Another day.
I rise early with the sun. Stretching, I can see life clicking gently into gear as the day starts to wake. One more day in a line of many others. Oddly enough it was morning time that often brought my life into perspective. There is something about the start of a new day like thousands upon thousands before never changing and never ending that heightened my melancholy. Maybe I resisted the regime simply to give my life purpose. What is the point of living forever if you just follow the herd day in day out for eternity. I have been searching for a meaning to life since the beginning, but to no avail. I don't think life has some greater meaning or significance. We are simple beings in this planet for an insignificant amount of time all desperate to lay our mark on history, on the world that we much search for a deeper meaning to it all. The ultimate question. But there is no answer. You will not one day wake up and discover what it is all for. I have been around long enough to see the desperation in an old man's eyes as he wishes he'd done more, as he fears he will be forgotten and it will be as if he never existed. But I am not dying. I have not been dying for as long as I can remember. I have no desperation to be remembered. My name has been scrubbed from all record by The Consortium; I was not born, I do not live and I won't die. Sometimes it is my greatest weapon; that I do not exist.
I was captured. A long time ago now. I was kept in an underground facility in the central building of The Consortium. Everything is run out of that building and in the basement is where the prisoners are kept. Some are just locked away in cells deep underground left to be forgotten. Others are used for research. They don't know yet what makes us immortal. And they made a surprising discovery; most immortals can die. Legend has it that the original immortals were exactly that; they couldn't die no matter what the injury. But that couldn't last. Disagreements couldn't be settled; they warred for eternity. Maybe the war is still raging in some parts. Who knows what became of them; if they ever existed at all. But immortals were scarce and so they assimilated with the humans in order to carry on and so the immortality was diluted across the years and so now immortal children have a normal infancy but once they reach a certain age they stop aging and remain that way until they are killed or taken by disease. The less immortal blood running in their veins the older they are when they stop aging. Eventually the immortal race will die out.
Except for me. I'm different.
My father, as best I can remember before his life was taken by The Consortium, was an immortal. My mother was a witch. I say was, I don't know if she is alive or not, she fled with the other witches into exile, leaving me to my fate. I am not a witch, but for some reason, even I cannot know, I can heal. Myself and others alike. When I am around illness leaves, cuts heals, ailments cease. I was of special interest for The Consortium, I still am. But they couldn't easily keep me. After all what weapon could threaten me?
