The clock was ticking slowly in the slience, all I could hear was myself swallwoing in the depth of my actions. I would get no reward for what I did. No warmth in my cry. No bless in my paraiers. No light in my days. I had to get this pain out of the air before it was too late. Different people would react to what ahppened differently, like take me for example. I react different to what I did very different then my friends. My life is doomed because of my self-concious. My life would have been so different if I accepted that offer so many years ago. It would have been the best I could imagined. That offer would have made me so much more powerful and so much more special. This offer was a offer that I can only explain by going back to my childhood, the day it all got changed.

I remembered the rain. That's the first thing. It came down in sheets all night, hammering the tin roof while I sat with my knees to my chest. I was seven, and I was already a little too good at being alone.

That was when I saw him. That was the second thing. A man stood at the edge of the yard, silent and unmoving, letting the storm soak through his coat.

"You're cold," he said, though I hadn't spoken.

I felt that I should have run inside, not have acknowledged this stranger, but I walked to the edge of the porch, anyway.

"I have something for you." He held out his palm. It was empty. Then it wasn't. A small black stone sat there, reflecting no light. "Take this. You'll never be small again."

I think I almost smiled at the idea. "How much?"

"Nothing more than what you'd have given away regardless. But that's for later."

I refused, fled, hid under my blankets until I was sure he'd gone.

And the third thing: Over the years, the encounter had taken on the quality of a dream, but I've never forgotten it. Many times, I felt small, felt alone, and I would wonder about the little black stone. Many times, better times, I would wonder what it would have really cost me.