Find a path that is your own.

Rose tossed about in her bed, the sheets tangling and binding her like vines on an ancient wall. Her nightmare was taking its toll on her; anyone watching could have seen that, but no one was. Rose was single, which was fine by her. She didn’t like people, anyway. She never felt comfortable with other people around her. They never made her feel comfortable. She always felt outcast; as if she was the last of an unknown species. Home never felt like home to her. It felt foreign and fake, rushing past her like a dream: it didn’t feel real what-so-ever.

She continued rustling and rolling, a fine drop of sweat dripping down her cheek, sparkling in the moon light that was washing over her body through the open window. The breeze was chilled, causing her to shiver ever-so slightly, having a greater effect on her due to the perspiration on her skin.

Somehow Rose knew she was never meant to belong at home; it was a burden of the past, one that would live with her no matter where she went or what she did. Much like her nightmares, it was something that would only appear when she was most vulnerable; only when she was unable to defend herself would it strike out like a coward hiding in the shadows.

Rose’s pillow is damp, but this is not because of her perspiring. The dampness is a result of crying, as she does each night.  Crying herself to sleep would relieve the pain.

It is said that our tears from crying contain a nasty toxin which our body creates under stress or emotional strain. Its Mother Nature’s charming little way of ridding our bodies of a lot of harmful things we don't need floating around inside of us. These toxins, when left to their own devices, are likely to cause ulcers, colitis, and generally serve to drive a person to an early grave. One would think that perhaps it’s a good thing that Rose cried before falling asleep, especially if they know Rose well enough. The journey her life had dragged her through was not pretty, not by anybodies standards. The years of stress and pain, both mentally and emotionally, have done their damage to Rose, but that’s all in the past. “In the practical use of our intellect, forgetting is as important as remembering. ”

For now, we should focus more on the present: “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. ” It is only necessary for you, my audience, to be enlightened only briefly of Rose’s past life and no more than is required for the rest of the story to be told, for knowing too much can ruin a good story; even one as painful as Rose’s life.

Her real name, the one she was given when the Doctors helped drag her out of her safety and into this bright and chaotic world, is Aijourose. Her dislike for the name grew as she, herself, grew. She was as normal as anybody else, as far as anyone could tell - even Rose herself. It was only as she started to mature and learn the great wisdom of life that she realised her differences. They were never very apparent to people; very subtle, almost non-existent. Though, like a child is afraid of the dark because it knows not of what it contains, people were afraid of Aijourose for they knew not of what her mind contained. At a young age she began to draw pictures, like all children did, though her pictures were not like other children’s. They were dark and forbidding, like looking into a black hole and seeing one’s own soul, though obviously she was just a child, so the resulting affect was slightly different. In later years, a psychiatrist will liken her to that of the fictional character Dr Hannibal Lecter, the cannibalistic psychiatrist of Thomas Harris' books who had a knack of understanding every aspect of a person’s mind upon exchanging a few words, as well as the ability to use that to make them crack.  It’s a skill that many people wish they had, like that of a Superhero’s power.

That was the trick, though. It was all just a knack for Aijourose. She never studied Psychiatry when she was younger, (though after learning more about herself, she took an interest in it quite quickly), but the ability was still there, and always was. This was what people were afraid of.

As Aijourose grows up, she will encounter many different people and equally just as many events which will shape her into the person she would eventually become. Her journey would be a difficult one, but the outcome was inevitable. Considering the amount of mental stress and strain that Rose will have been under, it is only a matter of time before she commits suicide. After being analysed by a psychiatrist because of her break-down in a general store, in which she stabbed the store clerk, she begins to see herself as a danger to other people. The pressure will be too great, and the path she chooses will be the one to rule her life.

After the incident, the news papers may mention her quickly in a small paragraph, among the larger, more socially important events and advertisements for yard sales, or they may simply not, for, what is but a single death to an entire nation? Life for everyone else will continue as time will after the end of humanity, though in each case, the affect becomes less and less, until it is almost non-existent. A soul will perish, one with so much potential yet no water which to grow with, and no one will even know. No one will even care.

For now, however, Rose is alive, asleep within a bed 1500 kilometres west of home. Though, for Rose, Home was there, by herself and as free as a bird. She would continue to travel, as if to escape her old life and surroundings, with her passport in her left pocket and her wallet in her right. Jumping from country to country, feeling as if she was leaving a small amount of her problems behind with each jump.

Her final stand is not for some time, so let her live with the little happiness she has left and Judge not, lest ye be judged.