The Blessed, Cursed Child

The spell was first cast on me by an illusionary man with a translucent cloak. He appeared to me within the weeks when I was first born, hidden from the eyes of my parents and every other human being inhabiting the Earth. Everyone, that is, except me.

It was twilight when my infantile ocean-blue eyes first became transfixed upon his frame. Neither day nor night, it was the infamous window of time when all the creatures of the world prepared for their evening's rest. The birds slowly ceased their chirping. The rabbits retreated to their burrows. The bees began their procession back towards the comforts of their hive. It was within this godly hour that my unexpected visitor chose his arrival. But-alas! The date of this monumental event has forever been lost to memory.

When my shy eyes settled gently upon his form, I could tell instantly that he was not an evil soul; not like the power-hungry warlocks or wizards you read about in fairy tales. Yet he was not exactly kind in the sense that he possessed a particular fondness for me; this I distinctly remember. He seemed somewhat indifferent even to my existence; detached, his aura emitted no traces of colorful affection. His face was pale, his grey eyes hollow. His entire being rippled, as if he had the power to walk through walls. He was a trick of the eye, and it was hard even for me to discern the entirety of his person.

I was not afraid when he first began his approach. Perhaps it was because of the soft orange light that seeped through the windows of my nursery, or the calming scent of the freshly-washed, warm blankets daintily placed inside my crib. And so it was that I made not a sound. I was quiet, silent as I watched his careful advance.

Ultimately he arrived at rim of my crib, and peered delicately inside. I was still, and in a position where I was lying vulnerably on my back, head cocked slightly to the left in order to view him more clearly. Neither of us broke the solemn eye contact we held with one another. I blinked unabashedly and took notice that his fine hair was of a beautiful silver, shimmering and lightly flowing despite the absence of a breeze. His nose slightly twitched, and his pale lips were arranged in such a way that conveyed absolute seriousness. His jet-black pupils glittered darkly-sternly-but without any trace of ill will or malice. He had a mostly blank expression overall, difficult to read, but it radiated focus. He had a surreal, abstract importance and intelligence about him that made a deep impact upon my young mind. His cool mannerisms were effortless, and so it was that I remained entranced.

And then, suddenly, without warning, there was a barely visible spark that lit up his grey eyes to the most minute degree-if I had blinked in that moment, I would have missed it. This indescribable spark must have solidified some unknown motive, streamlining some sort of impetus, for he began to lean down, arms cautiously outstretched so as not to frighten me. His arms gingerly reached down over the edge of the seamless white railing, and his thin, bony hands firmly grasped my sides.

My body became limp and submissive as he gently picked me up and held me close to his chest. Everything I had observed about his character remained consistent throughout this intimate contact. Still captivated by the clouds building within his eyes, I became at the mercy of one skeleton-like arm as it leveled my back and synchronously cupped my neck, bending it ever so slightly forwards. His other appendage, the left, somehow escaped the burden of balancing my weight, for it dangled freely at his side.

It was then that the mirage-man undid the shimmering silver clasp of his cloak with his free hand, and managed to swaddle me in the translucent grey article. I felt indescribable waves of energy and emotion surge over the whole of my being, penetrating my skin and seeping into my soul itself. It was the first time since the man's arrival that I squirmed involuntarily; my face bunched into tense lines and I nearly cried out with the overwhelming sensations that coursed through every fiber of my being.

The man, seemingly not surprised by my reaction, ventured to place his hand over my fragile, rapidly beating heart. His touch apparently had a magical effect, for it immediately quelled my disturbances, and my initial discomfort calmly dissolved. After once again being restored to my former tranquil state, I witnessed another flash of lightning electrify his stormy eyes. This time, it was clear.

I continued to gaze unflinchingly, and I could see that he flickered with purpose. I felt myself vaguely on edge, practically floating.

It was then that he lifted his hand from my heart, and the wondrous yet unbearable sensations returned once again, like water breaking free from a dam. But I had little time to react, for I watched with tiny bated breath as he pressed his aforementioned free left thumb to his lips, kissing it softly. Then, ever so gently, he turned his thumb sideways, horizontally, and pressed it onto the center of my forehead, as if making a print, a stamp, on an important document.

All the waves, the fluffy clouds of feeling, the lithe spirit animals I felt running through my small body, suddenly changed their course, and culminated to this place where the strange man had touched my forehead. The raw impact of these winds, these rainbow wisps of emotion within me, momentarily blinded me, and I saw white for an instant before settling again on the man's tight face and pursed lips. Slowly, these feelings, though still quite palpable and still quite vivid, did ultimately settle, and fade into the background of my mind. For some ungodly reason, my barely developed mind discerned I now had a mark there... a mark in the shape of his thumbprint.

"And so the spell has been cast," he whispered, more to himself than to me. As he said this, he removed his thumb, then delicately freed the translucent article from my form. His free left appendage worked at the silver clasp until his cloak was once again restored to its original position, and his composure fully returned, along with his noble, regal air.

He had uttered not a word up until this point of our exchange. He spoke like a sigh; his sentences simply swept over me, barely audible-untouchable-but there. And so he began his explanation that was to become my life.

"Blessed, cursed child, listen closely, and listen clear. You have been given a great gift, but also have been marked by great troubles. So it is that I say, worldly child, with the ocean eyes: You will be able to feel peoples' facial expressions. Feel the sea's tides within your fingertips. See the spirits of trees. Hear the whisperings of the swaying flowers.”

"Your soul will fly with the birds. Escape the bonds of this dimensional reality, and deeply explore the uncharted territory of philosophy. You will feel within your heart, within your mind, so many things that will be invisible to others."

It was here that his voice became grave, and I could almost hear the sprinkles of rain in his voice. "You will know many things, child." His voice was like a pebble, dropping to the floor. "But you have been dealt a great deficiency, and that is communication. You will forever suffer with lacking words to describe your thoughts, your feelings, your passions, your deep love for others. With this design, you are destined to sink into deep depressions and forever struggle with feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and self-hate. This is one of the greatest misfortunes to ever be bestowed, for you have the capability, you have the knowledge, but your speech shall forever render you useless to explanation. You have been given the curse of intense feeling, forever trapped in the cage of your mind, with no key that will ever unlock them to voice."

My skin prickled, but I continued to stare up at his face, his eyes now a raging thunderstorm.

"So you see, child of light, with a great gift comes a great cost.”

With this final sentiment, he hesitated one moment more before gingerly laying me down onto my back, placing me once again in the comfort of my pearly-white crib of perfect white sheets.

"So innocent..." I swear I heard him whisper, shaking his head. This was his only hint at affection I could bring within reason, but it might have been just a trick of my ear.

These were his last words (that is, if he truly did utter them,) and the man stepped back into the center of my room. I once again craned my neck to the left and peered through the thin bones that were my crib's bars, and noticed for the first time it was no longer twilight. Night had fallen, and I saw faintly through my windows that the stars were out. Moonlight streamed across my room, and it was within such a line of these starlight particles that the seemingly illusionary man waved his cloak in a dramatic fashion, shimmered, and was gone.

And so I lay with my thoughts for a long time.

***

Today, everything the man said to me in my infancy has become truth through the passage of time.

I still have the birthmark. It reminds me of that fateful twilight-that fateful night-where the moon and stars and heavens above witnessed the blessing bestowed upon me...the cursed child...