A Monster.
That's what they call me.
Alger lay motionless on the cold stone floor of a dark alley, surrounded by four boys his age. The light of the setting sun painted the sky in burning orange, and from where he lay, Alger could see birds slicing across that sky… heading somewhere far.
If only I were a bird… I'd fly away too.
The boys around him kicked him. One at a time. Not in anger, but curiosity… like children poking at something strange.
"Haha! You were right! He's not crying at all."
"He's like some kind of wild animal."
"Maybe if we try something worse… he might finally scream."
"Let's throw him off a building next time."
They laughed. They hit. But eventually… they got bored and left.
Alger stayed where he was — bleeding, bruised — eyes still fixed on the sky above. He pondered...
Pain.
Is that what makes someone human?
Most people flinch when they're hit. They cry, they scream, they beg for it to stop. But not me.
I don't flinch.
I don't scream.
I don't feel pain.
Not the way they do.
I've seen people cry over a scraped knee. I've seen grown men collapse from a broken arm. Their eyes fill with tears, their breath shortens, their voice shakes.
It's so strange. So loud. So alive.
But I just bleed. Quietly.
I don't even know what it means to hurt. Not truly. All I know is damage. Cuts that should sting. Bones that should ache. But there's only silence. A silence inside my body… and something colder in my chest.
Does that mean I'm not human?
They say pain is a warning. A gift. Proof that you're alive. But if that's true… then what am I?
Can you be alive without pain? Can you be human without it?
People fear pain. They avoid it. They hate it.
But maybe… pain is what gives things value.
You fear death, so you treasure life. You fear heartbreak, so love becomes sacred. You fear loneliness, so friendship means something.
But if you take the fear away…
Then what's left?
I've been beaten, stabbed, burned. All without a sound. Not because I'm brave… but because there's nothing to react to. The world touches me… but never reaches me.
I envy them.
I envy the ones who cry when they're hurt. Who laugh when they heal. Who get angry, scared, overwhelmed.
They feel something. Anything.
But for me...?
All I have is this numbness. This quiet. This endless… distance.
So when they call me a monster, maybe they're right.
Maybe the thing that makes you human… isn't what you look like, or what you do.
Maybe it's just… feeling.
And if that's true, then I was never human to begin with.
He pushed himself up and leaned back against the rough alley wall.
The silence stayed with him… until a stray cat appeared. Thin, ragged, cautious.
"...Are you hungry?"
He checked his pocket. A few dry bread crumbs.
He placed them on the ground. The cat sniffed, then ate in silence. After it finished, it walked away… then looked back at him once.
Just once.
Alger blinked.
Maybe…
Maybe this is what it means… to be human.