new world

prologue

Leaving your room and closing the door, Roger was gone. Once again, you were in your own private space. However, since you were being forced to leave the room, you slowly sat up. If you weren't ready in half an hour, Roger would most likely make you test even more, which you hated. Letting out a sigh, you walked over to your dresser and picked out clothes that would keep you warm, as it was winter, and in London, winters were not pleasant.

After putting your clothes on, you went over to the bathroom to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a couple of minutes and made some small adjustments. After being pleased enough with your appearance, you left the bathroom, and then, proceeded to leave your room.

Going down the stairs to the main floor, you kept your head down until you got to a chair. Already, most of the kids were present, with a few still coming downstairs. Near was on the floor doing a puzzle, whereas Mello was sitting on a different chair, eyeing Near out of malice every now and then. Looking over each and every one of them, you decided that you weren't going to talk to any of them.

You weren't necessarily unsociable, you just weren't interested in any of your peers or what they had to say.

Drumming your gloved fingers on the armrest, you let out yet another sigh and tilted your head back onto the top of the chair, placing your other hand on the other armrest as well and slightly spreading your legs as to get more comfortable on the chair. Now drumming with both hands, you did nothing else but look at the ceiling for a few seconds, then look back towards the other kids and lean slightly onto your left side, wondering if Roger was going to ask you to speak to any other kids – not that you would.

You'd gotten your gloves years ago. As you were growing up, you realised that you hated the feeling of other people touching you. Nobody knew what it was or why it had developed, but it was there nonetheless. Every touch was lukewarm and unpleasant, and it felt as if bugs were crawling into and under your skin. You despised it, and therefore, you constantly wore the gloves. The others knew of this as well, so they refrained from touching you.

However, in the off chance that someone did try to touch you by grabbing your hands, the gloves were there to offer a thin barrier. Though, they only protected the hand and some of the arm, meaning that the rest of your body was exposed. But because you only ever were at the park or Wammy's House, you weren't exposed to the danger much.

"Alright, everyone is present. Let us go," Came the voice of Roger.

Now standing up, you waited for everyone to follow Roger before you started slowly trailing behind. You didn't want to be in the crowd and risk having someone bump into you, so you always stayed in the back. As soon as everyone got outside, their heads drooped down as they felt the cold London air hit them.

Hands in your pockets, you watched as footprints were left in the snow by everyone ahead of you.

Specks of white made their way from the sky above to the ground below, and as you caught one out of the billions of snowflakes on your gloved hand – it melted. Eventually, it disappeared, as if it never existed and had been only a figment of your imagination.

That was how you thought of the world. Every single person in the billions of people alive had a beautiful start, but they as well had an ugly finish. If one got too close to something they were trained to stay away from, something that burned them, their end was earlier than others. However, in the end, they all amounted to nothing. Eventually they would be forgotten, and nobody would know who they were or what they did. Eventually, not even the world itself would remember their name.