You had always been different, right from the start. All the other girls were tanned and flawless, with round eyes and full lips and freckled noses. You preferred to keep your head low, thoughts confined to only your mind, long sleeves and hooded jackets shadowing your dark hair and wiry glasses. All the kids at school turned away as you walked past, or whispered sneaky comments under their breath. You were always the odd one out.
And then there was the issue with the Death Marks. Everyone had their death date branded onto their skin since birth. Everyone. Except you. They said you were unearthly, unnatural. Because you didn’t know when you were to die. From head to toe, you had been searched, by teachers, parents, doctors – but to no avail. Your pale skin was spotless, without even the faintest scar in sight.
You had dismissed the gossip and the mean words, closing yourself off from the rest of the world. It had been years since you were in school, and you couldn’t let the memories haunt you any longer. Shaking the recollections from your head, you stepped outside after many long months, and the icy night air sliced at your cheeks. You wrapped your thick scarf tighter around yourself, refusing to let the frost nip at your neck. Your breath condensed before your eyes, like a wispy butterfly fluttering and dissolving, again and again.
Shivering along the sidewalk, you began to appreciate the delicate snowflakes drifting to the ground, and the once-green trees lining the street, now blanketed in a coat of shimmering pearl dust. As you crossed the road, you noticed a figure approaching from the opposite direction, so you bowed your head, avoiding all contact and hoping that –
Black.
All went black.
You could sense a faint buzzing, but you couldn’t place it. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Your eyesight was blurred, colours appearing and disappearing from view. A dull throb pulsed somewhere in your head. Groggily, you tried to sit up, only to discover that your body was stiffer than lead, heavier than concrete. A searing heat immediately shot up your spine, and you cried out, your vision suddenly snapping into focus, and voices becoming clearer.
“She’s alive.”
Alive.
You were alive.
You are alive.
But why wouldn’t you be? Human shapes materialise before you, swathed in white coats and latex gloves.
“Can you hear us?”
Your words swallowed with pain, you nodded weakly. You managed a strangled croak, but they saved you the trouble.
“You’re at the hospital. You’re lucky to have your speech and your memory. You’re lucky to even have survived. That car was majorly speeding on a pedestrian crossing. You could have been killed yesterday.
You’re not going to die, but your ribs have fractures in several areas, and you have a punctured lung. There’s no brain damage, but you may suffer trauma in the long term. You’ll either need crutches or a prosthetic right leg if you’re ever going to walk again.”
Angling your head slightly – well, as much as you could – you managed a slight glimpse of yourself. A cast covered most of your lower body, while your chest was pockmarked with cuts and dressed with bandages. Feeling sick to your stomach, you glanced upwards, finally able to form your question.
“What day is it?”
“The sixteenth of January.”
So you’d been unconscious for nearly two days.
“It’s still 2019,” the tall one added, a small smile flitting across his face, only to be quickly replaced with a solemn look, as if he were attending a funeral.
“What is it?” you inquired. Something was off. The doctors shifted uncomfortably, watching your every move.
“We… have news. Good news and bad news.”
They paused, clearly waiting for a reaction.
“Well?”
The female surgeon took a deep breath before replying.
“We found your Death Mark.”
She let that sentence sink in before continuing.
“It’s minuscule, under your fingernail on your left hand. Index finger.”
Considering you were unable to move anything below your collarbone at the moment, you let her continue instead of trying to check.
“And the bad news?”
Clearly, the worst was yet to come.
She hesitated, biting her lip, and finally speaking after what seemed like an eternity.
“It’s dated for the fifteenth.”
Silence.
“Yesterday.”
