I often find myself wondering, Is this world worth saving? Or, Is it worth helping other people at the expense of yourself?
My answer is usually a firm no.
I know what you're thinking: I must be the most selfish person alive, right? Well, maybe you're right... and maybe you're not. But before you judge me, at least hear my story. If you still feel the same way afterward... then fine.
My name is Justin Jackson. I'm fifteen years old, and what I'm about to tell you might be difficult to hear, so brace yourself.
It all started twelve years ago in Washington Heights, Manhattan, New York City. My parents, Joe and Sarah, were scientists at HTI (High Tech Industries), a company home to some of the brightest minds in the world. Its headquarters is the tallest building in Manhattan—maybe even the tallest in all of New York.
My parents were exceptional at what they did, especially my father. He devoted himself to creating technology that improved people's lives and was widely respected by his colleagues. To call him a genius would be an understatement.
Then everything changed when, out of nowhere... my father snapped.
Before then, the focus of his research had been energy and finding ways to use it to improve humanity. His goal was to discover a way to eliminate disease forever. It sounded harmless... even noble.
Until he discovered a type of energy unlike anything mankind had ever seen.
According to the reports, he abandoned his original goal and began using this mysterious energy to conduct illegal human experiments.
He wanted to grant ordinary people extraordinary abilities—to turn them into living weapons.
The results were catastrophic.
More than half of the test subjects didn't survive.
Then... on the night of July 15, everything changed.
One of the subjects finally showed signs of developing powers. For a brief moment, the experiment appeared to be a success.
Then everything went horribly wrong.
The subject lost control, burst out of its containment chamber, and slaughtered every scientist in its path before making its way onto the streets of Manhattan, attacking everything and everyone it encountered.
No man, woman, or child was safe that night.
It was a massacre.
Then, without warning, the escaped subject began to glow. It grew larger and larger until, in the blink of an eye, it exploded like a bomb.
The blast claimed countless lives.
I guess the success was only temporary.
But the strangest part came afterward.
When the smoke finally cleared, a massive crater remained. As people cautiously approached to see what was left, they were stunned by what they found.
A baby.
Lying at the very center of the crater was a baby.
It made no sense. It shouldn't have been possible.
Many believed that child was the same monster responsible for the destruction.
We'll come back to that.
The tragedy was said to be even worse than 9/11. Countless people were injured, many were left permanently disabled, and even more lost their lives.
That night became known as the 7/15 Incident.
My father was blamed for every death and every ounce of destruction. But before he could be arrested, he disappeared.
I never saw him again.
Eventually, it was confirmed that he had died sometime after the incident.
Just like that, the respect and admiration he'd spent years earning vanished.
He became the most hated man in the city.
Twelve years have passed since that day, and those years haven't exactly been kind to me.
Because, well... remember the baby they found inside the crater?
That baby... was me.
As I said before, people believed I was the monster from that night.
Honestly, it certainly seemed that way.
Growing up, people avoided me.
Over the years, I was taken to countless doctors and specialists who ran every test imaginable.
Every single result came back the same.
I was just a normal kid.
But no one believed it.
The hatred people felt toward my father soon spread to my mother and me. Some had lost loved ones. Others had been permanently injured.
They needed someone to blame.
And we became their targets.
It didn't stop there.
My mother lost her job because she was suspected of helping my father with his experiments. She was even taken to court and sued.
Before long, we were completely ostracized.
The worst part was watching my mother struggle.
She became a single parent, and no one was willing to hire her.
We moved constantly, hoping each new place would offer a fresh start.
It never did.
I'd like to say moving so often was the reason I never made any friends.
But deep down...
I knew they never would have wanted to be friends with me anyway.
I remember one day when I was about eight years old.
My mom suddenly fell to her knees and pulled me into a tight embrace.
She held me as though she would never see me again.
Then she broke down crying.
"I'm so sorry, Justin... I'm so sorry you have to go through all of this."
She kept apologizing as if she'd done something wrong.
She was trying to comfort me when it was obvious she was the one hurting even more.
I'll never forget the tears in her eyes.
She'd lost her career.
Friends she'd known for years abandoned her.
Even her own sister—my Aunt Sofia—cut ties with us and told her daughter, my cousin, to stay away from me.
It's no wonder she was in so much pain.
She even suggested changing my name.
But everyone already knew our faces.
Every time someone recognized us, we had to move again.
Honestly, we would have been better off living in our car.
Things finally started looking up when I turned twelve.
My mom found a great job, though it often kept her away from home.
For the past three years, it felt like I'd been living alone.
I thought that would be my biggest problem.
Then she told me where we were moving next.
"Justin... we're moving back to Washington Heights."
The place where it all began.
The moment I heard those words, it felt as if my heart had stopped.
Now I was returning to the one place I'd hoped never to see again.
Part of me hoped people wouldn't recognize me.
Even I knew that was asking too much.
The hatred there was stronger than anywhere else we'd ever lived.
Eventually, I accepted that this was simply how my life would always be.
And because people hated us...
I began to hate them.
No one had ever lifted a finger to help me.
I knew they wouldn't even care if I died.
No one had ever cared enough to save me.
So why should I risk my life to save anyone other than my mother and myself?
More than anyone else...
I hated my father.
He put my mother and me through hell...
only to disappear and die.
Yet somehow, I could never bring myself to throw away the pendant he'd left me.
It held a strange black stone unlike anything I'd ever seen.
I had no idea what it was.
But one day...
I would learn just how important it truly was.
Well...
That's my story.
That's why I believe this world isn't worth saving.
That's why I don't think helping other people at the expense of yourself is worth it.
So...
Do you still think I'm selfish?
Ha...
I knew you would.
And I thought that would never change...
Until something happened that changed my life forever.
It seems my story isn't over yet.
In fact...
It's only just beginning.
~KEOKROSTOS