I have no name. No one to speak to. No place to call home. I exist, but it feels like I've never truly lived—a life that was never mine to begin with. I wonder sometimes if I was born for this emptiness, for this pain that never disappears.
The lasting empty memories of a family, even the love of my parents, were nothing but a lie. I never asked to be born this way. I didn't choose this life, this pain, this loneliness. But they don't care. All they see is a curse, something to destroy.
I can tell this is just another one of those endless nights. The wind feels like a stranger brushing past me, my existence nothing but a mere lie. Is it senseless of me to look for a place to call home? A place where I'm not an outcast? Where I can be noticed, not just forgotten?
Some nights, I catch myself wishing. Wishing for someone to see me as more than a curse. But even my wishes feel like lies.
Living is supposed to be a gift. The world is filled with beautiful endless skies, colorful flowers, rivers sparkling in the light. I've never really noticed before, but now, it feels different. Somehow, a small smile tugs at my lips as I imagine it, though I don't know why. Sometimes, as I look at the night skies, I wonder what life as a normal person would be like. Even in the darkest of nights, stars still shine. Maybe there's a lesson in that, even if I can't feel it right now.
I sat there alone in the dark, my fingers reaching towards the stars, as if I could actually touch them. Maybe this sorrow, this endless regret, isn't real. Maybe I've just been too trapped in my own pain to see the truth. Maybe there's a way out, a way to escape this life. But even as the thought forms, I can't shake the feeling that it's just a fragile illusion—something too far for me to ever reach.
I can't keep lying to myself. Deep down, I know that for me, life is nothing but an endless, cruel punishment. Sometimes, I wonder if they're right. If I really am a monster, like they say. I wonder if the stars would look down and see me, too. Or am I too small, too insignificant for even the heavens to notice?
Sitting on the cold grass, I bring my hand up, staring at my palms, worn and marked with scars. Why? I ask myself, the question echoing in the silence, as it always does. I've asked it so many times, yet there's never been an answer. Why is this my life? Why was I born to endure this endless torment, alone and abandoned? My fingers tremble as I trace the faint remnants of a past that feels like it belongs to someone else.
I never did anything to them. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Never wished anyone harm. But they see me. They always see me. Every single one of them—every single one—hates me. And I don't even know why. What did I ever do to them?
This hatred... it's always there, right behind me. If I stop, it'll catch me. It always does. Their eyes—so dark, so sharp. Every glance feels like a blade, stripping away the small threads of hope I'm barely holding onto.
The cold wind brushes against my skin, whispering like the voices in my head, and the darkness around me feels alive, pressing closer. Just like the hatred that never leaves me.
Maybe I deserve it. Maybe this is all I'm meant for. To carry the weight of their disgust. I want to scream at them, to make them listen for once. I've begged them, over and over. Told them countless times—I didn't want to hurt anyone. I never did. But no matter how much I plead, they never believe me. To them, I'm already guilty. Already their enemy. I wanted to fight back. I always did.
But how do you fight a world that's already made up its mind? They all want me gone.
Each day, it's a battle just to survive. To fight against their stares, their harsh words, the fear and disgust in their eyes. They call me names. Talk behind my back. Sometimes, they shout it to my face if I'm close enough to hear. "Monster." They say I'm a curse, that I bring misfortune, that I'm... The Queen of Curses. And with each name, each cruel word, it feels like something inside me dies.
And then… silence. Silence and emptiness, where I thought there'd be anger. I don't even have the strength to hate them back. I don't want to fight anymore. What's the point? All I want is to escape... to leave behind this life that was never mine to live. Just a cruel existence I was forced to endure.
I pull my legs closer to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as the cold air cuts through me. The emptiness in my heart spreads, and I can feel the weight of it pressing against my chest, suffocating me.
Sometimes, when the nights grow long and I'm alone, I wonder if it's even worth it. This life. This fight. I wonder if they're right—that maybe I am cursed. Maybe… I am a monster. Why else would they look at me like that? Why else would it feel like I've been living this same nightmare, over and over again, from the moment I can remember?
I try to push away the thought, but it comes back, like a shadow that follows me no matter where I run. Maybe if I'm meant to be hated, meant to be hunted like this, it would be better if I just... stopped. Stopped running. Stopped fighting. Maybe if I just gave up, they could finally rest. And so, could I. Because I'm tired. I'm so tired of fighting a world that doesn't want me in it. Tired of pretending that this pain inside me isn't real.
I could hear them. Footsteps drawing closer with every passing moment. They were coming back. I can feel their hatred, their disgust, their desire to kill me.
This isn't the first time they've hunted me down. I remember the pitchforks, the torches, and that same blind rage. But it's not just the chasing. No. I've faced worse.
I've spent countless nights hiding in the dark, alone, with only my fear for company. The silence feels louder than any shout, a constant reminder that I have no place to belong.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to block out the memories, the torments. But they keep coming back, uninvited, relentless.
A village once tried to hang me, their faces filled with pure joy as they tied the rope. Another tried to burn me alive, convinced fire would cleanse whatever curse they thought I carried. They've even put bounties on my head, promising rewards to anyone who could bring them my lifeless body. I don't remember it all, but somehow, I survived.
I rest my head on my knees, the weight of it all sinking deep within me. I wish I hadn't survived. I regret that I'm still here.
It's my misfortune that I survived. I always do—somehow, against all odds. Yet, deep down, I wish I didn't. I wanted to escape this endless torture, this suffocating fear that follows behind every moment of my existence.
I want to live. To feel what it's like to smile without it being a lie. To know a life where happiness isn't just a short, cruel dream.
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
I started crying again, knowing it was all I could do... just suffer. For five years. Each night, I cried to myself, wishing for someone to end this nightmare. I wished for a life where the pain would stop, even just for a moment, where I could feel something other than this endless torment. But all I could do was cry, over and over again, alone in the dark.
I've come to accept the truth. For someone like me, that life doesn't exist. It never has. The only escape from this misery, this relentless nightmare... is death.
Maybe then, this nightmare will finally end.
But even as I sit there, tears streaming down my face, a sound breaks through the heavy silence. Footsteps—heavy, uneven—crunching against the dry leaves. The snap of twigs. And with it comes that familiar, cold dread, filling me with fear, knowing they're close.
They're coming for me again. This time, to finish the job. To kill me.