An unknown start

I have always been this way. I am pulled to the sick and dying, for some sense of worth. The people of this world disgust me. I loathe myself without them, for their sickness makes me live.
The sick woman rises from the bed and shakes her head, watching her hands while she opens and closes them, getting a feel for the world. The air around us is still.The birds outside are calm.I try not to breathe as she looks around, praying that she does not see me, I attempt to sink further into the shadows.
She calls out, to her husband?Son? She walks to the window of the cottage and looks out,
"Praise God! My head, the pain is gone! My hands no longer are numb!"
I had pulled the cancer from her head while she slept, and it swirled inside me, making me stronger.Her humble mind did not understand medicine, and would never comprehend what I was.