Where Are My Minions At?
Ever since I was a small kid I had this thought that used to scratch at the sanity in my head.
I used to think that I belonged to some sort of group; sort of like a special people's group. With powers that would develop at an older age. I also thought that one day my fellow 'followers' would come and find me. Kidnap me away and help me develop these powers to use it as the tool to saving the world.
My uncle used to call me Satan's spawn. The Devil, a witch.
Me though, I always viewed myself as someone who would save the world, and not bring evil into it. I figured the grumpy old drunk just hated me, probably felt my special people powers, and was jealous that he was not the 'chosen one'. Or maybe...maybe he was afraid of me.
As a baby my mom told me that I was unlike any other baby people had come across.
Most infants look around with crazy google eyes at everything in sight. Me though, I never cared about what was going on around me. I instead would look right square into people's eyes, not blinking...just staring...staring.... If they broke the eye contact I would begin to cry.
My Aunts all told my mom they didn't like holding me because of it. That they got uncomfortable that I looked into their eyes like that, like I was trying to read their soul.
As an infant my family pretty much had me labeled as evil. I know, it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. I'd been labeled a little black sheep since birth.
The only relative that took a liking to me was my uncle on my moms side. Unfortunately he lived in the city so seeing him was stretched out into weekend visits once a year.
At the age of 3 I am told that I had an imaginary friend named Patrick. Patrick and I would do everything together. Dance, sing, play hide and seek, and we even had weekly scheduled tea parties that my kid brother was not invited to. Supposedly Patrick didn't like my brother.
When my mom told my family about my new imaginary friend, instead of my Aunts and Uncles just accepting this was a normal thing that some children go through, they began spreading the rumor that I was speaking to demons, or evil spirits.
At the age of 7 I pretty much understood my black sheep role in the eyes of my relatives. I was never comfortable around them, and I could hear them snicker or say something about me as I exited a room. I was 7 for Christ sakes, and it hurt like hell. I didn't understand why they hated me. I never gave them a reason; I was just born.
I never hurt little animals, I love animals! I never got into fights with my cousins, I never had bad letters home from school. Nothing. In fact I'd even consider myself the perfect kid. Mind full of manners, a smile, compassion for others.
I was evil though. It was clear, when it came to them, there was no getting past that.
At the age of 12 things began to really get to me. I was a young woman now, and the way these people treated me, and the way they talked about me had to come to an end.
It had gotten to a point that I felt I was losing my sanity. My only rock was my mother, and my cousin who was also branded ba ba black sheep.
Everything that went wrong in their lives would be blamed on me. If something turned up missing in their homes, I got accused of stealing.
I began to hate them. If they were going to talk, I wanted to give them something to talk about.
I walked my butt to the public library one day with a mission in mind. I checked out a book on witchcraft. I figured if I was this alleged evil witch they all said I was, I may as well tune in to my calling no?
I studied, studied hard, and even began my first little white rituals at the age of 12. I figured by 13 I'd be so powerful I could just kill all the fuckers (oh my! Had they perhaps made me evil?) with some magic wand or something. Besides 13 is that number where things are supposed to happen. Magical things.
White Magick lost its charm pretty fast. It was about 5 months in that I found myself doing these cheesy rituals with no magical results. Plus, I didn't want to thank flowers every time I picked them.
The books I was looking for weren't sold in libraries, or book stores. The books I wanted were darker. I wanted to create oozing blisters on the tongues of all those who spoke ill of me. I wanted to destroy my pain...and they were my cause. The reason I was the bottled up friendless pre-teen I was. The reason my self esteem was obsolete.
Most families build up the self esteem of children, not break them down. My family must be special. My family must be evil.
Like a depressed recently divorced widow, instead of hitting the bottle, I hit the books.
By the age of 16 I had learned my way around a dark kitchen. Conjuring up things I care not to speak about due to the judging eyes reading this piece.
I didn't hide it either. My family, my tormentors, they knew damn well about the wicked little things I was playing with, and the funny thing was I never heard the word evil, demon, Satan, or any other foul thing spoken in regards to me.
The words though still slipped from their tongues when I was not around. I always found out what was said though. Stupid creatures always messed up whenever I was not present, and someone always brought me back the information I needed to continue hating them.
At the age of 18 I got into astrology, stars and signs. I learned about my 3 birth numbers, and frankly it scared the shit out of me.
Yep. Who the hell would of thunk it?
I did it over and over and over again, expecting a different result. Yet deep in me, perhaps it was a number I wanted to see. Odd that I wanted to see it, yet could not believe it when it was written out before me.
I tried finding a match, surely this was a number that many people got.
The stars must have been aligned so perfectly the day we were born, because my cousin, my best friend, her numbers matched mine. Two 666 children.
What are the odds?
I called her and let her know. I also gave her the formula on how to figure out birth numbers to confirm it.
Besides her though, I did everyone else I could think of. Everyone! My mom, my dad, sister, brother, cousins, aunts, friends, uncles.... and no other matched. My cousin did the same, and none of her friends had this infamous number as their birth number.
In all, of around 70 or so people, only her and I were a match for the mark of the beast.
Had perhaps my family known all along- something about me perhaps effected them mentally, and they knew without being told, without having some astrology chart in front of them?
Like a squirrel that gives birth to a rare white baby squirrel. It kills it immediately.
Seeing that you can't rip apart a human baby for being different... maybe they figured they could kill it in another way. Maybe they thought they could make it kill itself.
Am I really the spawn of the devil? I say no. But some religious texts may say otherwise.
I don't mess around in such things anymore. Like a drug, it takes one bad overdose to set you straight.
Do I still feel like I was put her for some super strange cause?
In a way yes.
So... where my minions at?