SHE was always there, but nobody saw her.

Everyday, SHE sat alone, and nobody cared. 

SHE liked sitting below that tall oak tree in the school courtyard to eat her lunch and read her books. No one ever saw her, anyway, so it didn't matter.

SHE was invisible. Intangible. When ever someone accidentally brushed against her, they just went right through her. Like SHE didn't exist.

Which was weird. SHE didn't understand why. 

Am I living in a dream?

It probably would've helped if SHE had parents. But SHE didn't. SHE couldn't remember anything except that SHE'd been living in this little house for her whole life, taking care of herself and everything. SHE couldn't remember anything else. It was so weird. 

No one could see her. Once, out of curiousity, SHE'd stood in front of one of the juniors, a five-year-old girl called Hannah, and waved her hands right in front of her face. Hannah didn't even blink.

It didn't make sense to her either that when SHE looked in mirrors, SHE wasn't even there. It was as if SHE wasn't real.

Maybe it was better that way. At least SHE'd be left to do her own things, and no one would disturb her, right?

Maybe. But SHE still wished that SHE wasn't so hopelessly, painfully alone.

There was a new kid. Her name was Aria, and she was beautiful, smart, kind and perfect. Everyone loved her instantly.

On Aria's first day of school, Aria'd brought a packed lunch. She had two egg sandwiches, and she didn't go to the canteen to eat.

Instead, she went to the school courtyard, where no one else ever went.

SHE looked wistfully at Aria, before sighing, and going back to her book.

Aria sat down right next to her, below that oak tree.

And Aria said hi.

SHE stared at Aria. Aria grinned, looking right at her, and repeated, "Hi. I'm Aria, and I'm six-years-old. What's your name?"

SHE blinked. "You can see me?" SHE asked.

Aria nodded. "Of course."

SHE couldn't believe it. "No one's been able to see me before," SHE said softly.

Aria laughed. "But I can! What's your name!"

SHE turned red. "I... I don't have a name."

Aria frowned, before lighting up again. "I've got an idea! Can I call you Violet?"

Violet was a nice name. SHE liked it. Beaming, SHE nodded.

Aria clapped her hands with delight. "That's good. Can we be friends?" Aria stuck out a tiny hand.

SHE stared at the hand, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

"You're supposed to shake it, silly!" Aria laughed.

SHE took Aria's hand. SHE felt something like an electric shock pass through her. And it felt like something inside her had changed. To her surprise, her hand didn't pass right through Aria's. She shook it awkwardly, eyes wide with wonder.

Aria smiled sunnily. "Well, Violet, we're going to be best friends, aren't we?"

SHE -no, Violet- smiled right back, and agreed happily.

The other kids came out looking for Aria.

And their jaws dropped.

"Who's that?" they asked Aria, pointing at Violet. Violet blinked. They could see her, too? Aria beamed. "Come on! Let's go play with them!"

When she went home and looked in the mirror, her reflection smiled right back at her.

When I wake up, I'm lying in a crimson pool of cells, platelets and plasma.

The once-white sheets I'm rested on are stained with burgundy. My blood. 

Lots and lots of it.

I try to get up, but I can't get my body to move. Every single bit of me, with the exception of my face, seems to have been turned to stone. There's an overpowering feeling of numbness in my body, and it frightens me.

What's going on?

I feel lethargic and sluggish. My breathing is weak and strained. My eyes struggle to keep themselves open, my eyelids seeming to weigh tons.

I'm vaguely aware of something warm and sticky trickling down my temples. I catch its scent: Metallic. More blood.

I struggle to move, but to no avail. A fruitless attempt. From the sterile smell in the air, and an IV in my arm, I can tell I'm in the hospital. What happened?

My brain feels different. Despite my other body parts' refusal to function, it seems to work perfectly fine. More than fine. It feels strange, like a supercomputer. Everything in my brain is crystal clear and easy to process. It's beautiful, and I feel intelligent. Very intelligent.

Huh. Intelligent? The girl who flunked every single one of her examinations, intelligent? I think bitterly.

But still, my mind feels powerful. And it's too tempting. So I try.

17778 times 19873.

Almost instantly, the answer flashes clear in my mind.

353302194.

Wait, what?

Here I am, a stupid thirteen-year-old who can't even do her twelve times table, multiplying 17778 times 19873 in a second? What the heck?

Something's off. Very off.

My mind is clear. I try to recall what happened earlier.

And it rushes back.

I asked a witch for a wish.

Dark, raven-black hair, that cascaded down to her shoulders. Her face shrouded in shadows, the only thing visible being her eyes. Large, deep violet, almost seeming to glow. A beautiful violet, but a malevolent one.

She was wearing a cloak. One that covered her lower body completely, its hood covering part of her face.

She was a witch.

I saw her on the streets, and she intrigued me. I followed her into a dark alley, like an idiot.

And she offered me a wish.

She warned me that there'd be a price. But of course, I'd still get my wish, and if I wished carefully, it'd be worth it.

I'd been failing exams all my life. I'd just came back from school with a test score in Math of 12/100, and I was simply dreading going home.

It didn't seem legitimate to me, because, well, I didn't believe in witches, and no one can grant wishes.

But something about her gaze told me that she was telling the truth.

The price? Pshhh. It didn't matter. As long as I got my wish, well, whatever.

So, I wished to be the smartest human being on Earth.

She nodded.

And then her lips curled upward, ever so slightly, into the most evil, horrific smile I'd ever seen.

That was when I knew I shouldn't have wished.

But it was too late.

I only remember that excruciating agony had ripped right through me, as though a billion knives were stabbing through me from the inside, and blood started flying everywhere. I'd screamed and screamed, while her body seemed to turn to dust, and she vanished.

Then I'd blacked out, and darkness was all that there was.

My eyes are wide, and I'm frozen with the memories.

I wished for this.

And the price? Now I'm paralysed from the neck-down.

***

Ever since I was seven, I've dreamed about being a professional runner, the kind that takes part in competitions and goes to the Olympics to win medals and stuff.

And I might even have been good enough. I ran like the wind, the fastest in my school, people telling me that I had superhuman speed, and that maybe my dream could one day be real.

I trained like mad for it. I represented my school in track competitions, and brought back medals and trophies. I loved running. It was my dream, and my life.

And that's when realisation hits me. 

I'll never be able to run again.

Anguish, horror and shock consumes me. It's an extremely unpleasant feeling, so many horrible feelings overwhelming you at once. I feel warm liquid trickling down my cheeks. Hydrogen and oxygen combined, my brain supplies. Plus a tad of sodium.

SHUT UP! I wish I could yell, but my voice doesn't work. I don't freaking care!

So this is the price of black magic. It's definitely not worth it.

What's the point of being the most intelligent human being on Earth, if it means that everything you care for is taken away from you?

What's the point?

You get to be the most intelligent human being in the world, but at the loss of what means the most to you. So this is balance.

Cruel world. Cruel, cruel world.

So nothing's worth it in the end.

He couldn't believe it. It'd been years and he hadn't seen her. He'd heard rumours of how she'd passed away from leukemia, but he'd never believed it. How could he believe it? No way would it be true. No way would she be gone.

She was here. Right here, right now, right in front of him. He choked out her name and love swelled inside him. His soulmate, the love of his life. They'd never gotten wed because, well, she didn't want to burden him with her illness.

Find someone else, she'd whispered. Someone else who's healthy and beautiful and loving. You deserve better than to have to be burdened with me.

He'd argued. He'd shouted for her to rethink what she'd said. I love you! It doesn't matter to me! I love you!

But she'd shaken her head, and left. He'd searched the ends of the earth for her, but hadn't seen her since.

Now, seeing her standing right in front of him, he was overwhelmed with joy.

"You came back," he whispered softly.

He reached out, hoping to take hold of her hand and hold on to her, so that the world wouldn't be able to separate them anymore.

And he reached for her, only to have her crumble to stardust right before his eyes.

He opened his eyes, and his pillow was dotted with tears.

Can you remember who you were

Before everyone started judging you?

Before hiding your personality,

Changing for them too?

You wanted to be someone else 

But they told you who to be.

Pressured by them, changing who you were

You lost your identity.

You wanted to be an activist

"Be a lawyer," they said, instead.

Complying, although it wasn't your wish,

Your dreams, you let them shred.

You finally met your soulmate,

True love, you knew in your heart.

But they didn't approve, didn't like her,

In the end, you had to part.

They shape you into what they want

You're not yourself. You're clay.

Your dreams, your spirit, all these things,

From you, they took away.

You're not you anymore. You wish

You could be yourself. Be free.

You can't even remember who you were

Before the world told you who to be.

They've sucked the you out of you.

Between the world and you, it's a war.

And now, as to who you are, you find

You don't know anymore.

Everything they'd did to her

Was only just for fun.

But everything they'd did to her

Cannot be undone.

She cut herself till she bled.

And right now

She's dead.

I love you.

I've always loved you. And I'll love you forever. You're everything to me. I can't imagine life without you.

And I can't imagine an afterlife without you.

But I'm not going to join you in the afterlife. I know you're in heaven, waiting for me. I wish I could come and see you again. But I can't.

We both know that the good people all go to heaven, and the bad people all go to hell. We are both good people.

Or at least, I used to be.

Darling, I'm sorry. I can't join you in heaven. I used to be a good person, but I did something wrong. Something very, very wrong. Something unforgivable.

I didn't want to, but I had to. I was being blackmailed. I had to, for our son. It was either that, or Johnny would die.

The terrorists took Johnny. I had to. They said they'd torture him and kill him unless I did it.

I know I shouldn't have done it. But I was selfish, so I did.

The school that I blew up is in ruins now. It haunts me. I got Johnny back, but I just... I just need to think of how many other parents have lost their "Johnny". I hate myself. 

Honey, the police are coming to get me soon. I'm going to save everyone a lot of trouble and end it myself. Johnny will go to his aunt.

I'm sorry. So, so sorry. Sorry to the children I've killed, the parents whose hearts I've broken, to you for doing such a despicable thing.

I'm sorry, Darling. I won't be going to heaven. I'll be going somewhere else in the afterlife.

I miss you.

I'm sorry.

He stared at the ocean.

He'd been sitting here for hours, and it felt like it had been decades. Everything felt much longer when he was waiting.

He watched the waves lap at the sand. The waves reaching out for the sand, trying to hold on to it, only to fall away, back into the ocean.

He felt sorry for the water.

"I'm trying to hold on, too," he found himself saying. "I'm falling away. I'm falling away from my lover.  I've been waiting so long, and she's not here. I can't find her."

"She's the love of my life," he said. "She accepted me, despite my flaws. Despite knowing of my mental condition. She's been with me for decades, and I love her with all my heart. She's my true love. I live for her. And I'd die for her."

The waves didn't respond. He took in the salty ocean air, sitting atop that giant rock, where he'd been sitting for ages.

Where they'd had their first kiss, decades ago.

Someone ran up to him. "Chase!"

He turned, to see an old woman. Her hair was grey, streaked with white. Her eyes were kind. He didn't recognise her, but he decided to ask anyway.

"Hello," he said. "Have you seen her?"

The stranger gave him a quizzical look. "Who?"

"My wife. Her name's Maria. She's the love of my life, and she's gone," he explained. "I can't find her. Have you seen her?" There were tears in his eyes.

The woman gazed at him, looking sad. "I..." She seemed at a loss for words. 

She took his hand and helped him up from the rock. "No, I haven't. I'm sorry. Come on, I'll take you home."

His tears shone in his eyes. "Do you think she doesn't love me anymore? Is that why she didn't come back for me?"

The woman shook her head, seemingly choking down a sob. "No. I... I'm sure she still loves you. She loves you more than anything else in the world, and you're everything to her."

He relaxed, and smiled. "Thanks." Then, he looked at her. "I'm sorry, but who are you? Do I know you?"

The old woman trembled. "I'm... I mean... You... You used to."

He didn't understand, but he didn't ask further. The stranger held his hand and began leading him home.

And as she held his hand and led him home, Maria cried.

Sweat ran down the doctor's face. He couldn't fail. He would perform the surgery successfully. One slip of the hand, and the patient would die.

He was very, very tired. He'd been working for 37 hours straight, with no sleep. This was a demanding job, but he still didn't regret choosing it. It gave him a surge of joy whenever he managed to save a life.

This was a very complex surgery. A very severe and rare illness plagued the patient. This was an unprecedented case, and the doctor had no past cases to refer to as to what to do if a certain situation occurred. He'd have to follow his instincts.

This patient was an eight-year-old girl. She had a family who loved her, very very much. He would save her, for their sake.

He worked furiously, but waves of exhaustion washed over him. His judgement was impaired by fatigue, and he forgot some of the things he'd been taught.

He carried out the surgery wrongly.

The girl died.

They blamed him. They shouted at him and were crying, crying and crying. Guilt and horror consumed him, a dark deep void of oblivion. He'd failed. He'd taken her from them.

He cradled his head in his hands, sobbing at home. He should've tried harder to stay alert. It was all his fault. If only he'd been more careful, he wouldn't have had killed her.

My fault. My fault. My fault...

He was supposed to save lives, not take them. Blame and hate showered on him. He was bombarded by netizens, shouted at by the girl's family. 

My fault. My fault. My fault...

He drank. He drank bottles and bottles of wine, trying to drown out his troubles.

His life had no meaning, if he couldn't save others. He just decided to end it all. A couple of pills was all it took.

They found him dead, with a note, which was covered with wet, salty spots. The note was written in his handwriting, and had a few simple words on it.

I didn't mean to. Please forgive me.

I met him on the street. He was a five-year-old boy, carrying a balloon.

He accidentally let go, and the balloon started to drift away. I caught it, and handed it back to him.

"Thank you!" he beamed at me, with a smile that could melt anyone's heart. Then, he looked at me with his big brown eyes, and asked, "Are you an angel?"

I stared at him. "Um... What?"

"Uh-huh. I saw your hands. There are lots of marks and lines on your wrists, right?" he nods at me, gesturing at his own wrists.

I gaze at my wrists, and look at the lines that decorate them. Pink, white, red.

"Mommy told me that angels have marks on their hands. She said that they don't like it here on Earth, because everything is not good for them. Bad things happen, and people do bad things to them. So they put marks on their hands to decorate them, so they can feel better," he explained. "She said some of them also try to go back to heaven, so they won't have to feel so sad here anymore."

I blink at him. "Oh... Of course. Where's your mother?" I ask gently.

"Ooh, my Mommy's an angel, too! She said that she used to put marks on her hands too, when she was younger. Then, she felt a bit happier and stopped. Though just last year, Mommy wasn't very well for a while. But now, she's gone back home," he said.

"It's just me and Daddy now. Daddy said that one day, Mommy will come and take me to Heaven to be with her, if I'm good. Do you think so too?" he asked, his eyes shining.

I choked back tears. "Yes, of course," I nodded, trembling slightly.

He beamed. "Great! I can't wait to see Mommy again."

He gave me a big smile. "Mommy told me, that even if things are bad, everything will be alright, if only I just wait a while. Miss Angel, I know that you're sad here, but please don't be. Everything will be happy soon, okay?"

And with one last smile, holding his balloon, he skipped away, down the street.