Robert Noe, Orphan
My life has never been truly normal. As a child there were voices in my head that responded when I talked. All they really ever said was, "Hey, go
tell my wife something," or, "Hey, little boy, go dig in the woods," etc. Boring stuff to a six-year-old, except for the digging, which was fun. I got in trouble when I found some bones, though.
The rest of my life progressed somewhat normally. I was never really accepted by others my age, partially because of my intelligence -- it never pays to know something that the teacher doesn't -- but mostly because I had morbid one-sided conversations. The people closest to me were my family: my parents and grandparents, but from when I was 6 to when I was 13 all of my grand parents died, leaving me only my parents. Then that fateful day in July of '99, my parents where gunned down in the street because of one late payment to a loan shark, leaving me with no one to love, but a world to hate.
That night as I laid in bed, memories of my parents and other loved
ones keeping me awake, I heard an unfamiliar voice in my head. It was the voice of a old man, with a distinctly feral undertone. He introduced himself as Child of the Wyld. I asked him why his dad thought he was so important that he didn't have a real name, and he told me what he came from was one of the three natural forces of balance: The Wyld, the Wyrm and the Weaver. He explained their places in the world and how the other RD's fit in. When he was done, I asked him how that affected me. I was wearing a lot of silver which ruled me out as a wolf; I liked fire and the sun so I wasn't a vampire, and even though I had never had a girlfriend, I was pretty sure I wasn't a fag.
He laughed a little and says, "You have potential to be a mage, son, a warper
of reality." I feel this weird ripping pressure and the world is suddenly all
different. The room is brighter, the sky is beautiful -- perpetual sunset --
and then I realize the real reason the room is brighter.