The Black Glove (Chapter 1)

Chapter 11

Ever since I was born, my mother knew that something would be wrong with me. It stemmed from my father, Treyson. From everything my mother told me, he was a sick man. Psychoanalysis wouldn’t prove anything, but he was crazy. He wouldn’t even admit it to himself. Somehow, he figured that he had powers that no normal man could have. Something about electricity, but I’ll never really find out. He committed suicide the day I was born. I think that above all other things is the thing that made him the most crazy. To give up on your family like that. But I suppose that the whole electricity bit would make sense if you reflect it on my life. Some crazy family we have.2

I was born on a Thursday. Thursday, June 7th at 8:00 a.m. That could be a part of this whole thing, but that’s just superstition. I came out perfectly, no complications, in almost record time, I cried, I screamed, I have an innie belly button. I was a smooth birth. My mother took me home two weeks later, and I grew up with her mentoring me and feeding me, and treating me like the perfect child. You could say I was spoiled.3

My little brother was born when I was five. I never knew who his father was. Someone my mother hosted at our ever-famous bed and breakfast in Colorado probably. There were so many men that just came and went. I looked up to her for so long until my logics finally caught up with me when I was eleven. At the end of fifth grade after sex ed. I remember the day that I realized that my brother couldn’t possibly have been born from the same father. That was a beautiful day. I cried, I cursed, I said things that I didn’t even know the significance of. I thought she was a whore. I wouldn’t realize until later how much I actually didn’t care about that.4

I figured he was lucky, my brother. I got my fathers sickness, and he was normal. As an eleven-year-old, you figure that you wished you’d have been him. I got jealous that he was so average. I suppose I should tell you why I wasn’t average. I was always a very intelligent person. Language was never really my thing, but I loved science and I loved math, but it was an over burning passion, not just a love. I excelled above my entire class, and even above classes ahead of me. I was taking seventh grade math in fourth grade. By the time I had reached eighth grade, I was taking freshman year college math courses. It was eighth grade that my mom decided to stop home schooling me. Something a bout “It’ll give you a taste of normal life!” My brother, then, was jealous of me. He didn’t realize I had a curse. My mother was so proud of me. By the same token, she knew that it would lead to something horrible.5

When I turned fifteen, it happened.6