The Mark

 No one spoke on the bus ride home from school on the day before our 13 birthday. And the silence was fragile and brittle, like it would break any moment. We were all nervous, I guess.

 Anaise tried to talk to me, but I refused to reply. “So, Gia, are you ready for tomorrow? Will you call me when you find out yours?” I only shrugged and glanced out the window.

  Everyone was born with a mark. It held the future of each and every child. Whether they would be super smart and become a doctor, or become an artist or have a talent for design. This mark appeared when our year turned 13 and old enough to join the school of that mark. Tomorrow I would find out which mark I got. And which group I belonged to.

~

  When I woke up the next day, I ran to my bedroom mirror. I jumped out of bed like lightning. It was like four years of Christmas and birthdays wrapped up in one single moment. And when I looked in the mirror, a scream came out of my mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” My mom asked as she ran into my room. “What’s your mark..” She trailed of as a gasp fell through her lips.

  “Mom!” I cried. “Why do I have a knife on my forehead?” I had never studied this mark in school. I had no idea what it meant.

  She didn’t answer. She only mumbled inaudible things with wide open eyes.

  “No, no, no! I’m supposed to have a paint brush or a red cross or a… I don’t know! Anything but this!” I looked back at the mirror to see the knife changed: now there was a slip of blood dripping off the knife.

  “Mom!” I yelled again, more panicked then ever.

  “Gia Church! Listen to me! Get your school bag.” My mother shouted at me with authority.

  “Why? I can’t go to school like this! And what IS my mark?” I asked, frustrated and confused.

  “Well, one problem is solved-you aren’t going to school. At least… not like this.” My mom said calming down. “And… your mark means… you’re a murderer.”

  “A… murderer?! How do you know? We never leaned the mark in school… Unless..”

  My mom nodded gravely. “I have that mark too.”

  “But you have a mark of an artist.”

  She shook her head sadly. With wipe of her hand she removed the fake mark and make up on her forehead to reveal a matching mark. “We need to make you a fake mark too.”

  “Okay… But, mom, have you ever murdered anyone?”

  “Not yet. Most likely never. And it’s the same for you.”

~

Hello.

So, um yeah.

My blog's different. Do you like the new design?

(I decided to work on my coding skills a bit)

Another question:would you like a coding tutorial with HTML?

Emily