Lettered Delay

Prologue

            Every year, the eighteen-year-olds of the world are sent off on a journey to find the only other person in the world who received an identical marking. These markings are called 'soulmate tattoos' and are thought to be gifts from the gods and goddesses: they lead us to the person created to deal with all life throws at us alongside us. The name misleads; they are not tattoos. Many people have attempted to remove them through humane and, unfortunately, gruesome manners; however, if you were to remove the marking, it would simply show back up on your body in a different location. Attempts of removal were foolish and mere wastes of time.          

    Once the match has been made and they meet in their lifetime, powers are bestowed to the couple. These powers are often related to the 'theme' of their marking and which 'class' of couple they fall into. The markings get placed into multiple classifications of 'typical' look from the historical records. There were elemental: water, fire, air, earth. Any image to do with the natural world was placed in this category. Another was the supernatural; these often had animals and creatures not found on the planet and were instead assumed to be part of another universe or reality. Humane was another common classification. Those who were put into this category have human-made objects such as tools or landscapes of the current world. There were many more, but I haven't done too much research in those categories. I only have the base knowledge of these groups because of the shallow education system from high school.           

         There was a time limit to how long you could wait to find your matching partner: you had sixteen months from the day you turned eighteen to meet up with them and perform a ceremony, or else you would wither away into nothing. I have no idea what this ceremony entails, but I know that you must complete it, otherwise you are sent back to the makers. They show pictures in class, the narrowminded and uninformative classes from high school, of those who attempted to rebel against the gods. Their life drains out of them: begins with simple aches and pains, ends with organ failure. No funerals or blessings are held for people who die in this way: mercy is not a common feeling in this day, and not even in death do we experience it.    

    There are always some legends that say the gods will come down to smite us, save us, live among us. I call bullshit. They aren't here to be worshipped, nor to help us. We exist merely to entertain them, to expose their natures through simple extensions of themselves. I am not supposed to voice these blasphemous opinions that inhabit my whole body every time a conversation about the makers, our makers, come up.         

 How am I supposed to keep quiet, though? How can everyone live with injustice? Hushed, silenced, told off. My thoughts are not unwarranted, and I have no idea why people live without thinking about the alternatives. A world where our lives were not so heavily dictated by mere pictures on our bodies and the threat of death and misery.  

       I am the only one who understands this. Perhaps because I've always been confrontational, my mum says. She doesn't know, though.     

          I am twenty-four and have never gotten a 'soulmate tattoo'.