Cammie

I’m not the best talker, I never have been, but right now I’m going to try and tell my story. Hopefully, it doesn’t come out wrong.

My name’s Camilla, Camilla Elliot. I’m twenty three years old. Gosh, that feels weird to say, I still feel fifteen sometimes. I still look fifteen sometimes too, though that’s because I’m fairly short. And I got this round face with puffy chipmunk cheeks and these big, green, walnut eyes. But I’m not complaining; I think it suits me. Kind of pretty in a sort of unique way. I sound vain, don’t I? Ah, well, can’t change that, though I guess I should get back on topic.

But, how to begin it? I guess should start by telling you about myself. You see, I have to make you care about me before I ramble away my deepest and darkest secrets. You might spill them if you don’t know me. Well, I guess you could spill them if you do know me too, but I’ll trust you. I need to trust you actually, keeping secrets hasn’t been very pleasant. …But, please, don’t betray me, don’t tell anyone…

Okay, wow, that sounded depressing. But, I’m not. Sad and depressing that is. I’m actually pretty friendly. I want to make friends and meet as many people as I can. And I’m good at it, the last part that is, but that kind of comes with traveling. I do that a lot. I’ve been all over the States actually. There’s a lot to see out there; it’s absolutely fantastic how America’s has all these big cities with lots of nooks and crannies to explore and how at the same time it has all this nature and wide open space that makes you feel tiny. And it doesn’t hurt that the people are pretty diverse too. I actually have a sketch of everyone who’d sit still long enough, if you want to see that later.

Okay, so I’m a bit of a show off. Not too much I hope, but, I’ve never seen a point in hiding it all. It’s kind of mad to talk about how awful you are. That’s not to say I’m perfect or anything. I mean, I can get pretty moody and crazy sometimes. Irresponsible too, or so I’ve been told. I don’t think I am. I just like to keep my options open. People say that’s called denial, but I’d like to disagree. Anyways, doesn’t matter. It’s getting me angry. You see what I mean about saying you suck? Sucks the mood out of everything else.

Cause I Don’t Think They’ll Understand

But, since the mood’s sucked out now, I’ll get to talking about my “abilities”. It’s the biggest mood sucker of all I’m going to say today. Might as well get it out of the way fast.

Now, you’ve heard of people who bring out the worst in others? Not the kind of people you really want to be around. I’d say they deserve it, but I shouldn’t judge. I’m one of them too. And, it’s not my fault, honestly. See, when I was about fifteen, I was going through that overdramatic teenager faze. You know that embarrassing one where you’re the center of the world and all existence and everyone else is just following you around? Yeah, that one. I just wanted more excitement. I think I told Logan, that’s my older brother, that it’d be so much better if the world was like a soap opera. All dramatic and emotional and not so commonplace. I even told him that people would actually be interesting that way.

And you know the phrase, “be careful what you wish for?” Yup, my wish came true. My brother, who’s never been a patient one, just snapped at me right then. He started yelling, calling me self centered and then he… he punched me… I ran out of the room, locked my self in the bathroom and sobbed. Logan, impatient and sullen as he was, never had the same sort of… look… in his eyes as the person who was wearing his face at that moment.

And I knew, I know, I’d done that. But, it wasn’t my words. It was something else entirely. I felt like I pulled something out of him. Kind of like there was this thread and I pulled and pulled until it snapped. And when it did, a monster came out of Logan.

He snapped back though. He came to the bathroom door, apologizing, begging for my forgiveness. But I was so angry and so afraid and so deep in denial that I told him that I’d never forgive him. He didn’t argue, blaming himself. I wish… No, no regrets, no wishes. There’s nothing I can do now.

But, right, where was I…? Logan left and I snuck out of the bathroom. The thing is though, that my brother wasn’t the only one affected. Suddenly I kept feeling these strings attached to everyone within arms length of me, and the moment I stopped paying attention, I’d pull on one and it’d snap. Then their monsters would come out. Whatever was worst about them, whatever they buried deep, it’d come out. Come out only a tiny bit for some, but way more than imaginable for others. They’d snap out of it, but only after I was gone. Now, I can control it, for the most part, but then I couldn’t.

And I hated myself for it. Hated myself so bad that I ran away from everyone I loved and tried to never look back. Actually, let’s rewind now. Let me tell you what happened before the mess. And after too, because I’m actually doing pretty well now.

When Everything’s Made to Be Broken

Logan was four years old and my parents, Cali and James, had me. My mother was thrilled to have a daughter and my father was just as happy. Two years later, my little sister, Marietta was born. That was when my parents decided out family was complete. I don’t remember anything more than bits and pieces, but I know we lived in a small town. But, then one day, my mom, who’s a chef, got this amazing job offer in a classy restaurant in San Francisco and my dad wouldn’t let her miss that opportunity. So, we sold our house and moved up north.

From there, years blur together. I remember my brother acting in school plays and my sister entering art shows. I remember my Dad going to sleep right when I was waking up because he was finishing his latest novel. They were all the artsy types. And I was too, but I wasn’t passionate about just one thing like the rest of them. I was a flickerer, as my sister put it. There were some things I always did, sketch and help my mom with the cooking, but otherwise I would jump from one passion to another. In middle school, I wanted to be an actor, just like Logan was, and even got a lead part in one of the school plays. Gwendolen in the Importance of Being Ernest. But, other than that I was playing smaller parts. And I didn’t buy the “there’re no small parts, only small actors” thing, so I quit. Then, ninth grade I got jealous of how everyone was praising Marietta for being such an amazing painter and decided that I would one up her. I thought it be easy, since I was older and all… It didn’t work out, to say the least. After I tried to write a novel like my dad and gave up after three chapters.

It got me pretty down, like I wasn’t as amazing as the rest of my family, but Marietta, who’d always been the mature one just rolled her eyes. She said, “Suck it up and move on.” I snapped at her, but she just kept shaking her head, saying that I’d find what I loved if I quit moping around. It helped. Soon enough, I was back on my feet and trying to copy others less. Now, you’d think I’d stick to sketching or go into some direction that was totally not artsy, but turns out that I was just meant to follow in someone’s footsteps. I never quit sketching, but I found myself helping my mom out in the kitchen more and more. It sucked me in, and soon enough, I was making dinner for everyone. I still don’t know why or how; maybe it’s because I could flicker around and make almost any kind of food there was. Maybe it’s because I could still copy and be unique; I could take a recipe and put my own spin on it and it’d still be amazing. Though, I guess I could do that with anything else… It’s probably the fact that it’s yummy.
 

Then I was fifteen and I’ve told you what happened… I ran away. Got on a bus with the grand total of $146.73 I had saved up and traveled as far as I could. I hitchhiked after. I could have died, almost did from how hungry I was. But, I refused to call my family. I didn’t stay in one place or another for too long, because people would start asking questions. Surviving was the hardest part, and I did some things I'm less than proud of. I had no shame in mooching of others and well, lets not get into the rest... Hunger became kind of like the one consistency I could expect and I learned (pretended) to get full off of just seeing things. And, it wasn’t all bad. It was actually some of the best times of my life. Everything was always new and exciting. It felt philosophical in a way; how small I was, how big the world was. And everyone seems more interesting when you only know them for a week or so. I lost track of the number of times I fell in love with a person who I’d just met and promised them forever then left the next week. Guess it went with flickery me. 

But, then out of pure chance I met Jo. He was the owner of a diner in the middle of nowhere and sniffed me out almost immediately. He could tell from my raggedy appearance and my distinct lack of money to pay the bill that I was a traveler with no way to support myself. Most people would have turned me into the police, but bless his soul, Jo offered me a job as a waitress. I almost refused, I actually loved my life and more than I loved my life, I was afraid that I’d loose control of my abilities and drive the town insane. But then good ol’ Jo told me that I’d die in the streets if I didn’t find some stability soon and it got to me. I was eighteen years old and too young to die. 

So I settled down, got my GED and went to community college. Got my abilities under control too. I decided to get a two year degree in culinary arts and when Jo found out that I was interested in cooking, he let me start working in the kitchen. And it was good, but not great. It was the same thing everyday and I was restless. There was just no way to stay in such a dull town. Not to mention my powers were stating to act up from being in one place for so long. So, I finished my degree and left. I only gave Jo a quick hug goodbye before I did so, didn’t even give him a two weeks notice or anything like that. But, he understood. It wasn’t surprising that he did either; he’s just one of those pure hearted good people that just gets everyone. I wish I could be more like him. And his stability had an influence on me as I travel along. Going back to my old ways just doesn’t seem like all it had been when I was a teenager. I just sort of feel lost now.

I guess this ended up depressing anyhow. I'm sorry...

I Just Want You to Know Who I Am