Preface

Evolution. That one word by itself could strike controversy among many. It could cause wars between people of religion who believe in a God who created all things, or people of science who believe that everything began as a small spec of light that created the universe. Evolution, the theory that all things change and adapt over time to survive. Some say that evolution is fact, others say that it is just a theory, others refuse to even think about it. Due to beliefs and ideas, many hate those that research the theory of evolution, but only out of fear because inside they know the truth, they just don’t want to accept it. I’m not saying that we as humans were once chimps billions of years ago, or that there wasn’t a God who created all things, I’m saying that evolution is at work this very moment, changing the human species into something more. We are adapting. We are surviving.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what you believe, everyone will soon be in the same position between life and death.

***

My life.

I could never really say exactly how my story began, or even how it ended. There are many pieces of my own life that I have trouble putting together. It’s all very much like a puzzle with some of the pieces missing, except it seems never ending. However, this isn’t only my story; this is a story of a people, a different species of human all together. A story of ordinary people who discovered that they were more advanced than the average human being, they were different, better.
My life began just like anyone else’s. I was born somewhere in Texas and adopted by some close friend’s of my parents. My parents died in a fire about five years after I was born. I was raised just like any other female child in New York, I attended school, spent Christmas at home with my adopted family, ate dinner at the dinner table every night at 5:22, no later and no sooner. I thought that everything about my life was normal, but I discovered something about myself.
I could kill, easily.
I had never really meant to hurt anyone. I had no intention of killing my classmate. His name was Henry… he was my best friend. Henry was special, perhaps even more special than I am now. He could give things life with his touch, as well as take life away. I can still remember now, ten years later, the first time that he had shown me his talent. We were in his small apartment. His hamster, Mr. Smufflez, had died and we were giving it a mini hamster funeral, were both only seven at the time. His parents were out of town so he had called me over (I lived in the apartment above his) to help him throw away the hamster. We had gone through the ceremony and were ready to let him go when Henry asked for a moment with his hamster.
Henry knelt over the shoe box that we had put the hamster in and gently took it out, holding it in both hands; he closed his eyes and cried quietly over the hamster, a single tear falling onto Mr. Smufflez head. Mr. Smufflez woke up. He had revived.
That was the first time that Henry had given life.
One other time, almost half a year later, we were sitting in my apartment. My mom had set up mouse traps all around and Henry and I found one as it fought for its life. Henry reached out and stroked its head gently and it rested. It died. When I panicked, calling him a murderer, he replied calmly, telling me that for all things gained, something else must be lost and that he didn’t want the mouse to suffer. Life, he called it.
That was the first time that Henry had taken life.
Soon after, I decided that I wanted to do something special too. I wanted to be like Henry, but I didn’t know that I already was. I began practicing on things, plants, bugs, even pigeons outside my window, but I never succeeded. That is, until I killed him.
It was a week before Henry’s birthday and we were in his room trying to decide what to do for a party. I was excited; Henry had just told me that he had gotten me something for his birthday. He was secretive about it, only giving me small hints that weren’t helping me, tempting me to tell him what his present was in exchange for the information. I knew at that moment that what we had was deeper than friendship, even for that age, I knew that I loved him. He was a brother to me. I reached out and playfully nudged his arm.
He died.
I tried to revive him, like I had seen him do with so many plants and animals since Mr. Smufflez, but it didn’t work. Henry’s body was nothing but a lifeless bunch of bones now, and it was my fault. The next week, on his birthday, he was buried.
Henry had left behind many things, most of which were given to me. The most important things that he left me with were Mr. Smufflez and the present that he was to give to me the day of his funeral, a male hamster, who I named Henry. Most of the things that were given to me, my adopted parents sold, mostly clothes or boyish things, but I still kept a little of what was left behind.
A year later, I began hearing Henry’s voice in my head almost has if he was right behind me, whispering in my ear. I told my family about it and I was immediately put into counseling, but it only got worse. Over time, I learned the truth, that I actually wasn’t crazy. Somehow, when I had taken Henry’s life I had attached him to me, attached him to my conscious mind, and he knew it. He understood everything that was happening around me; he would silently give me advice and ideas, but seem to leave whenever he wanted to. He told me constantly that he didn’t blame me for his death, but I still knew inside that the blame rested on my shoulders.