Phoenix Autobiography

I have no home, I am but a wanderer. No one knows me. My origins are unknown to even myself. My future, as unpredictable as the futures of the people I encounter. Forgive me, for I have not properly introduced myself. Then again, I have no real identity. One may know me simply as Phoenix. That seems to be the only consistency in my life. The tattoo I have, of course, just below the curve of the neck, a dark phoenix is penned into my skin. To elaborate, my tattoo enables my life, more accurately, my abilities: with this tattoo I can read into the depth of one 's mind, to foresee their future, and I speculate that the phoenix is the source of my long life. I cannot recall when first I woke, only that it was in the midst of a desert, any recollection of my past was futile to attempt. I was strangely aware of beings hundreds of miles away, their thoughts and feeling. Millions of people lay divulged to me while they remained unaware of the intrusion. At the same time, I saw in flashes, their futures. Pain and joy intertwine while struggle and triumph battle. Sickness and health accompany them and their relations until the very end of their short lives. That was the most sickening to me, I could see clearly when and what would be the end for all those people. Some peaceful, some violent but all result the same. A nauseating darkness and infinity of absolute nothingness. Their lifelines simply vanishing from my view and into oblivion. A spot on the back of my neck burned and