"But mommy," my small voice came from outside the bathroom door where she was getting ready. "What did that man mean when he said we would all get our tattoos in a few years?" "Honey," she squatted as she opened the door. "When you turn 16, you get your assignment." "As a tattoo? Does that mean we pick them?" My mother laughed at this. "No, sweetie," she kissed the top of my head and walked down the hall to her room. I followed her and saw my dad starting to wake up. Being the president's wife gave him some perks, like being able to sleep in all the time. "Look here," my mother stuck her arm out to me and bared her smooth, ivory wrist. On it we're the words '49th President'. I ran my finger over it and saw that the skin was not raised at all. "I woke up with this on my wrist when I was 16. I knew I had to work extra hard to make sure I was fit for my assignment." "Hm," I glanced up at her with a smile on my face. "I wonder what my assignment will be." I shook my head and ran a finger over my wrist as I remembered the conversation from long ago. Since then, both my parents had died. I had been alone for 10 years now and was only 19, three years after I got assigned to my tattoo. I had not practiced for it and had distanced myself from all of my school friends. I knew nothing of what people had been assigned or where any of them were. A cool breeze brushed my bangs off my forehead and I got up from the ledge I was sitting on. My blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. My fingers brushed over the words 'Presidential Assassin' again and I figured I better get back to work.
an excerpt from a book I'll never write // R.I.
