however, my mom was able to convince me that our cat, Jupiter, would take care of any monsters that would try to hurt us. Jupiter was my grandma’s cat; we adopted her right after Grandma passed away. From the day she joined our family, Jupiter always seemed to be inspecting the surroundings. She would never leave my side when I was alone, and even slept in my room. Whenever I heard or saw something, Jupiter would run in that direction even before I could react, and I would often hear her hissing and growling at the shadows until any presence I felt disappeared. ...
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A Still Soul

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My parents prohibited me from taking photos of myself. They were so strict about this rule that even my friends were asked never to do it. I didn’t think about it when I was much younger, but once I reached middle school, I began to grow tired of their rules. They said taking photos only brought misfortune upon our family, and that both my grandmother and my aunt lost their lives because of it. They never really opened up about why they avoided taking photos until that day. Mom told me that some of her ancestors were witches, and that there was a curse on our family from over a century ago that siphoned a portion of our soul each time we took a photo of ourselves. It didn’t matter whether the family member was a witch or not, the curse would still flow through the bloodline. Mom also said that I was a witch, unlike her, so the curse would be even more potent for me. I was speechless and confused, since I had never been able to use magic, but Mom said there was magic emanating from me w...
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Manipulation

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I learned as a child that I could easily manipulate people and situations in my favour. When I told my mom what I could do, she asked me never to reveal my secret to anyone, and to use my powers only for good. Mom made me promise to use my powers sparingly to avoid unnecessary attention; I kept that promise as I grew up. I sometimes manipulated the rich into providing homeless people all the financial aid they needed to get back on their feet; other times, I’d alter people’s minds so that they could get through addiction and other self-destructive behaviour. In time, my hometown became well-known for its peaceful environment. Homelessness was obsolete, and even crime rates were near zero. I felt blessed that my gift had such an impact on those around me, and that I was able to help shape my hometown into what it was. I made it a point not to use my powers for personal gain in most situations, but every now and then, I would use it to tweak my scores for projects and exams whenever I wa...
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A Dormant Darkness

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As a child, I would often lose time thinking about death and what I wanted my last rites to be. I could never explain why my mind lingered on the topic, and whenever I brought the topic up with my parents, they would immediately ask me to stop. “You shouldn’t talk about such things,” they’d say; “We’ll be long gone before, and you have a long life ahead of you.” I replied with “You never know what’s in store for you,” and left the topic there. I understood where my parents were coming from, but it was just a topic my mind would often circle back to, though I didn’t know why. My two elder sisters were more open to hearing me out, but even they grew tired of the topic as my mind delved deeper into questions on death: what it would be like in those final moments, or just after? What lay in wait once our bodies were nothing but a memory? The young me had so many questions on her mind… When I was in middle school, one of my friends introduced me to a fantasy game that had me hooked from the...
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