Extraordinary

Most say girls like me have a “gift.” I always called it a curse. But let’s start properly.
When I was one month old, my mother left me at the doors of a children’s home. Why she abandoned me, I’ll never know. Perhaps she, too, had this “gift” and feared it might awaken in me. Fact is, I grew up parentless in that home. Margaret, one of our carers, first noticed my difference. She recounted me playing with the other children once when a boy snatched my toy. “I swear,” she said, “I saw Tom fly backwards across the room onto the rug. Then you just took your toy back.”
Margaret, kind-hearted and sharp, understood straightaway. She knew if others found out about me, they wouldn’t leave me be.
“I won’t have you taken for experiments,” she’d often insist.
So, she took charge of me, helping me tame and control my abilities. Intense anger could make objects, even people, move. I sensed everyone’s energy field instantly. A glance told me if someone was good or rotten. Sounds brilliant, right? Yet it felt like *they* sensed I wasn’t normal. They kept their distance. Every potential family rejected me. It stung. I craved warmth, love, a real family, to know what ‘mother’ meant.
I had only one true friend in the home: Maisie. Officially Maisie was Margaret, but hated it. Maisie stuck.
She was brilliant. Our times together were golden. She was my family; I was hers. She knew my secret, guarding it fiercely, never once asking me to use it for her gain. I treasured her for that. Maisie had given up hope of adoption. Fifteen was ancient. Everyone knows older kids aren’t chosen.
Then, one day, Maisie burst into our room, her eyes blazing like fire, her frantic energy washing over me.
“What happened?”
“Daisy! You’ll *never* believe it! A family! They’re adopting me! I’m getting a family!”
Maisie leaped at me, grabbing my shoulders, spinning us wildly.
“People actually want me! Can you believe my luck?”
She stopped abruptly, her expression turning solemn.
“Don’t fret. I’ll visit loads! And when you’re adopted too, our families will be friends! Come on, quick, see them! They’re outside the Head’s office!”
She dragged me by the hand.
We stopped by the door just as it swung open.
A couple emerged. The man was broad-shouldered, with a sharp chin and heavy jaw.
Instantly, I felt the full spectrum of their energies. And I recoiled.
From the man emanated raw power – no, not power. Violence. Coarseness. Malice. The woman felt fragile, trapped. Wild exhaustion, utter emptiness. That’s what hit me.
“Oh, Maisie!” the man beamed, his smile sickening.
“Paperwork’s nearly done,” he said. “You come home with us tomorrow.”
Maisie flung her arms around him.
At that moment, another surge flared in his energy. Like love, but wrong. This wasn’t fatherly love echoing from Maisie’s crushing hug; it resembled hungry consumption… something dark and possessive.
Back in our room, Maisie paced, overflowing. I sat on the bed, reeling.
“Cheer up!” Maisie flopped beside me. “I *promise* we’ll see each other!”
“Maisie… I didn’t like them. That man… something feels bad. He’s not kind.”
Maisie frowned.
“Stop it, Daisy. Why upset me? This is everything I’ve waited for! My own family! Paul Andrews *was* lovely when we spoke! They seemed perfect! He said I’d have my own huge room! Imagine?”
“Maisie, *you know* what my senses tell me!”
“Aisy, lay off! Psychologists vet every family! The Head approved them! He works; she stays home! I’ll have a mum all day! Their background checks are spotless! If they were monsters, it’d show!”
Maisie jerked up and turned to the window, her voice thick. “I thought you’d be happy. You’re my best friend.” Shame flooded me. I hugged her from behind. “Sorry. Of course I’m happy for you. You’re right, I imagined it. I just hate saying goodbye.”
“Don’t worry. You’re only seven! You’ll be adopted too! Right, packing now.”
Sleep wouldn’t come. Paul Andrews stalked my dreams – a monstrous figure with raging eyes and fanged, drooling jaws.
Maisie shook me awake. Dressed and packed, she was ready. On the porch, I clung to her for an age, as if my grip could somehow shield her. Once settled in the car, as the carers retreated inside, only I remained. Only I saw Maisie’s new mother exhale relief as she got in. Only I saw Paul’s cruel, one-sided smile curl his lips.
I was a wreck all day. Margaret noticed. On the playground, she drew me aside. “Daisy, what’s wrong? Missing Maisie?”
“Miss Margaret… do you believe me?”
“You know I do.”
“The people who took her… they’re foul. Especially Paul Andrews. He’s rotten.”
Margaret frowned, thoughtful. “That’s dreadful. Perhaps you miss her, or perhaps you’re right. But the records are impeccable. They’re ideal parents.”
“Then why take Maisie? Why not a younger girl?”
“What are you implying?”
“I don’t know, Miss Margaret. Just… I need to think.” I left her standing there.
The rest of the day I felt ill. My head throbbed. My whole being screamed *act*. As the sun dipped below the horizon, my heart hammered like mad. Eyes closed, I jolted upright. I’d swear I heard Maisie scream.
I couldn’t bear it. I ran to the only one who could help. “Miss Margaret! Please! We *must* help her! Something terrible is happening! Please believe me! Do you have their address? Just to check! If all’s fine, I swear I’ll stop!”
I wept, tugging her sleeve like a tiny child.
Margaret pursed her lips. “Alright,” she whispered. “If anyone finds out, I’m sacked. Sneak out back to my car. I’ll grab the address. We’ll go.” Relief washed over me; I *had* to know.
We drove in tense silence. I fiddled with the beaded bracelet Maisie made me. The house loomed dark and forbidding, isolated on its large plot. “Good heavens, Daisy,” Margaret breathed. “I lack your senses, but this place feels sinister.” I knew. I *felt* it. “What do we do?”
“Stay here. I’m small. I’ll crawl under the fence there.” I pointed. “Just peep in windows. If something’s wrong, I’ll warn you.”
“Risky! What if they spot you?”
“They won’t!” I insisted. Margaret nodded grimly.
I dashed towards the house, scrambling under the fence, smearing my dress with grass. Minor details. I crept to a lit window –
And as we settled into our cosy London flat near Victoria Park, with Mum’s laughter warming the walls and Beatrice finally safe beside me, I finally understood that feeling the absence of my birth parents wasn’t about loss anymore, but about making space for the profound peace of the family we’d chosen and fought for together.