Immortality

Everyone from birth has a number, a mark, a small inked symbol on your left wrist, like a tattoo. It tells you how many lives you’ve lived. Most people are proud of their number, showing off to their friends.

‘Look! My number’s thirteen, I’m so old!’ A young boy boasted, his friends gathered around him, all staring down at his wrist, which he proudly showed.

‘Ha, well my number’s 17,’ another child, about the same age, spoke loudly, an egotistical grin engraved on his face.

Others disfigure their numbers, ashamed at their lack of previous lives.

But not me. No, I hide my mark.

It wasn’t a warm day, nor was it raining, it was just a day. Nothing special, just a regular old Thursday. Throwing on the jacket I hated, I made sure to cover my mark. I hated even looking at it.

‘Taylor! I’m going to be late if you don’t hurry up!’

I rolled my eyes, annoyed, ‘yes mum!’

The familiar zip of my bag echoed throughout my bland room. I threw the strap over one of my shoulders, standing in front of the full-length mirror. My eyes drifted over the form I had been inhabiting for a while. The itchy material clung to my body, sickening burgundy that blended into the beautiful, mocha skin I inherited in my last life.

I let out a breath, my shoes tapping against the tiled flooring. I opened my door, the splinters of old wood stuck out and pricked my finger. It let out a shrill creak which danced with another shout from my mother, bouncing up the stairs and hitting off the walls of the hallway.

‘Coming!’

~~~~~

The ride to school was silent as always; mum’s eyes pressed firmly on the road, a few curse words muttered here and there.

‘Alright Taylor, we’re here,’ my mother’s voice entered the empty atmosphere. I looked up, and sure enough, there it was. Bridgewater High. Giving mum a nod and a faint ‘bye’, I exited the vehicle, which then sped off, polluting the air with dark fumes. A group of students held their places near the front of the school,

‘Taylor! You’re finally here!’

‘Did you sleep in again?’ Friendly questions and similar comments flew from friends’ mouths. I smiled at them, scratching the back of my neck sheepishly when I got to them.

‘Something like that,’ they laughed at the statement. For what seemed like forever we carried on talking, before being interrupted by a loud shout.

‘Listen up people!’

‘Now when I call your name, please step onto the bus and take a seat. Mary Atlee, Tony Blackwell…’ The teacher continued, his voice carried through the various conversations. Students, upon hearing their name, walked forward and entered the bus.

‘Taylor Locksley,’ I forced a smile. Walking onto the bus the rows of empty seats frightened me. My legs shook at each step, students pushing their bags into vacant seats next to them to avoid sitting with me. I inhaled deeply, thankfully finding two empty seats. One for me, and one for a friend. Eventually one of the girls that somewhat enjoys my company found me and lowered herself into the spot I had saved.

When everyone was seated the teacher, Mr. Hart, began lecturing us.

‘When we arrive at the home, you will be assigned an elderly person, your job is to keep them company. If there is any sort of rudeness or disrespect, you will be sent straight back to school. No second chances.’ After he had finished speaking he took a seat at the very front; as the long bus ride to hell began.

I didn’t particularly want to go, mum made me.

‘It’ll help you have an understanding of old age,’ she had said to me.

‘Fine. I’ll go,’ I replied, giving up on even attempting an argument with her. Giving me a cocky smile, knowing she got her way, she signed the paperwork.

The students around me happily talked and made conversation with one another. My eyes were glued to the window, watching the dull buildings that painted this city zoom past.

As the building of doom began closing in, the noise of small chatter now became a loud ruckus of excitement.

Piling out of the bus we made our way inside the home; a lady stood there waiting for us.

‘Welcome!’ She chirped, way too happy for my liking. She pulled back a blonde strand of hair, which had fallen out of her delicate bun atop her head.

‘Now, I’ll call your name and give you a room number and who resides in that room! Then you can meet your soulmate!’ I almost gagged at the word, who would call a pairing of some old fart and a teenager ‘soulmates’?

‘Taylor Locksley,’ I raised my head and lifted my arm, letting her know of my existence. She smiled down at the paper she held.

‘Room 53, William Heere,’ she passed over the note, I looked down at it, unimpressed.

‘Thanks,’ I said, my voice dripping in sarcasm. I’d begun walking to the room, when I heard my name being called again.

‘Something you should know about William, he’s…new,’ the nurse said, smiling down at me, she gave a brief nod and promptly left. Confusion wrote itself onto my face, she had emphasized the word ‘new’ but why? Blinking a couple of times, I shook my head and continued my journey to the mysterious ‘room 53’.

Arriving at the room, I felt the confidence suddenly leave my body. Gulping deeply I raised my hand, knocking softly on the door. The metal plaque that held onto the door filled my body with discomfort.

‘Come in,’ a faint voice from inside pulled me from my thoughts. My hand rested on the doorknob, twisting it, and pushing the door open. The groan from this door is much more terrifying than the one from my own. I looked around the room, my eyes finally settling on an old man in a wheelchair sitting right next to the window. He didn’t even look at me when I entered.

‘Close the door, would you?’ His cold voice split the air, cutting through the deafening silence. I recoiled slightly at his harsh tone. I turned, closing the door behind me, the faint click was all that was needed. As if something changed in the universe, his fragile body somehow picked up energy, springing to life. Jumping out of his wheelchair, he walked over to me, standing directly in front of me, his eyes frantically drifting over me. His ash-grey hues staring deeply into my eyes – which I’m sure were wider than a frisbee at this point. He made a small grunting sound, turned, then walked back to the open window.

‘Look at that,’ he pointed out of the window to the flowers that bloomed; pinks, purples, blues, and yellows which painted the green.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I replied, stepping into the space next to him, also looking out. He turned to me, annoyance present on his face.

‘It’s disgusting,’ he spat, beginning to pace around the room. Once more, confusion began writing a novel onto my facial features.

‘Disgusting? How so?’ He was more cynical than me. It was jarring.

‘They’re all weeds. Don’t you know that? Stupid girl. What do they teach you in school now-a-days? Ah!’ A discontent grumble emanated from his mouth.

‘Doesn’t mean they aren’t beautiful.’ I mumbled, my breath covering my words – or so I thought.

‘Beauty is a fleeting concept forced upon everyone by society.’ His eyes shot ice through my veins, I shivered as he stalked towards me, my body subconsciously stepping backwards. Almost in fear.

‘Do I know you?’ I froze then, my legs now refusing to move. My heart pounded in my chest.

‘N-no, that’s silly... How could you p…possibly know me?’ I stuttered out, afraid he might learn the truth.

‘What’s your number?’

‘I’m... sorry?’ He began pulling at my jacket, to see my wrist. I fought against him, for an old man, he was quite strong, I pulled my arm back. My sleeve falling down, his eyes easily accessing my mark. It was his turn to freeze now, his grey eyes stuck onto it. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp. I quickly pulled my sleeve up, looking away from him, I instantly felt my face heat up.

‘I-I should leave,’

‘No,’ His voice was just as harsh as before. ‘Sit.’ I did as he said, taking a seat in a chair across from his wheelchair. He followed after me, sitting in the wheelchair as if he hadn’t been standing mere moments ago. I swallowed harshly, looking down at the floor, not daring to meet his judgmental eyes.

‘I got bullied for my mark, I assume you are as well?’ The question seemed to settle in the air for a moment before I realized he was speaking to me. The waver in his voice begged me to answer, I nodded, not fully trusting my own voice not to crack.

‘That is something you and I have in common then, hm?’ His tone was more light, a slight joke as his eyes drifted over the flowers once more, a soft breeze blew through and into the room causing a chill to run up my spine.

That’s how we began talking, he told me his whole life story. Every single detail, no sarcastic remark, no pessimistic retort. Just the truth.

I went back there every day. Learning new things about him. Not once did he ask me about my mark. Not once. There was only one thing he didn’t tell me: he never told me his mark. Completely avoiding the subject, we spent hours speaking and laughing together. Having someone to talk to really opened my view on life, it made me smile a bit more and bite a bit less, and I believe I helped him out a bit too. He seemed more cheerful, the nurses always tell me what a difference I’ve made to his life, and I can’t help but feel proud. That was…until one day.

I walked through the glass doors into the white room. Unfortunately I had exams, which meant I couldn’t visit William for a week. The air felt different today, the nurses didn’t run in and shout an enthusiastic ‘hello!’ to me like they usually did. They just moped around, barely throwing me a glance. My eyebrows knitted together, was it because I didn’t visit? Julie, the nurse I had met on the day of the excursion, burst through the door. Her ocean eyes fixed onto me, she sprinted towards me, engulfing me in a hug. At first, I thought she was just happy to see me, but when I felt wetness begin dampening my shoulder, I began to think otherwise. I pushed the blonde back, looking deep into her eyes and spoke slowly.

‘What’s happened?’ Instead of a reply she just shook her head and pointed towards the corridor. The corridor that held room 53 amongst the other rooms. My heart sank a little, dropping into my stomach. I let go of the sobbing woman, making my way through the corridor. My knees shook with every step. I stopped at the door. The metal plaque that once filled me with joy, now filled me with fear. My shaking hand reached out and grabbed the doorknob, twisting and pushing, like I had done so many times before.

My eyes fixate on a feeble body, hooked up to as many tubes as possible. The man who was once filled with energy, had now been replaced with a shell of his former self. His eyelids lifted from their sleeping position, his wrinkles moved to accommodate his smile. Tears pricked the man’s eyes, reaching out a hand to me. My legs slowly stepped forward, edging my body closer to the bed, I held onto his hand. It was so cold. The warmth from my palm invaded the cold of his own. I couldn’t stop the oncoming tears that were to surely fall. He went to speak but nothing came out, I grimaced at his pain, a cry raking through my body, muffled by the hand that I had covered my mouth with. I shook my head, eyes pulling away from him, I couldn’t bear it.

‘I’m so sorry,’ was the only thing I could manage. My brain couldn’t fully process his condition. He slightly shook his head, a cough erupted from his chest, I quickly grabbed the plastic cup of water from the table beside the white bed. Bringing it to his lips so he could drink.

‘It is not your fault my dear,’ tears blurred my vision, ‘you could not have stopped this, even if you wanted to.’ His hoarse voice filled the room, the heart monitor beeped quietly as the only other source of noise in the nauseating white room.

‘In the end, life is the greatest tragedy of them all.’ Tears escaped from both our eyes.

‘I don’t want you to go!’ He smiled at my words.

‘I’ll be back. I will meet you in another life…’ As he drew his final breath, the monitor’s sickening tone rang out. A sob ripped from my throat, tears cascading down my cheeks. My heart shattered as my only true friend lay there, passed, with a smile on his face.

‘No!’ I screamed. Hugging him tightly, crying desperately into his chest.

My hand firmly holding onto his.

Our marks; opposite.

Infinity; and one.