I WAS GOD ONCE

OCTOBER 11, 5:59 PM, 1 DAY AND SIX HOURS REMAINING

        Adam stripped to nothing and stared at the crooked body in the mirror. His body looked misshapen, and it was. He could see his ribs, poking from beneath his skin. He saw fading bruises, scars of old and then the new ones Yenly had given him before he'd been killed. It was a strange feeling, knowing the only man he'd known for six years was dead. He felt no affection for the man, but it was still strange. A memory arose of the man giving him the bible; it was old and the leather was cracking but he had placed it in Adam's hands instead of throwing it at him.

        "Now you read this. Read all of it." He'd said. Adam had read it. Perhaps sometimes it's words had helped him, but God had never shone him light in the darkness of his room. He had not spoken to Adam when he'd cried alone at night, nor had He placed comforting hands around him when he'd wanted nothing more than to fade away and no longer be. God hadn't killed the man and freed Adam from his prison. No. Adam had had to do that himself.

        The mirror made a sound and a crack in the glass severed his reflection in half. Adam blinked.

        "Why are you so destructive?" He whispered. His reflection gave no answer.

        "You alright?" Edward was on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for him as he burned through his third cigarette for the night.

        "Y-Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Adam called back. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He put his hands against the glass, careful not to tug too much on his injured shoulder. Adam took a long moment to wait, still, before he turned on the bathtub faucet.

        Yenly had not allowed him many baths, and when he did, it was often because of some cruel abuse he'd forced him through. Like the electrical-test, or whatever that had been, and dozens others before and after that. He'd bathed him himself the day before the director and his man and woman appeared, though he didn't wash his hair because it was too difficult to mess with. He'd tried to rake a brush through it, then cursed and threw the brush aside. Adam had been thankful for that- Yenly had not brushed gently.

        When the tub was half full, Adam put a foot in, then yanked it out. It was hot. No. It was warm. Comfortably so. But Yenly had always bathed him with cold water. He put his foot in, slowly, before he let himself climb in. He eased himself down until he sat, then drew up his legs and hugged them close to his chest.

        The faucet dripped. And dripped. And dripped.

        He thought of Elle, Edward's neighbor and his childhood friend. She'd had a strand of pink hair when he'd known her. He always thought that was so cool. His parents never let him do things like that; it was odd enough, with his bleach white hair. He didn't even have albinism, no pair of cool, reddish eyes to accompany the hair color.

        Elle had been pushy, but she had talked to him. Lots of kids talked to him, he thought as he looked back. The kid who could do cool magic tricks, if you promised to keep it a secret... Of course no one had, but it had never gotten out of hand.

        How, then, did Yenly find me?

        He'd been careless, of course. Adam had thought this particular idea over six-thousand times; what mistake had he made, besides, of course, following Yenly that day? When had he slipped up? When had Yenly seen? Adam was careful, in a pre-teen sort of way. He liked to think he was. He got away with it with his parents, but mostly because no sane adult questioned if their child had telekinetic abilities. You could brush off anything if you reasoned with yourself enough.

        He'd never seen the man at school, or anywhere in the city, but it was a big city. What if he lived on his block, and he'd just never noticed?