Chapter Text
When babies are born, they cry. They don’t cry because the doctors gives him or her “the spank of life”. No, the reason babies cry is because he or she is getting their soulmark tattooed somewhere on their body. Not like some tattoo artist comes and paints it on their tiny bodies. The mark magically appears on their tiny arms, legs, wrist or neck, it could appear anywhere. Tattoos are painful, no matter where you get them and how old you are when you get them. Therefore, babies cry when they get theirs. The soulmark consists of the first words your soulmate will greet you with. Sometimes, the baby doesn't get their soulmark at birth. Most times the baby is a still born. It’s very tragic when that happens, these poor little ones haven't even lived one minute and they’re without a soulmate and know no love. There are other times when the baby lives markless and are ridiculed. These people live lonely and disappointing lives. They are discriminated and abandoned. You’ll find them living on the streets, too depressed and ashamed to look for jobs or start a life. I mean, it’s pointless really, no one would offer them a job anyways.
The teenage years of the markless are the worst. During high school, most people have already found their soulmates and, if you haven't found your other half yet, but have your soulmark, people will comfort you, hug you, smile at you and promise that your soulmate will eventually find you. The markless aren’t so lucky, they’re picked on, bullied, and pushed away from everyone. A markless person can never get away from the shame, even at their own home they're looked down on.
I am markless.
I was born without a soulmark, and I lived. I’m living... barely living. I hate seeing my markless body. No tattoos or any ink anywhere. I would go and get a tattoo of some random phrase and pretend that it’s my soul mark. But of course, the inky black color that makes a soulmark is illegal to use for personal tattoos, personal tattoos are done in beautiful watercoloring style. We believe bodies are beautiful, and that we should make them as beautiful as we ourselves want. None cares about the amount of tattoos you have, or piercings, if you’re short, tall, boy, girl, both, dark, light, or anywhere in between. All we care about is your soulmark. Since I don't have a soulmark, I make my own marks, generally... with razors.
I don’t keep it a secret, everyone knows, my family sees them during the summer at our family pool parties. They see them on my wrist, they're smaller though and not so deep. I have deeper ones on my thighs, but my swimming trunks cover those. They all look away and pretend they don’t see the scabbing over cuts. My family members will never greet me directly. They’ll say hello to my younger brother and his soulmate. They’ll gush over how beautiful she is and how beautiful his fucking soulmark is. All I get is “Oh…Thomas…” and a simple nod. That’s how I passed through life, with ignorant family, ignorant people, and being the unlucky 3% of the markless population.
Then one day it all changed. I woke up bleeding from my arms, the pain almost unbearable. I woke with a scream and ran to the bathroom. I saw the blood running from the bend of my elbows. I took of my pajama pants and got in to the shower to wash of the small trickles of blood, something that was muscle memory. I looked down at my arms to see what had caused the bleeding. What I saw was something that was virtually impossible.
In the darkest, inkiest black color I’ve ever seen on anyone were the words “Don’t” on my right arm and “You’re beautiful” on my left. My soulmark, or rather soulmarks.