Forsaken Right

They say there are infinite worlds and infinite possibilities. I wish they were lying.

I've seen them all, every sickening version of myself. Happy, smiling, living lives I'll never have. Infinite timelines where I'm not the miserable bastard I am now. Where I'm loved. Where I'm whole.

I'm the outlier. The one that got the short end of every cosmic stick. Every other version of me gets to be happy while I'm stuck here, cursed to watch them through the cracks in time. I wish I didn't care, but the truth is, I hate them. I hate that they have everything I don't. Everything I'll never have.

And I hate her more.

My mother. My betrayer. The one who thought her reputation was worth more than her son. The one who threw me away the second she saw me for what I was.

The first time it happened, I was seven. I was running through the backyard, laughing, feeling free for once. I tripped, but I didn't fall. One moment, I was airborne, and the next, I was standing at the back door, heart pounding, knees shaking. I was fast. Too fast. Faster than I had any right to be.

She saw. Her face went pale, eyes wide. She took a step back, like I was something monstrous. I still hear her voice, that quiver of fear. 'What are you?'

I didn't know then. I know now. I'm cursed.

The doctors called it psychosis. Said I was seeing things that weren't there. Hallucinations, they called them. They strapped me to a bed, pumped me full of drugs, tried to fix me. But I wasn't broken. Not in the way they thought.

I was seeing timelines. Possibilities. Every choice, every chance I'd never get to take. I watched myself grow up a thousand different ways. Happy, loved, normal. But that wasn't me. Not this version of me. Not the Cyrus Black who was thrown away like garbage.

I spent years in that psych ward, staring at white walls, hating the boy who never got sent there. The boy I should have been.

But I'm not him. I'm the outlier. The one mistake in a multiverse of perfection. The broken piece that doesn't fit anywhere.

I close my eyes, but the visions don't stop. They never do. I see him again—another me, laughing, surrounded by friends. I see him hug her. Our mother. He's smiling, and she's smiling back, love shining in her eyes.

I hate him. I hate her. I hate them all.

They say there are infinite worlds, infinite possibilities. But I'm stuck in the one where everything went wrong.

And I refuse to suffer alone.

I spent years in that psych ward, staring at white walls, hating the boy who never got sent there. The boy I should have been.

But I'm not him. I'm the outlier. The one mistake in a multiverse of perfection. The broken piece that doesn't fit anywhere.

Time is strange when you don't belong. Days blend into weeks, weeks into years. I was seven when they locked me up. I'm seventeen now.

They're letting me out. On conditions, of course. A government-issued apartment, a stipend, medication to keep me 'stable,' and a promise to attend school. I'm free to work, as long as it doesn't interfere with my education. They call it 'reintegration.' I call it a joke.

She didn't come to see me. Not once. But I know where she is. I've always known.

The visions never stopped. Even when they drugged me, dulled my senses, I could see her. Laughing. Smiling. With them. Her new family. Her new children. The ones she kept. The ones she loved.

I stand outside her house, hidden in the shadows. I've been here for hours, watching. They're happy. She's happy. Like I never existed. Like she never threw me away.

My chest tightens, a sick twist of anger and hurt. My fingers tremble as I dig them into my palms, hard enough to draw blood. I should leave. I should walk away.

But I can't.

I move before I can think, faster than any recorded being. The world blurs around me, colors and shapes bleeding together but still perceivable. But to the world, I'm just a flicker, a breath of wind to anyone watching. They don't see me. They never do.

He's asleep. Her husband. The man she chose over me. He looks peaceful and vulnerable. Pathetic.

My jaw tightens, bitterness flooding my mouth. I could leave. I could walk away and never look back. But then, she'd never know. She'd never understand what she did to me.

I grab him, my hands a blur, tying him down before he can even wake. He blinks, confusion giving way to fear as he struggles against the bonds. "W-what the who are you?"

I smile, cold and hollow. "Just a ghost."

His eyes widen, darting around the room, landing on me repeatedly but never fast enough to truly see me. I move before he can blink, whispering in his ear from the shadows. "Did she ever tell you about me?"

He flinches, twisting against the ropes. "What are you talking about? Who who the hell are you?"

I step into the light, letting him see my face. Letting him see the resemblance. His mouth falls open, horror dawning in his eyes. "You… you're…"

I tilt my head, feigning curiosity. "What did she tell you? That I was dead? That I never existed? Or did she just… forget to mention me?"

He shakes his head, his face pale. "She… she said… she said you were… unwell. That it was better for you… for everyone."

I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. "Better for everyone? Is that what she told herself? Is that how she justified throwing me away?" I take a step closer, my voice dropping. "I was seven. Seven. I needed her, and she left me."

"She was scared." His voice is hoarse, shaking. "She was scared of… of how damaged you were. How traumatized. She didn't know how to help you. She was terrified of what it would do… to you… to her… to all of us."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Damaged. Traumatized. Is that what I am? Is that all I am?

I laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. "She was scared? She was scared of me?" I shake my head, anger flaring. "I was a child. I was alone. And she abandoned me."

A gasp echoes from the doorway. I turn, the world slowing as she steps into the room. Her face is pale, her hands trembling.

"Cyrus?" Her voice is small, fragile. "I… I thought… they told me you were…"

"Gone?" I finish for her, my voice sharp. "Dead? Locked away forever? Which lie did you tell yourself, Mom?"

She takes a shaky step forward, tears brimming in her eyes. "I… I didn't… I didn't know what to do. You were… so quiet. So… distant. I didn't know how to reach you." Her voice breaks. "And then time just… slipped away. One day turned into another, and then… I had them. Your brother. Your sister. And I didn't know how you'd react. I didn't know… what you'd do."

I stare at her, the words sinking in, cold and heavy. "You were scared of me," I whisper, my voice trembling. "You thought I'd hurt them."

She covers her mouth, tears spilling over. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't… I couldn't risk it."

Risk it. Like I was a danger. Like I was a monster.

I feel something inside me snap, the last fragile thread of hope breaking. "You were supposed to protect me," I whisper, my voice shaking. "You were supposed to be my mother."

She reaches out, her hand trembling. "Cyrus… please… I'm sorry. I… I made mistakes… I was weak… I was afraid. But… I never stopped loving you."

"Love?" The word tastes bitter on my tongue. "You call this love?" I look at her, really look at her, and all I see is a coward. A woman who chose comfort and safety over her own child.

She falls to her knees, sobbing. "Please… please don't do this… don't become this… I'm begging you…"

I stare at her, the woman who was supposed to fight for me, who was supposed to love me. But she didn't. She chose them. She chose herself.

And I feel nothing but cold, hollow rage.

I turn to her husband, his eyes wide with fear. "You wanted to protect your family?" I whisper, my voice low and cold. "Then watch as I destroy it."

I move before they can blink, faster than light, faster than thought. The world blurs, time slowing to a crawl as I reach into his chest, my fingers vibrating with speed. His heart is warm, beating steadily. I feel it pulse once before I crush it.

The scream that rips from her throat is raw, broken. I drop the heart at her feet, watching as she crumbles, shattered.

I arrange the scene carefully, wiping my prints, leaving enough evidence, and arranging it just right to make it look like she did it. Her husband's blood on her hands, her fingerprints on the supposed murder weapon. A perfect, tragic story, perhaps catching her partner in an affair, should be enough for cause.

I'm gone before she realizes it, slipping back to my room in the facility. I sit on the bed, close my eyes, and wait for morning. For my release. For my new beginning.

I'm free. But I've never felt more trapped.