My name is Road Kamelot and I am a Noah.  This is my confession.

When I was young, I lived with my mother and my father.  My father died when I was ten years old.  My mother had been absolutely in love with him when he died in an accident.  Although she knew I was involved with his death, she never mentioned it or tried to talk me through it.
I knew from the beginning that I was different than the other children in my school.  At first it was little things, like the fact that I never seemed to get sick with colds or the flu.  Then a strange incident occurred.
I was always a hard child to manage due to the fact that I was, and still am, easily bored. While walking home from school with my friend Robert one day, something caught me eye. I ran off to check it out, and because I was so focused, I failed to notice a carriage travelling down the cobbled path. Because I darted out, the horses pulling the carriage became spooked and ran towards me.  Robert, upon seeing the imminent collision, rushed to my aide, but it was too late.  The carriage had already run me over, and the horses trampled over my petite frame.  It was clear from the pool of blood seeping all over the cobblestone road that I was already dead.
I knew the carriage was going to hit me.  Maybe, out of a twisted sense of curiosity, I had even wanted it to.  In those few moments before the collision, deep down I somehow knew I had the ability to get away from it, but I chose not to.  I still don't know why.  Maybe I just had to prove to myself that the ideas I had been building up in my head for years were but false imaginings of a young mind.  Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that I was normal, human, breakable.
It did not hurt when the carriage hit me.  Something buried instinct within told me it would not.  I saw my blood and the broken remains of my body, but I did not scream or cry.  Blood had never troubled me, even from the time when I understood its implications of danger or death. Here now, I was fascinated.  I saw the life starting to pour out of my childish corpse, and I laughed.  I laughed, not aloud, but within the centers of my own mind.  Robert rushed towards me, but upon seeing the bones poking out of my pale skin and the mangled innards spilling out of my frame, he turned and vomited.  I knew he was weak and human, but I had no idea he would be so faint at the sight of the red liquid now oozing from my skin.
To me, however, even in the state I was in, I knew I was not dead, nor would I die.  Men carried my corpse, shrouded in a blanket, from the scene and took me to my mother.  During this time, I did not say one word, or make one noise.  I just internally laughed at the concept that they thought I could be, or was even, dead.  I could already feel my bones sinking back through my skin, and blood starting to flow anew through my veins.  I was going to be fine.  The men carrying me gave their condolences and left my mother's home.  My mother had not the courage to take the cover off of my dead body.
Our servant called a doctor, and my mother was quaking with tears by the time he arrived to absolutely pronounce me dead.  When he pulled of the coverlet, he received a nasty shock; I sat up and smiled at him.  There was blood matted on every inch of my body, but my bones were set properly and my bruises and swollen injuries were all gone.  Save for the blood, it appeared that I had not even been hurt in the first place.  My mother initially stepped back in surprise, but after a second I saw a look of what may have been understanding flash across her youthful face.  She then resumed the look of awe.
A miracle.  She told the doctor it was a miracle.  She slipped him something hidden within in her blouse and told him never to speak of it again.  I didn't go back to school, nor did I leave the house to tell Robert I was alright.  We moved the next week.  At first, I was upset to leave Robert, but then I remembered his face as he wiped the bile from it.  He was too weak.  He was too fragile.  He was too human.
My mother had known from the start that I was not a normal baby.  She knew that I had issues.  She knew that I would never continue the normal lifestyle that she worked so hard to provide for me.  She knew that I killed my father.  She knew what I was but what she could not name.  She knew that I was a Noah.