Colours

I

Ahren Stringer has never felt truly loved.

Not by his parents, who house a burning hatred for each other and him.

Not by any of the kids at school.

Not by himself.

You see, he hasn't gotten his Mark yet, and he feels that he is a bit overdue. He doesn't want to think about what will happen if his Soulmate rejects him, doesn't want to think about what will happen if he never even gets a soulmate.

In the society he lives in, soulmate are the lifeblood. Almost everybody has one, and they are a part of everyone's destiny. When a person reaches sexual maturity, a black stain appears on their skin, also called a Mark, right where their soulmate's skin is going to first make contact. Once the two partner's Marks touch, the black transforms into a myriad of color. When the mark appears on a persons skin, their vision goes black and white. Only when they find their soulmate, or when their Mark changes, will their vision return to normal. If one soulmate dies before reaching sexual maturity, the person they would have been Marked with will never receive their own Mark, because the two will never touch. These people are often bitter and resentful, outright attacking Marked and Found (people who have found their soulmate) individuals and sometimes killing them. If one soulmate rejects the other, the Rejected will die a few hours to a few days later from their heart giving out. The soulmate that had rejected them follows the same route, and both wind up dead.

He wants to have hope that he won't be Rejected or never get his Mark,  but the small boy's hopeful heart is crushed time and time again by harsh words spat by his father or Joel Birch, the school's Rugby captain and lead tormentor of Ahren.

That leads us to where we find him now, him being beaten into a locker by the entire Rugby team, except for the Captain. The smaller and younger boy has long since learned that it goes easier if he doesn't fight back, as he lets himself be slotted away, the team laughing as they slam the locker door shut. Ahren can't help but let out a faint whimper, watching through the slits in the metal door as the tall group saunters away to join their other friends, who all laugh as they tell their friends  what they have done. The bell rings for third hour, and the group leaves the hall and hurries to their next classes, the entire hallway now vacant. Ahren's large brown eyes sparkle in fear as he tries to move around, not being able to do much more than turn his head and hit the door with one arm. He stays packed away, hoping for someone to walk down the hall and free him.

His silent pleading is answered when a janitor steps into view, casually sweeping the hall. Ahren hits the locker door with the arm he can move, calling out to catch the janitor's attention. The elderly man walks over, grumbling something about irresponsible kids. He pulls out a keyring and unlocks the lock, pulling the door open to allow a beaten and bruised Ahren to spill out onto the floor. The janitor scoffs, grumbles about having to clean blood from the boy's bloody nose up, and shoos the boy away.

Ahren gathers the things he needs for his next few classes, and hurries away from the grumpy man. The boy with bleach-blonde hair slips into the nearest bathroom, throwing his stuff down on the counter and grabbing a wad of paper towel to stem the flow of blood from his possibly broken nose. It takes a while for the blood to stop flowing, and as soon as it does, he wipes his face up and heads to his next class, slipping in through the door with five minutes to go before fourth hour starts. The teacher casts a disapproving glance his way, and he meekly makes his way back to his seat, trying to ignore his classmate's snickers and whispered jokes. The teacher continues in her lesson, not bothering to give Ahren any review of the day's teachings.

Ahren is relieved when the bell for the end of the hour chimes, and he follows the flood of students out of the room. The rest of the school day thankfully passes with no more beatings from Joel or any of his friends, and the small boy can make it to his classes on time. When the end of the day rolls around, he hurries about grabbing his homework and his backpack, trying to slip into the throngs of students flooding through the doors, not unlike floodwaters through a broken dam.

The walk home is boring, the hot late summer sun beating down on his pale skin and making him squint. He turns onto his street, seeing from a distance how his parents are both home, and he sighs. He doesn't want to walk into the house and receive another beating, but he hopes that he will have his Mark soon, and he can leave the hell that he is forced to call home.

Three houses up the street, he can hear the arguing. His heart feels heavy with dread, as he gets closer.

Two houses away, he can hear the anger in their voices.

One house away, he can tell they're arguing about him again.

At the end of the driveway, he can hear every single word they scream at eachother. He hears things inside the house breaking and he knows he won't get away without a few new bruises. He slowly makes his way up the steps to the porch, and pulls his house key out to unlock the door. He shudders as the lock audibly clicks, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The door groans as he eases it open, and he freezes when he hears the arguing stop. He hears his mum slur his name, and he knows he has to go inside. No sooner is he inside than the door is slammed shut and his skinny body shoved up against it, his father's angry face merely centimetres from his own. He hears his mother giggling drunkenly, can smell the alcohol from smashed liquor bottles that litter the front entry. His father wordlessly begins to punch Ahren, while his mother shouts insults at him.

It isn't until past midnight when they let him retreat back to his room, body aching and smarting with every movement. His breaths are shallow and his movements sluggish. He cleans himself up, and hurriedly does his homework. By the time he lets himself lay down to sleep, it's just past 4 AM, and he only has 2 hours to sleep before he has to wake up for school the next day. He carelessly throws all of his school stuff into his backpack, throwing the canvas bag in the approximate direction of the door, and he slumps into his bed, not bothering to cover up with the blankets before he lets his tired eyes slip closed and his bruised body relax.