SoulBound

Chapter 2

My seventeenth birthday was in February, and as the chilly, winter days of June roll in one by one, I try to sort out the thoughts swimming around in my head as one would try to untangle a set of earphones that have been knotted for days on end. All these months, I never received any signs of my ability.

What's going on?

I have no clue whatsoever as to how I am going to figure out my ability. It's been 2 weeks since that encounter and it stilled confuses me when I try to figure out why his eyes lit up. Maybe it had something to do with our eye colour similarity? I give up on trying to solve my problems at five o-clock in the morning and decide to start getting dressed for school. After slipping into a black t-shirt with a large "Parental Advisory - Explicit Content" sign in white that's possibly one size too small and a pair of unironed dark blue denim shorts that reach just above my knees, I pull on my white ankle-length socks followed by my black Nikes. I head out the door clutching my school bag, gently closing the door so I don't wake my mother up.

**********

After what feels like seconds, I find myself tapping my black Bic against the side of my cheek as I watch Mr Sten, the Grade 12 English Teacher, arranging the multiple textbooks on his table. After putting the last book back in place, he calls for attention and the room goes quiet.
"Today we're going to have a short demonstration," he begins, looking around at the class of 30 students.
"and I'm going to need an assistant."
He looks straight at one of the students across from me, a scrawny boy with a face full of acne and small, rectangular glasses siitting on the narrow bridge of his nose. Without any acknowledgment, he stands up from his chair and shuffles to the front. He stops at Mr Sten's desk, eyeing his hand movements as he reached into his backpack and pulls out a large spray can of shaving cream, an extra large tube of toothpaste and a long, fat tube of men's hair gel. He picks up all his books from the table and drops them on the ground, placing each item across the table.
"Now," Mr Sten says, leaning back on his leather chair and brushing his fingers through his jet black hair.
"I want you to squeeze or spray out every last bit of what is in these objects."
The student looks at him as if he is questioning his mental stability.
"All over your..."
"Mess up my desk as much as you like."
The student picks up the tube of toothpaste first, flipping the cap up after inspecting it and shrugging. He lays it flat on the desk and presses his hand on the bottom of it, and then pushes his hand all the way up. The contents piles up on the desk, and as the student moves on to the next two objects he discovers how satisfyingly fun it is.

After he finished, he held out his hands in front of him; they were stained with blue and white and had little blobs of white cream in some spots. Mr Sten glances at the mess on his desk, then at the student standing before him.
"Now put it all back into what you removed each substance from."
"But Sir-"
"Do it"
The boy half-heartedly tries to stuff the toothpaste back through the neck of the tube, fully aware that his efforts will make no difference to the outcome.
"It doesn't work, does it?"
The class watches Mr Sten as he rises from his chair and moves in front on the desk, leaning against it with an almost curious look on his face. Even though he is only able to look at one person at a time, it feels like he is staring at us all at once.
"That's always the way it is though,"
He picks up the toothpaste by its bottom edge, avoiding all the parts where the sticky substance has collected.
"Everyone knows how to make a mess, but not everyone knows the consequences that come along with it."
"You become so satisfied with what you're doing, that when it comes down to dealing with the aftermath, you have no idea how to react - nor how to fix it."

He moves back behind his desk and pulls out a plastic garbage bag and a pair of disposable gloves. He uses his right hand to shove all the mess off the table and into the bag, which he then drops next to his desk along with the gloves.

"Remember this as you go on through life; it is one of the most valuable things you will ever learn."

All the students quizzically look around at each other, sniggering quietly, unsure of the point of the demonstration and why they should actually care. After that we continue class as normal. The bell rings after what feels like hours, resounding in my head seconds after it stops. I pack up my books and shove them in my bag. As I head out of the classroom and hastily shuffle down the crowded hallway, I look around the the other students. Huddled around lockers, chatting noisily. I see a couple hugging beside a classroom; the guy is facing away from me, and I notice that the girl has pastel pink eyes. As I walk past them, I glance back and see that the guy actually has dark green eyes.

Teen rebels, just wanting to prove a point to society, I guess.

It never occured to me before how much of a statement it makes. The fact that we have one purpose the moment we are born, and it isn't even for ourselves. Designed in such a way, that no one has the advantage automatically; no has the upper hand. I couldn't possibly be the only one that ponders over how messed up it is that our life is predetermined before we even start to exist. Was there ever a time when we had a choice? Was there a time when you didn't have to follow all these expectations, or have to worry about being discriminated for not following the system? I highly doubt it, because even if there was a point in time that we were able to make a decision for ourselves, that opportunity is long gone.