Unnamed
Playing my viola at a school concert with my parents drunk as shit at home. They never did anything for me then they died in a car accident driving me to stay with my aunt - aka abandoning me with her. I took full blame, then all of a sudden, I found out I was a seer (of the past and future) when I turned 14. Did my parents ever tell me I would be a seer? No, and I told only my aunt. I saw tons of past witches at steak being burned and hung; Genevieve was one of them that I saw a lot . She referred to all seers as animals; take me for example; I am a Stingray. That spiritually symbolizes maneuverability, someone who can adapt quickly. Genevieve would connect to me through messages she put for me to find. She taught me everything my parents couldn't. How to control my visions and how to protect myself from being caught even though it wasn’t a big problem.
I started a different school when everyone found out about me, though to them I wasn’t a ‘seer,’ I was a ‘fortune teller’ even though I saw the past and future. I started going to some school with other kids like me - traumatized and magical. They even have their own therapist for students like me. My first day I got there and met Bones. They were… different from others. Bones had all powers, but they only last for seconds before they wear off. They are my roommate I lived in the school for the time I was there and my first meeting with the therapist went… okay. Kinda okay. Not good. Bad?
“So,” the woman started as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Meredith Spring, nice to meet you…?”
“Rue.” I shook her hand and sat down, my mind was racing. I hate the first time meeting a new therapist, and most of them give up on me. Her smile put me in a trace. She spoke first.
“So, How has school been? It's rough starting in the middle of the school year.”
“Good.”
“Any new friends? I hear you and Char are roommates.”
“Bones.”
“What?”
“That’s their name now.”
“Oh, okay, thank you for telling me,” she continued to ramble on and on about questions, which I didn’t pay much attention to until…
“What about the grief of your parents death? How’s that going?” she asked. I froze in shock even though my last few therapists always started with that question. The little stress ball the office gave me is in my pocket, and I'm squeezing the life out of it. Without thinking I go ballistic on her.
“Yeah I haven't done shit for grief. I mean what am I supposed to do?!”
“You could read, listen to music, or maybe write in a journal-”
“Write in a journal about how I killed my own parents?!”
“You didn’t kill your parents!”
“How do you know?” I threw my hand up. A lady knocked at the door saying there was a family emergency going on.
“Let's end our session here.” She said as I stormed out of the room.