The Dead Story of a Birthmark

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Heavy panting, bleeding arms, and intense fear. All of which were the only things I currently knew. My polished dress shoes were no longer a sleek black, and were now ridden with dust and blood. My once clean, black business suit was now wrinkled, and ripped at certain spots. I held my aching left arm by my side, and limped forward as fast as I could. I couldn’t tell where I was… or even who I was. All I cared about was escaping from whatever was chasing me.

A tumult of voices yelled from behind. It sounded like multiple men's voices, but I couldn’t tell if they were shouting for help or in pain. Behind me, sporadic patterns of footsteps approached, and fled my ears in random intervals. I could hear the people swinging around, and bumping into the nearby surroundings. Something must’ve been released in the office, since someone grunted, “Dammit, I can’t see!” to himself.

In a moment of pure anxiety, I stumbled over something on the ground and fell, hitting a sore spot in my right knee. I put my uninjured hand over my mouth, trying to muffle my pained groans. I looked back with teary eyes, seeing blurry silhouettes stop in their place. Whoever they were seemed to notice my clumsiness, since the silhouette began to get larger as they approached.

“Help… no more… you!” I didn’t know if it was my hearing or their speaking, but there seemed to be spaces in between some of the words. In fact, the entire atmosphere had weird gaps of random silence. What the hell is happening? What’s trying to kill us?

I mustered any ounce of strength I had left, and pushed myself back onto my feet. Every muscle fiber was screaming at me to fall back down, to just give up and accept my inevitable fate. It was difficult to fight against myself and deny any sort of resisting forces. If you want to survive, run. Don’t listen to your body. Ignore your pain and keep going. Run!

A regular start of the day to a regular start of the school week, how can it get any better? I rubbed away the residue of morning’s sleep from my eyes as I stepped out of the dorm building. The Sun was a beaming light of heat today, making the California weather feel like the inside of an oven. My best friend and roommate, Flint Ingram, walked beside me, making fun of my rather mellow set of clothes.

“Black shorts, gray shirt, an expressionless-ass face… are you serious dude?” Flint wiped off a trickle of sweat from his forehead. Just walking outside seemed to be a workout for him. “Come on man, present yourself!” He exclaimed, pointing at his clothing, as if he was an ideal example of clothing fashion.

I scoffed at him; today he wore a red shirt that was decorated with a pattern of yellow flowers, which was fitting for his basic khakis. The socks, however, were long, school spirit socks, which were hiked up unnecessarily. The blue and orange colors clashed horribly with the rest of his clothing.

“I at least got a Hawaiian-type thang going on!” He bragged. “I’m adding a bit of character into my shmexy bod.” He puffed out his chest and lifted up his head, temporarily getting rid of his double chin. I held in my laughter as a group of girls walked past us, obviously making some snide comments about him. Flint noticed their rudeness, but started to flex his nonexistent biceps and make kissy faces. Eventually I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and burst out laughing.

“Bro you look stupid as hell,” I managed to say between laughs. “And hey, there is character in the way I look.” Flint stopped puffing his chest and raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Like what? All I see is the same Marcus as yesterday– basic and bland as shit… Well, except for that one time you wore those jeans and a collared shirt. Almost mistook you for a damn teacher!” I waved him off as he guffawed annoyingly, and focused back on the route to class.

As much as an annoyance he can be, Flint Ingram is probably the closest friend that I’ll ever have. He was the only one to treat me like a regular person; in high school everyone always made a comment about the prominent birthmark on my face. Usually it was the first thing people would mention when people talked to me. In fact, once the first semester of Freshman year started, I was given titles like “Mr. Potter” or “Scarface”. As badass of a nickname Scarface was, it wasn’t what I wanted to be known for. Granted, it’s hard to ignore a long, diagonal discoloration across an entire face, but sometimes it felt like people only talked to me because of the birthmark. I can’t even count the amount of times people have asked if my face hurts, as if the birthmark is an actual scar!

But Flint was different. The first thing he’s ever said to me was during class, when he asked about some math notes that he forgot to take. He was the first one to talk to me as an equal, rather than as a person who was pitying me! Flint has always been on the heavier side, so he too, has experienced some isolation and humiliation. I guess it was nice for him to see someone else who’s going through that same pain. From then on, he never treated me any differently, and wasn’t afraid to make jokes about the birthmark from time to time. Of course, that’s not without the jokes that I make about him every now and then.

“Flint, when’re you gonna start working off some of that weight?” I remarked, noticing his heavy breaths. “I see you’re having a bit of trouble walking.”

“You… shut– your– mouth,” he responded, panting and wiping off his drenched face. “In a minute– you– you’re gonna have to– carry me.”

“And die trying? Yeah I think I’ll pass on that.” I jogged a bit in front of him to ensure that he wouldn’t entertain the idea.

“Next semester– I ain’t going– to classes with you– anymore,” he threatened. While it’s true that I joined college in search of an independent and free life, ironically, we dorm together and go to a lot of the same classes. The Brixton college campus did feel like its own mini town, but it didn’t really help me feel independent. Either way, it’s a big change from going home everyday to a father who’s so overprotective. It was a battle to convince my dad about living on-campus rather than commuting, yet I’m still hanging around the same person I’ve always hung around. We even have similar schedules. It seems as though nothing ever changed, which Flint acknowledges.

“You know, Marcus, it feels like we’re still in high school,” he said, after finally catching his breath. “Just two weeks ago it felt like we were having a dramatic change in our lives. Now, we look like the same pair of losers as we were last year.” We stopped outside of the Humanities building and sat on one of the shaded benches. There was still a good twenty minutes to kill before class began. “We need a change, urgently. If something needs to change, it can’t be ourselves, cus we both know that I can’t lose my fat, and you can’t lose that mark,” he said while gesturing at my face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” I justifiably asked. “You want us to change without actually changing ourselves? That doesn’t make any sense.” Upon saying this, Flint’s demeanor completely changed. He smiled an eerie, dubious smile, and raised his eyebrows.

“Come oooooon. You know that one girl in our class, Melissa Greenwood?” He must’ve noticed my face turning red, because he promptly said, “Yeahhhh. I’ve seen how you look at her.” His voice changed to a horrible, high pitched impression of, what was supposed to be, a female. “I play volleyballllll, and I’m smartttt, and I just wuv Marcus Callaway soooo vewy muchhhh.”

“Yeah yeah I get it,” I laughed, shoving him softly. “I feel pathetic around her, though. I feel like that if I try to ask her out, I’ll immediately fall under pressure. No– even worse– she’d think that I’ve had some sort of accident, and she’d feel sorry for me.”

“Well how’re you gonna get anything done if you never try to shoot your shot?” He pointed out wisely. I couldn’t really refute that comment.

“Okay sure… whatever… I get the girl then yippee ki yay,” I sarcastically noted. “I get my happily ever after, but what about you? I appreciate your advice but you’re not really listening to it yourself.”

“Hey now, you’re underestimating me.” He licked his index finger and dragged it across his eyebrows, making a sizzling noise with his mouth. “I’m hot as hell. Ladies will be running for me in a bit, just watch!”

We got to the classroom with ten minutes to spare, and sat in the back row. A majority of the class wasn’t there yet, which included Melissa. Flint saw this as an opportunity for us to strategize to give me a chance at asking her out. He pulled out a couple blank sheets of paper, and started drawing out random diagrams of the class

.

“Okay, she usually sits here,” Flint muttered under his breath, drawing an X at the far right corner of the front row. “She tends to be the first one to ask the professor some sort of question, so that just means that I have to get to him first.” He drew a crude line, connecting our general location to a rectangle, which I assumed was supposed to represent the professor’s desk. “Now, Dr. Fisher obviously hates you, so he’s gonna complain to me about how my work can be influenced by you. This’ll give you your time to strike.” He looked away from the paper, and put on an annoyed expression. “Seriously, why does he even care? We’re grown adults and he still treats us like children.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Like, come on now, there’s gotta be some time where he wakes up and notices how much of an old asshole he can-”.

“Flint?” I interrupted, holding in laughter. “Thanks for the concern but how does this have anything to do with the plan?” I wasn’t planning on going through with whatever idea he was constructing, but it wouldn’t hurt to play around with the thought.

“Oh… yeah, sorry about that, I got a bit off track.” Flint slapped himself on the cheek, presumably trying to wake himself up. “Alright, like I said, I can go talk to Ms. Greenwood is probably gonna be right behind me, so it’s your job to get in line as well.”

“Okay, so let’s say that I want to actually do as this plan follows– where would I go? Behind or in front of her? It’d seem a bit creepy if I stood behind her and tried to start a conversation.” Flint shook his head as though in defeat.

“Well if you act creepy then yeah, you’d be creepy. But, it doesn’t matter whether you’re behind her or in front of her, you still gotta strike up a conversation! Remember, I’m gonna save you some time by distracting , so you pretty much have to say something to her.” Suddenly he began to look quite serious. “Now, are you gonna go through with this or not?” I scratched the back of my head, thinking about the consequences of this plan. Either way, Flint intends to go through with this procedure. I’d seem like a bad friend if I don’t support the idea. But if I do try to ask her out, one mess up can be really bad! After a moment of thinking, and Flint’s impatient nudging for a response, I came to a conclusion.

“Okay…” I mumbled.

“Huh? Whatchu say?” he asked. I stayed silent, giving myself a chance to change my mind. Once I settled on a decision, I spoke out again.

“Yea fine.”

“Come on, speak up,” egged Flint. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said fine!” I said in a slightly raised voice. Some of the students that were filing into the class stared at us confusedly. “Yeah, you’re right.” I lowered my voice back down to a near-whisper. “I can’t expect to have a chance with her if I never try to shoot my shot… we can do your stupid plan.” Flint smiled proudly.

“Good boy.” He tried punching my cheek, but I nudged him in the ribs, to which he reacted with a pained grunt.

“If you keep acting weird like that then I’m not listening to any of your ideas again,” I threatened. At this point, the room was now full of seated students, and as Flint predicted, Melissa Greenwood Sat in the far right corner of the front row. Shortly afterwards, Dr. Fisher walked in, furrowing his bold eyebrows and rubbing his dry salt and pepper colored hair.

“Alright class,” Dr. Fisher said in a disgruntled, morning voice. “I’m hoping you all read your Study of Archaeology chapters? I’m seeing some unsure faces so you better hope that you’ll be fine for today’s activity.”

The hour and a half long class finally ended, after a taxing lecture on some of our readings and a group activity about a study of some tribal people. Annoyingly, Dr. Fisher assigned homework that was more similar to an in-class essay than anything.

“Remember, I want it printed out and the sources hi-lighted!” he yelled at the students who strided out of class. “I will not accept any work turned in online! See you next class!”

Melissa was zipping up her backpack, and was about to get up from her desk. Flint and I nodded at each other, and practically ran from our seats, leaving our open backpacks and folders behind. Luckily, Flint was able to slide in front of Melissa, being the first to face . Meanwhile, I lined up behind Melissa, making sure to dust off my shirt and clean up the mess that was my hair. With no delay, Flint had already started barraging Dr. Fisher with questions, most of which were clearly unnecessary. While Flint talked, though, he briefly glanced back at me, as if he was saying “Now’s your chance, go for it!” Listening to his silent encouragement, I looked at Melissa, took a deep breath in, and opened up my dry lips.

“So… what’re you gonna write about in the homework?” I asked. Really? Is that the best I could think of? Melissa turned around and smiled awkwardly.

“Oh… hi. Marcus, right?” I saw her eyes dart from the top of my forehead and down to my chin. She was obviously looking at the birthmark. “I’m not sure, there were a few fieldwork cases that seemed interesting though. What about you?” I slightly shuddered with excitement, but made sure not to stay silent.

“Oh, I’ll probably write about the Innuit people. Or maybe the Navajo tribe. I know a lot about them.” I paused, watching as Melissa looked up to the ceiling in thought.

“Mmmmm, those are some interesting topics! I might want to steal your idea and write about one of those.” She subtly giggled, to which I did the same.

“Yeah,” I said. “They really stood out to me in the readings, but I never–”

“Excuse me? Mr. Callaway?” Dr. Fisher interrupted. He looked at us sternly from his desk, with Flint desperately trying to take his attention away from me. “I’m talking to one of my students so if you could please, be quiet? It’s rude with your yapping going on in the back; I can barely hear anything he’s saying!” I nodded, and kept my mouth shut. Dr. Fisher gave out a deep sigh, then went back to answering Flint’s bombardment of questions. I felt disheartened from saying anything else. I really felt like I could’ve affected the flow of the conversation, and maybe even lead me to asking her out, but of course an asshole like Dr. Fisher would mess it up…

“Wow. Is he always that much of a dick to you?” Melissa asked under her breath, being sure to not talk too loud.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “The first day of class he saw people talking to me, and lectured me after class.” I gestured at my face, tracing along the scar-like birthmark. “But I can’t help it, some people keep asking about what happened to my face, and I always have to explain that it’s something that I was born with. He probably thought I was pretending to be some kind of tragic hero… or something.”

“Well I think it’s cool,” she complimented. “Makes you unique, and people are just fascinated with that.”

“I guess… sometimes it’s hard to talk to people without them looking at me weirdly,” I sighed.

“Aw come on, they’re probably just jealous if anything.” Her smile was so heartwarming. “A lot of people would kill to have that look.” I laughed, feeling as though any disheartened feelings I previously had were now washed away. If any moment was worth taking advantage of asking her out, it would be now.

“Hey,” I started, sticking to a low voice that wouldn’t be heard. She slightly tilted her head, continuing to smile kindly. I rubbed my face in embarrassment. “Well, I’m not doing anything tomorr–”.

Everything cut to black, cutting my sentence off abruptly. I couldn’t see nor hear anything. It was as though I was floating in a black, empty space. Then, like a bizarrely edited video, flashing instances of bright colors overtook my eyes. Chaotic sounds of what sounded like voices and yells revolved around me, flowing through my head like a raging wildfire. I opened my mouth to shout for help, but nothing would come out. I felt sick, and scared. Where am I? Where’s Melissa? Where’s Flint? A chaotic mess of colors and noise continued to fill up my psyche. I couldn’t shut my eyes; I couldn’t unlive the mayhem that was myself. All there was was disorder…

As quick as it had started, the flashing lights and noises ended. Instead of being set in a classroom, however, I was in some sort of office building. Bewildered and confused, I looked around, trying to gain my bearings. Everything I looked at was blurry and seemingly unfinished. Random spots of a black void covered certain details, preventing me from seeing exactly where I was.

More of reality settled in, and I discovered that I was extremely tired. I took a step forward and found my legs to be aching and wobbly. Then, in some sort of perturbed familiarity, a group of male voices yelled from behind. I don’t know why it felt necessary, but I knew that I had to run with them. Whatever this was, something clearly wasn't happy, and it was set out to kill us. I could hear people bumping into objects, and running around in a daze. Something must be blocking their vision. “Dammit, I can’t see!” one man grunted.

In a moment of true terror, I tripped over something on the ground and fell hard. Upon impacting the ground, a splintering pain shot through my leg. I covered my mouth and looked back with teary eyes, seeing blurry silhouettes wave around cluelessly.

Withstanding hesitation, I stood back up, resisting the intense pain that flowed through my body. Running was no longer an option, so I did my best to push obstacles out of my path. I grabbed tables, chairs, pots, and all sorts of random supplies in my way, and threw them behind me. Perhaps whatever’s chasing us could be blocked or perturbed. I just needed to find an exit, and hopefully wave down someone for help. It was a long shot for me to even reach the outside, but all I needed to do was make it to the elevator or the stairs, and possibly get down to the lobby.

However, before I could conclusively find an escape, everything went to silence and faded to black. Whatever was chasing us was no longer there. All of the frightening chaos was suddenly gone. It was strange, but I knew that everything would be alright…

“Marcus,” spoke out a quiet voice from the dark. I couldn’t tell what was happening, or who that was… was I dead? If this was death, it was very pleasant. I could feel the softness and warmth of a cover over my body, and could hear a rhythmic beeping of some sort. The afterlife seemed to be very peaceful. “Marcus? Come on buddy, talk to me.” Who was that? My father? A different voice spoke out, who sounded extremely similar to Flint.

“Wait, is he waking up? Mr. Callaway, I think he’s awake!” A blinding white glow greeted my eyes as I opened them. The white hospital lights were shining on my face, which made it hard to adjust to my surroundings. “Marcus? Marcus!” An excited, upbeat Flint was standing at the foot of my bed, having just stood up from a chair that was against the white wall. My dad was at my bedside, stooped over me with watery eyes and a quiver of a smile.

“Oh good, he’s awake,” my dad calmly said, wiping his eyes. I’ve very rarely seen my dad upset, or rather, cry before. Usually he’s the strong, independent father that would usually think first, cry later. “Had us in quite a scare, bud! I just got here. Your friend said you had some sort of seizure, so I drove over as fast as I could.” He stood up and fixed his stooped posture. “When I got here you were knocked out. It didn’t take long for you to wake up, though. Doctor said she’s never seen your case before. Apparently you were shaking and convulsing for twelve straight minutes.” He shivered slightly as he said that.

“She also said that after you stopped shaking, you showed no symptoms of even having a seizure in the first place!” Flint chimed in. I sat up in my bed and rubbed my eyes, still trying to get used to the irregularly bright lights.

“What– how? That doesn’t– make any sense,” I stuttered. My throat was extremely dry, like I hadn’t drank any water in days. “How can I just have a seizure and have no symptoms of even having one?” Flint shrugged in response, which was consequently followed by a woman wearing a long white lab coat opening the door and entering the room. She smiled upon seeing me being up.

“Ah, so I see that Marcus is up,” she happily stated, closing the door behind her and walking over to my bed. My dad stepped out of her way and went over to stand next to Flint, who was rocking side to side in nervousness. “Well, Mr. Callaway, you’re our unknown miracle!” She looked over at the heart monitor, which was still rhythmically beeping by my head.

“What— what do you mean?” I muttered pitifully.

“In none of my ten years as a doctor have I ever come across a patient who has suffered such a long seizure, with no sort of adverse results!” She turned to me and put on a pair of fresh gloves. “Now if you would please open your mouth for just a moment.” I complied, and her gloved fingers gently held my jaw. She looked around with a small light for a few seconds before allowing me to close my mouth. “Well, you didn’t bite your tongue, and your nerves seem to react accordingly. If anything, you just had an hour-long nap!” She laughed with a mix of gladness and disbelief.

“When will he be able to go back to school?” my dad asked. “He just started, and he still needs to adjust to the new environment.” This annoyed me. My dad has always talked for me, as if I can’t ask these questions myself.

“Well, technically I’m supposed to keep him here for at least a couple days to make sure he’s situated. But with his permission, maybe I can work this off as a temporary emergency situation.”

“Will that get him back in school though? He needs to go,” My dad arrogantly persisted. The doctor hesitated in her answer.

“I can’t really say for certain… why not give him until tomorrow morning, see how he’s doing then?”

“No, that can’t be an option.”

The two went in a back and forth, with my dad trying to negotiate a shorter release time, and the doctor going through all the medical technicalities. Flint listened to their conversation with a blank expression, trying to take in as much information as possible.

I worried about something else. Not the fact that I had a seizure and had to go to the hospital, no. I was worried about what I saw; even more than that, what I experienced. I had some sort of… hallucinatory hindsight, or something. What did I see? Who was I? I could remember the dull details of being in some sort of desperate situation, and running from something. There was also a group of people running with me… or were they running away from me? The whole thing was such a chaotic mess, but it felt so real, as if it was a memory of something that I’ve actually gone through. Whatever it was, it was so irritatingly painful, yet most oddly…. intriguing.