extinct

She was only child and the thought of her parent’s death did not stir her. She was one, alone, solitary. She was devoid of emotion. She was almost god.

Her room was moss green, pink and black, torrid and narrow. And dark—too anomalous for other species to endure. But she would leave her door open for them to see. And they would come, curious of the spectacle. Their countenance would be the source of her momentary joy. They would be quizzical, shocked and undeniably terrified. They would be uneasy, finding polite words to describe her abode. Never was her place aesthetically pleasing. She, listening, smiled to herself, amused of the comments, mocking. She did not care. Her room was her palace, and she was king.

She would walk the streets, head high, eyes forward, still observant. And the world would seem to stop. The species would look at her pass and they would feel resentment. Never was her sight reassuring. She knew it. And though without change in her face, she would smile to herself, mocking them. For she did not care. The street was hers.

She was the core of every species’ hate for she owed no one. She was neither master nor slave. She was the species they would never become. She would be everything and no one could stop her. The world was hers.

She was a spectator and she preferred solitude. She knew everything and she was never ashamed of it. Her face was blank and she felt nothing. She was beautiful. And the most she could give them was a stare. Her presence was disparaging her worth and she became monstrous in their eyes. She was horrifying. She was unlike them.

Seldom did she smile and when she did, it was not out of delight. It was out of pity. Seldom did she speak for she thought it was useless. But she could see and she listened. And she was happy for she had outgrown the feeling they called fear. She was free. She had become the species called God.

Without emotion and against her reason, tears flowed every time. In the roof of her palace that was her refuge, she stood naked, eyes closed and breathed the reckoning of feelings that were consummating in her blood. Her disposition seemed absurd to her. Such moments enabled her to become like them. Such moments stirred in her the feeling they called loneliness. Her kind was extinct and she was tired. But such were usual moments and would always pass because in the deepest gorges of her subconscious, she knew that there exists another of her species that like her, awaits patiently for their coming union.