Life is difficult to define in just words. To know what life is, it has to be lived. There is no set definition of life, nor is it a simplistic set of feelings. Different people lead different lives, each with their own definition. No two lives are the same, they never will be.
The outer shell of life is the same, but it is what that outer shell is filled with that matters.
All things start at a core, everything. The world began as a rock but, as time passed, it was struck by many other rocks. These impacts created the core which, in turn, created life.
Life's core begins with the development of the body. Organs are developed around an energy source known to us as a 'soul'. These souls are unique to one another as they have different levels of wave energy and the colours slightly differ.
This 'soul' is the beginning of life. It makes human beings able to live their own definition of life.
This girl, Amalia, is no different. She has a soul, a body, a life. But, just because she has them does not mean she wants them...
It happened again. I could feel it. I could sense it. That very source in which people are created, I could hear it scream. Again I was on the verge of tears welling up and coating my eyes, but I forced it to stop.
That boy -- the one who always used to bully me for being too different -- bumped into me. A slight nudge of his shoulder against my arm and I could hear it scream. His soul.
And today? He never came to school. The news was all focused on how a boy had drowned in the nearby river; the one they called Suicide Stream. He looked a lot like that boy. The only difference was his face.
In public, he had the innocent smile of a carefree and happy child. In the photo? His smile was sad and ironic. His eyes were closed with dried tears down his face.
To think that very boy was walking past me every day and just yesterday he had knocked into me.
But that was enough to inflict the 'curse'.
I don't have many friends. I used to, but back then they never knew of my secret 'talent'. They never knew I could see every truth behind their sorry excuses for lies. They never knew I could feel their pain with one simple touch. They never knew me.
Until that day, I kept it to myself for so long. 17 years I had hid it from the world, hid myself from society. But that day was a bad day. I felt like I was going to shatter and with the simplest touch on the delicate glass my defenses had become, it would shatter into countless fragments and my heart would be revealed.
I could barely remember the touch; it was very slight. Somebody from behind me, a girl -- the one who always treated me like trash -- who had the look on her face telling everyone she wasn't alright, brushed against my back.
And then it happened. Her soul - her fragile, fragile soul - was on the verge of shattering. When my friends took a look in my streaming eyes, they knew something was off. I was laughing. Smiling like all those tears were just illusions to those around me.
I wiped my eyes and pretended nothing had happened. But then, history had repeated itself. A boy -- the one who thought I was a freak -- bumped into me. The tears returned.
I couldn't. I couldn't stop. How could I possibly tell them -- the ones who gazed at me through judgmental eyes -- that they were soon going to die?
