[ WP ] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how `` Dangerous '' people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them . A normal child would be a 1 , while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7 . Today , you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10 .

I will start from the beginning. And I ask for forgiveness of the dead and the living. I ask for silence for I have no desire to hear your contempt. And finally, I ask that you remember that I did not ask for this gift. 
 
 
 I suppose it began when I was just a child. It was a summer day. That is all I remember and that I held my mother's hand. Her hand was soft. And we were walking. Strolling. Enjoying the sun. 
 
 A man walked up. I ca n't remember what he looked like. Just a feeling, a number, flashing before me. A 6. I had never felt that before. 6. That number vibrated through my body, like strings on a violin. 6. 
 
 I cried like I had never cried before. The man turned away and my mother did not notice. But I no longer saw my mother. I mean, I saw my mother as someone sees a distant tree, but I did not see her face. I saw a number. a 1. It made me feel safe and sad. To not see your mother's face was heartbreaking. 
 
 I digress. 
 
 I knew something was wrong. I saw numbers and I instinctively knew that I was odd. Others saw beauty, I saw danger. I saw safety. But I did not see him. 
 
 It was high school and I was a loner. That should be of no suprise. And knowing someone is dangerous and avoiding someone that is dangerous are two very different games. I was bullied by a 6, punched by a 4, even shut in the locker room by a 5. 
 
 So you must understand that I yearned for love. For a friendship that went beyond numbers. 
 
 His voice was soft when I met him. No, that is not exactly true. I ran when I met him. He was a 10. Blaring fire engine red 10. And I ran not in some symbolic way - no I ran home screaming in terror. 
 
 He did not leave me alone. He would sit next to me and eat lunch as I shivered. He, at first, twisted my very soul. He was a 10. 
 
 And then, he saved me. I was again stuck against the locker, when he came from behind. Three heads were beat that day. His hands were covered in blood and his grin was skewed. Their faces smashed like sponges. 
 
 
 You see the logical extension. He killed his first victim on a Tuesday. I remember because I had broken up with my girlfriend that Monday. We found an 8. His eyes were dark and he walked as a military man. His walls were covered in medals of valor, special thanks for serving. I was dismayed that we coated so many medals in red that day. Necks can be a tricky business. A lot like sprinklers. 
 
 We began our systematic thoughtful apporach. You remember my girlfriend that left me. She was a 5. That was dangerous enough, you see. He snapped her neck as I watched at a local park. That I was once in love with her held no consequence. Before you judge m a monster, in her closet, we found a box of pigeons that had been suffocated to death. You see he could no longer ignore these trangressions. 
 
 Did I tell him? Yes. I told him who to kill. He was not very bright. He wanted direction. I gave it to him. We cleared towns of danger. We cleansed blocks.There was a family that were all 7s. We killed them all. You may judge me but we found the slaves under the floorboards. We killed a few of those as well. They were 5s. 
 
 The breaking point? There was no breaking point. You caught me....and my apologies were not for the dead by our hands, but the ones you prevent by keeping us locked in cages. 
 
 Oh yes. Did I tell you I even have a number? I saw it in the mirror that day with the man. By chance do you know you rate an 8? 
 
 I ran to the mirror that day when I was just a child and looked. Curious and petrified. Did I have a number? 
 
 I rated an 11. 
 
 Do not back away. Do not scatter backawards like an abused dog. You are an 8. That is a high number. You should not be a coward. And yes, my hands are free. 
 
 Detective, come closer. I will need to know your address. After, all we will need to know the numbers of your family. Stop whimpering. Newborns rarely rate over a 3. 
 
 
 
 

