I sat in my room, processing everything I had just found out and all the still unanswered questions floating around my head. The typical Why me? was forefront. The aura had chosen me, but no-one had yet explained to me why. Why was everything I thought to be reality...not? My entire life had been turned completely upside down, and then thrown through a hurricane. Each time I felt like I’d landed, felt a little bit in control, I’d get sucked back in. I couldn’t even fathom how had I managed to survive, to pull through, when even a two-year old would tell you that the odds were not in my favour?
They told me to write it down. Everything, like a story book. Which, to most people, would sound like an impossible task but when one could use their aura...it actually wasn’t too difficult. There was a method of summoning back memories in exact detail, down to verbatim quotes. I said that there were things I would rather not re-live in that much detail, and got a lecture on the fact that if I didn’t write this book, bad things would happen. Not that they explained the bad things, of course.
It all sounded very Doctor Who to me but I just went with it. After all...I didn’t want to do anything that wrong.
So that was why I was in my room. A piece of paper sat in front of me, a quill in my hand and a bottle of black ink in the top right corner of the small desk I sat at. Surprisingly, once I set the quill to the paper, the words begun to flow. My story wanted to be told.