The Birthmark

My name is Jalen and I am different.

I didn’t start out that way. I had a normal childhood, playing with the neighborhood kids and sneaking cookies from the pretty jar on the counter. I never noticed that other little girls wore summery dresses while my parents made sure my back was never showing. It wasn’t until the eighth grade that I was confronted with my difference.

Do you remember the first time you had to change for P.E. in front of others of your gender? The giggles and jokes? The flurry of movement to dress quickly before anyone saw? That one day changed my life forever, it forced me to understand just how horrible being different can be.

The day started out normally, breakfast with mom as dad dressed for work, saying my hellos as I got on the bus, and writing down our first set of homework and notes. I had P.E. just after lunch and with my energy and hopes refilled from a morning of boring school work I skipped to class with my two best friends in the whole world.

They would be among the firsts to destroy my childhood.

In the gym we sat ‘indian style’ against the cool flooring, giggling about who was the hottest boy in our class and whether or not we had the courage to talk to him. After the gym instructor gave us our orders and outline for the day we all hurried to our prospective changing rooms, our directions to change into a uniform of shorts and a t-shirt. Changing into my shorts went fine, all the others girls never paid a bit of attention, but once I removed my shirt the room grew quiet. I was oblivious, my mind filled with how cute Jack was in English today.

Then the whispers started.

“What is that?”
“Did her parents really let her have a tattoo?”
“OMG, she’s a freak!”

The last was uttered from my friend Katie, who – at the sight of my back – stepped away from me in disgust. I was only thirteen. I learned later that one of the girls had told the instructor, who then reported it to the principal. That day my parents picked me up from school, packed up our things, and we moved to a new state.

I was never in another P.E. class, nor did I play any sports. This time around it was I who made sure my back was always covered.

Because only a freak has a birthmark of a bird that was the length of her back.

~

My junior year of high school I had another scare.

Prom.

All the dresses that I could find showed off at least my shoulders, the sleeves of any of them made from sheer fabric. So I didn’t go to my junior prom or my senior. Sure, I could have told them all it was a tattoo. I would have probably made it in with the popular girls at my school, but I was always worried the truth would come out, like truths so often do. It wasn’t till I was only a month away from turning eighteen that my parents finally told me about my heritage.

Told me about my mother’s impending death.

I learned I was a Phoenix, a bird of legendary power, legendary purpose. I was one of a long line of women, women who carry history and myth within them.

Centuries ago, when humans started writing down their experiences and weapons were created, the Phoenix bird at that time was forced to seek cover in a new form. Using the power within her she became human, but the consequence of using all that power drained her. She doomed the rest of her species, locking them in human bodies.

Taking her responsibility seriously, she gathered the strongest and smartest people of her time and trained them to become her protectors. Those select few then trained their descendents to always protect the Phoenix from any danger time brings. Every few centuries a new bird is born. Her mother a Phoenix, her father a protector. She is sheltered, protected, and taught to respect the bird that lives within her.

That child is marked with a Phoenix somewhere on her body. Sometimes the mark is big, other times small. Sometimes it’s in a well hidden spot, other times it will always be out in the open. The size of the mark mirrors the size of the bird’s power. My mark is the biggest in all of the Phoenix’s recorded history.

Then my parents dropped the bomb. The day I turn eighteen is the day my Phoenix will rise in power.

And the day my mother’s Phoenix will fade into darkness.

That day I learned to despise myself, like so many others despised me.

~

The week before my birthday my bird put me through many changes. My pixie blonde hair changed to flame red, my light brown eyes turned to burning orange.

And my skin flamed anything I touched.

My mother helped me learn to control my power and after a few days I no longer had to cover my skin with fireproof clothing. She told me that the people who I once thought of as my aunts and uncles were really her protectors, there to guard our lives. And once my mother died my father started to teach me how to survive.

He introduced me to the three men and two women who would be my protectors. I learned that my protectors will live as long as I do only if they aren’t mortally wounded. He told me that it used to be harder to protect a Phoenix, but with all the hair dye and color contacts now in the market it was much safer and easier for my kind to walk with the humans. He told me to stay away from cold climates. That I need to make sure my bird’s fire never burns out and that I always have a backup plan for anything I do.

Then, two weeks after my mother passed, my father followed her.

~

I found myself alone, the only people in my life five strangers. Five strangers who made it their life’s work to protect me.

And so I rebelled.

I snuck out at night, went to parties, clubs, anywhere I could go to get in trouble. I started wearing backless shirts and dresses, only smiling when people asked about my tattoo. I took sky diving lessons, free falling classes, and once even dove down into the depths of the ocean.

It was there I lost my first protector.

She had always mothered me, it was just her personality. She knew I was hurting from the loss of my parents, so she would help me with my sky diving, telling me “every birds needs to learn how to fly, don’t they?” She even went free falling with me into a cave deep underground. And because she was there protecting me the others didn’t mind so much, but when she forbade me to go diving I grew upset.

Why is she turning on me now? I would ask myself.

How could she betray me? Was another thought.

So, without her or any of the others knowing, I jumped on a boat and drove out to sea. It was cold, the sea air whipping against my face and body as the boat skimmed the water. My bird knew this was a bad idea, knew that it was more dangerous than the other stunts I’d been pulling, but I ignored her. I tugged on the suit, hooked up my air tank, and dove in.

The water was so cold, even through the wet suit I felt my heat fading, but I ignored it. Instead I tried to focus on the sights around me. I could see where the reef met the open sea, the bright plant life and fish going about their days. I could see a school of tuna sparkling through the dense water.

What I couldn’t see was the shark that was circling under me.

But the shark comes later, a silent predator, patiently waiting for his meal.

No, it was while I was watching a ray glide through the water that I got my first shock. My motherly protector swimming toward me. I could tell she was angry, her jerky movements and glaring eyes all but causing me to cringe. A few hundred yards behind her swam the rest of my protectors, all equally pissed. When she got close to me she gestured to the surface, her eyes glittering with rage, but I wouldn’t listen, instead I tried to push her away, but already the cold was affecting me, weakening me.

It was when my other four protectors were halfway close to me that the shark attacked. All I remember is the pain, the agony, and the loss of oxygen as the shark tore into my side oxygen tank. The shark swam a few feet away, my tank crunched in his teeth as he circled us again.

Blood flowed around us as I watched the shark angle his body, but a flurry of movement beside me caught my eye. My motherly protector was yanking her tank from her back and shoving her mouth piece at me. With my side torn, the cold sea making me weak, and the water clogging my lungs I could do nothing but allow her to place her tank on my back and secure the breathing piece to my mouth. Renewing my air supply I quickly turn to look for the shark again and see him directly beneath us, barreling straight up.

I’m quickly pushed to the side just before the shark reaches us.

So instead of me being torn again, my favorite protector – the one I thought of as another mother – took my place for me. As the shark swam away, blood trailing behind him, I was pulled into a pair of strong arms and dragged to the surface.

That day I learned just what kind of consequences my actions brought.

~

It took me days to get my strength back. I learned that water, no matter how hot, will always extinguish my fire. And if my fire goes out, I will too.

I also took more care with how I spent my time.

My remaining four protectors taught me how to be careful, how to look and recognize any danger I might be in and I took some college courses, anything that had to do with myths and the unknown.

That was how I lost two more of my protectors.

When I was younger I never noticed how my ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’, even my father, closely watched my mother and those around her. I never knew there was a small group of humans who – just as my ancestors did – taught those that followed them about the Phoenix. Their lessons consisted on how rare the Phoenix is and just how much prestige there is in killing one.

And they knew that if one died before she could bring a child into the world the Phoenix species become extinct.

And what was more prestigious then hunting and killing a legendary Phoenix? Over the years they’ve learned to hide themselves and hide themselves well.

And I never knew the boy in my class was one of them.

The first day of class he sat in the open seat beside me, the second day he asked to borrow a piece of paper. The third he asked me out on my first date.

I was nervous as my female protector curled my hair that night. She dressed me in a beautiful black dress that had wraparound sleeves and a flowing skirt. He picked me up at seven and took me to the movies. After the movie we walked for a while, just strolling through the streets. I went home with love in my heart.

It wasn’t until our fourth date that he showed his true colors.

We were holding hands, walking through the outskirts of town when we came to a bridge over a smoothly running river. The water made me nervous, but I didn’t want to spoil my time with my first love, so I walk across the bridge. We were about half way through the bridge when he shoved me over the edge.

All I remember is the iciness of the river in October, the agony of the water. By the time I was pulled to safety I was half dead and I found out that the man I thought I loved had set up an ambush for when my protectors would rush to help me.

That night I lost two more protectors.

~

After that I locked myself in the house, my last two protectors hovering around me as I recovered from the river and deaths. My shoulders were growing heavy with all these deaths, with the mortality of my protectors and even though I clustered myself in my house, the men I began calling The Hunters weren’t giving up.

They made another attempt on my life, this time by blowing up my house.

Another protector was lost, the last wounded.

Together we’ve been able to keep The Hunters at bay, always staying just half a step before them. For the past century I’ve been running, trying to survive, but most importantly, I’ve been trying to keep my last Protector alive.

He’s all I’ve got left.

Life as someone who’s different is horrendous. I’d rather be human any day, but I can’t, I’m a Phoenix.

And a birthmark like mine comes with many responsibilities.