The Lines Between Us | ✔

|.01.|

July 15th, 7:30 am,

Bella

Two lines.

A mark of love and death.

Subtle at first, but rapidly growing. Blooming into your own personal fate. It's quite scary, really.

My eyes travel down to the faint scars I so fear looking at. The water falling from the showerhead blurs my vision, which helps with the mental pain I am about to experience. As I run the soapy sponge over every curve of my flesh, I take care to not focus too greatly on them. The burden I have not yet learned to live with. The burden we all have not yet learned to live with.

There are two lines on my arm, both scarcely there. They are more like scars, really. Though they don't hurt, the anxiety they cause me to feel is enough. The marks grow darker as we each reach our ones- the people destined to be our soulmate, or our killer. Daunting, isn't it? I am yet to understand how dark they can get; I have not yet gained the satisfaction of meeting them.

I say satisfaction. I mean, when the time comes I think I will feel nothing but fear, but it would be nice to know who they are.

It's not just me, either. Everyone has them. Every single human on this Earth has two lines engraved into their skin. It's not just me that feels overwhelming fear every time they wake up. Every time they step out of their door. Every breath could be our last. Granted we can tell when our ones are close by the darkness our scars yield, the fact is still frightening.

As we get closer to our ones, the lines don't just grow darker, they engrave a name into your arm. The names.

The fact of the matter is: we don't know which name signifies which.

Most of the people around here don't make it past 40, though their killers often give them time to enjoy part of their life. It's not like somebody is born wanting to kill you- they have to do it. Babies are assigned at birth to be a killer. The soulmate thing happens on its own- true love and all that. Nobody knows who the killers are. There isn't an initiation at birth- a ceremony for the assigned killers. They just appear on the Earth knowing they have to kill someone. They are given a name in their mind, and that's all. They have to find us by themselves. They do get the same help as us though: the names engrave into their arms the closer they get to us. Unfair if you ask me.

For all my family knows, I could be a killer.

Nobody knows why the killers kill. Maybe their brain tells them one thing- murder. Maybe there is a prize at the end of it? Their freedom possibly.

I believe it's a prize. I think that the killers aren't ever assigned their soulmates until they murder. So it's a reward really.

We all have our hunches.

I have been hiding my lines for my whole life. It isn't normal for them to be any sort of color at 17. You shouldn't even see them until you are at least 30. It means that my ones are already close to me. Nobody has yet matched the shades with the distance the ones are at, but I can't imagine it's far. I have convinced my so-called friends that I am yet to see my lines, as they have none either. The truth is, mine have always been the exact same shade. Like my ones are right next to me.

After washing my hair, I step out of the shower, landing my feet on a neat, rectangular bath mat. I wish that I could stay in the shower forever, but alas, the day awaits.

Toweling myself dry, I scrunch my blonde hair into a tight knot in the center of my head, and exit the chilly bathroom. As I enter my room, my eyes get a glimpse of a set of 4 familiar blue walls. I own a total of three pieces of furniture. A bed, wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. This isn't unusual for most people in my area. Why possess large amounts of belongings when your entire life is to not be found?