My father nestled me in his strong, yet gentle arms, rocking me back and forth. My mother sat beside him on the wooden porch swing, looking out into the darkness that surrounded our small house. On my father's side, there was a window. A very narrow window, with light from the living room illuminating through in a ray, which for some reason, he seemed to be extremely careful not to let hit me. Suddenly, he put me into his hands and extended them into the very thing he was protecting me from. The bright light shined into my eyes with smoldering pressure. It felt as if flames were slowly spreading across them. Somehow, through the pain, I saw my mother look over at me with a single tear rolling down her cheek. She gasped and put a gentle hand on my father's shoulder. He pulled me back into the safety of the darkness.
"Honey," he said faintly, looking down at me. "you're cursed."
