[ 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 .

( First time writing here. Very slight variation on the prompt. Based loosely on real events. ) 
 
 The last year had been the hardest of her life. Only one person had managed to earn her trust, and he had spent most of the previous months using it against her. He always looked at her with disdain, but by now she felt this was more kindness than she deserved. 
 
 At least he looked. No one else did. 
 
 She now sat with him on a balcony, watching her frosted breath diffuse out into the cold night. Her focus, as usual, was on appearing outwardly to be okay, while on the inside she had finally reached the end of her rope and was hanging on by a thread. 
 
 After a long silence, she looked at him, and asked a question, trying to sound not unhappy, but still serious. 
 
 `` Do you think there's anything in me worth trying to save?'' 
 
 He looked at her with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. He always seemed offended when she showed any sign of having emotional needs, or emotional pain. 
 
 After a pause, but not too long of one as to require any real investment of energy to have been put into thought, he answered. 
 
 `` Meh. If I ca n't say anything nice, I should n't say anything at all.'' 
 
 Silence hung noticeably in the air for a moment, until it slowly transitioned back into the usual, common, un-noteworthy silence. 
 
 She said nothing, and he perceived no reaction from her. 
 
 Quietly and unnoticed, her eyes slowly glazed over as she stared out into space at nothing in particular. The light that had struggled for so long to find a way or a reason to remain had finally left them. 
 
 As the spark faded from her eyes, so faded the tattoo from her ankle. 
 
 As it slowly appeared on his wrist, he did n't take notice. He did n't even notice it until the next day. 
 
 He was sure there had been some kind of error, perhaps a drunken mistake made while blacked out. 
 
 He had the tattoo removed. 
 
 Her body caught up to her spirit a year or two later, heart failure at an oddly young age. The doctors failed to understand the death of her body, just as he had failed to understand the death of her soul. 
 
 At least now it was over.
