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The moment I shut the door, it was as if I could see this man’s entire life. I could see his parents and his friends. I could see him as a baby, could see him laughing, playing. It happened every time I took someone’s soul. Even as I am sucking it through my own body, I can feel the cold vapors of the human surging through my system.

When it first happened, I didn’t even know it happened. I had no idea what was going on. I was no more than 12 or 13, right around puberty. I thought whatever it was that was happening was part of this “growing” phase that my parents told me about when I was smaller.

My parents ended up dying when I was around ten. That’s right, I don’t remember. It’s because I think the trauma was so awful that I blocked it out. There are times I wish that I could just stay trapped in the stories of other people so I didn’t have to feel the pain of my own life.

I found myself without anyone. I was found by a man, an officer by the name of Officer Wendler, in a house where I grew up. I was shaking, I didn’t know why my parents weren’t getting up, why they weren’t making me lunches for school or telling me they loved me anymore. My hair all knotted and my clothes dirty from not being washed. He took me in.

Now, eventually, I started calling him Jim. That was his name. Plain, nothing out of the ordinary. He was bald, mid-40s, little belly, but most of all, he was good to me. He told me that he knows it wasn’t easy to erase the memories of parents. As much as we both would try, we ended up on the couch, mostly me crying and him holding me in his huge bear arms.

Yes, cliché, but still it held just as much meaning as anything.

Anyway, when I was about 12 or 13, I kissed a girl. She was kind of portly, blonde hair, always pulled back in a ponytail, but she was nice and sweet. Another cliché, but she was my best friend. One night, we were hanging out on the dock while all the older kids were doing keg stands and getting drunk off their ass, she kissed me.

At that time, I had no idea what the hell that even meant. She was kissing me and I was enjoying it. Doesn’t mean I was attracted to her or that I was in love with her, but I just thought it was the alcohol playing its role. Cliché.

Before I knew it, I was kissing back, and I was breathing her in, literally. With my eyes closed and my concentration on the moment, I could see her as a baby, her thoughts, her tears, her lack of friendships, the kids teasing her. Quickly, I pulled away. She looked at me, as if almost lifeless and slowly, I let out the air I was holding in my lungs. For the first time, I saw life reentering her body. Whatever I did, I knew that it was something I should never mention.

After that day, we never spoke again. She wasn’t the only person I did it to. It happened to a few guys in my class, a guy that I went to prom with, but only that time was different. He kissed me and I could feel the warmth in my stomach, in my chest, on my lips. I was breathing him in, slowly. I could feel the anxiousness coming from his heart beating. But it was when I realized as I pulled away that his heart had stopped, that I knew what had happened.

My insides were warm and my heart was beating as his was. I looked at the boy (who now remains nameless) and his eyes were black, his skin slightly yellow and cold. Watching him, he didn’t move. His body stiff, his mouth gaped open. I got out of the car and ran.
What else was I supposed to do?

And while I was running, I saw his life: his football scholarship, his desire to sing and act, him sleeping with the pitcher to the school’s baseball team. Way more than I wanted to see, but the next day, I found myself laying in my prom dress covered in grass and dirt. I ended up walking home, only to hear about his death on the news.

It wasn’t even the fact that I killed him, but I was punished by his memories and his thoughts afterwards. I couldn’t explain it, nor did I want to. I didn’t understand it, but people would only think I was crazy, right?