[ WP ] Everyone is born with a unique tattoo on their ankle . Whenever you 're responsible for someone 's death , a copy of their tattoo appears somewhere on your skin . Your best friend 's tattoo just showed up on your wrist , even though your best friend is alive and sitting right next to you .

God maths was the worst, especially first thing on a Monday. I laid my head on the desk and huffed. 
 
 `` Jason,'' Dave hissed, knocking my leg suddenly, `` Sir's looking at you.'' 
 
 I sat up quickly and looked over to where a glowering Mr. Johnson stood, arms folded against his crisp shirt. He looked angry enough to beat me with the metal ruler that was clenched so tightly in his fist, it may well have cut into his hands. 
 
 `` Do I really need to dish out a supervised study session this early in the day, Mr. Woodward?'' he spat, brandishing the ruler in my direction. 
 
 `` Um, no Sir,'' I mumbled, `` I'm sorry.'' 
 
 Mr Johnson inhaled sharply, pushing his thickly rimmed glasses back up his beak-like nose. Dave sniggered once Sir had turned his back, and only stopped when I elbowed him, hard. He let out a yelp that caused Mr Johnson to whip around and furrow his brow, eyeing us warily. He sighed deeply and resumed writing out the quadratic equation we were meant to be working on. 
 
 Dave grabbed my arm and yanked my sleeves up, giving me the worst chinese burn I'd ever received. I let out a silent scream as he twisted the life out of my wrist. But then as suddenly as it had happened, the pain stopped. 
 
 `` What's that,'' Dave whispered, his face a pale grey. He jabbed at my stinging arm, where there was a black smudge. 
 
 `` Ink I guess,'' I replied behind my hand, licking my finger to wipe it off. Except it did n't come off. 
 
 Dave's chair fell to floor with a loud clatter. He was barely stood, shaking terribly and staring at my arm with apparent terror. The class turned to stare as Dave ran into the hall, the door slamming behind him. My classmates began to talk amongst themselves, to Sir's frustration, glancing every so often at me and the empty seat next to me. Eyes fell upon the mark on my arm. I tugged my sleeve down and kept my arm off the table for the rest of the lesson. 
 
 When the bell finally rang, I practically ran to Dave and I's usual break spot. My arm felt like it was burning. That mark. It resembled the letter v, with a small loop where the two lines met. I'd seen it before. 
 
 Little kids often showed each other their birth tattoos, so I had seen Dave's when we met on the first day of Middle School. He told me the v stood for his name, and then cried when I pointed out that for his birth tattoo to stand for his name, he'd have to be called Vave, or the tattoo would have to look more like a d. I thought it was a bit silly to cry over that, but I felt bad and gave him the chocolate bar my mum had packed in my lunch. We'd been friends since. 
 
 I did n't expect Dave to be in our spot when I got there, but he was. He did n't look up until I sat next to him on the wall. 
 
 `` Are you ok?'' I asked. When he did n't answer, I nudged him. He leapt off the wall and glared at me. 
 
 `` Do n't touch me!'' he snapped. He rubbed his ankle with his foot. `` That's my birth tattoo on your arm.'' 
 
 `` I know, but it's not real. It ca n't be. It's probably just permanent marker or something,'' I reasoned, `` maybe someone did it for a joke.'' 
 
 `` Maybe,'' he mumbled, but took a small step backwards. I frowned at the movement. Did he actually think it was real? 
 
 `` It's not real,'' I hissed, `` it ca n't be, because I'd have had to have killed you already for your mark to appear.'' 
 
 `` Not necessarily.'' 
 
 `` Look, come with me, I'll try and wash it off with soap and you'll see. I bet someone drew it on earlier or something.'' As the words came out my mouth, I realised there was n't any time for someone to have drawn it on without me noticing. 
 
 Dave knew that too, because a look of anger overcame him. He charged at me, knocking me backwards off the wall. I landed heavily on my back, and lay there winded as he walked around to stand by my head. 
 
 `` It's real. It's real and you know it,'' he shouted furiously, raising his foot above my head. I rolled over just before his foot made contact with the concrete. 
 
 `` Dave,'' I wheezed, struggling to my feet, holding my hands out in front of me, `` I would n't hurt you, I would n't do that.'' 
 
 But he would n't listen. 
 
 He came at me his fist raised above his head, and I did what I needed to do. I shoved him hard, sending him staggering backwards, hitting his head hard on the corner of the brick wall as he fell. 
 
 A trickle of red turned to a lake. 
 
 If only he had listened. 
 
 
 

