It Shouldn't Hurt

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds come out to dance with the blushing sky.

It changes the hearts of those who look upon it. It forms the minds of those who gaze up at it. Mothers hold their children close, guide them up to a spot where they can have the best view. Siblings stare in wonder at the sight.

It shapes them all. It makes them all.

It helps them all to think the same.

At the age of six, each child is presented to the sky at midnight to have their own Change. To have their own mindset. To have their own moment of truth.

It always works. The night turns to morning. The clouds flutter away. And the children begin to have their all their thoughts all the same.

...

You would think, readers, that this process would be perfect. That, by some magic, someone would not be rejected by the Sky. That, by some chance, everyone would be accepted.

You would think that a world with magic would be flawless.

But it was not.

And he proved it.

A six-year-old child by the name of Ferhn was taken up to have his Change. He and the other children stood in front of the Sky. He and the other children lifted their eyes, stared into the comforting depths.

He only felt the pain creeping up on the inside.

He only felt his heart begin to pound.

He only was rejected.

A clamor arose as he began to cry. Tears, innumerable, immeasurable in their number, began to flow down his cheeks. The people, the ones who already had their Change, and the children, the ones who already had their Change, gathered around him, asking him what was wrong. Asking him why he was crying. Why he was in such pain.

He sobbed, whined, as it only increased. They could hear him say that it hurt. That the Sky was hurting him. That the Sky, which had caused everyone else their Change, which had made them just like the others, was hurting him. It was reaching into his chest and tearing apart his heart.

They could only look at each other in confusion.

"It shouldn't hurt," they said.

But it did. In a place where Change was considered the only option, in a place where rejection had never happened, it hurt.

Ferhn was lodged from his position on the roof. He seemed paralyed. Immobile. The Sky, the clouds- they'd both worked to make him completely vulnerable to their torture.

He remembered, dizzily, the doctors chattering to each other about what could be wrong. About how it shouldn't hurt. About why the Sky could be rejecting him. He was just as normal as the other children. He deserved to have his Change.

And of course, in the midst of his pain, in the midst of his wailing, in the midst of his suffering while his parents held his hands and whispered comforts to him and wiped the sweat off his forehead, the doctors decided to give him the manual Change.

If the Sky, the one glorious zenith to their in-the-middle-of-nowhere society, was rejecting him to natural Change, then manual Change was the only option.

His parents disagreed. He saw them shaking their heads behind the blurriness in his eyes.

The doctors told them something. Whispered. Showed them clipboards. He saw pictures of other children.

His mother clenched his hand tighter than before. He felt the pain strike him through the chest again, stab him through the heart, and the room exploded into chaos. Doctors rushed about. Found the instruments for the manual Change. Pushed his parents out of the room.

He felt things over his wrists. Cold steel.

Then he felt them press something against his mouth. He heard them tell. him to just breathe. Just take deep breaths. Just slowly inhale.

He followed their instructions, hoping that manual Change would not hurt. Hoping that it would take away his pain. Hoping that it would stop the Sky from torturing him any longer.

All of a sudden, as the sweet scent flooded his mouth, he was enveloped in a feeling of pure numbness. The pain, agony, and sweat abruptly melted away into nothing. He could no longer feel. He could no longer think.

They told him to take just one more breath. Just one last simple step.

And he was asleep within seconds.

Did hours pass? Did days go by? Did years slip away from his hands? Time was irrelevant while he slept. The event of the Sky, of his failure to Change- it'd all faded away by then.

He hardly felt himself when he awoke.

Manual Change, was it?

And what had it done to him?

Three parallel scars stretched across his body. Two ran along his arms. And one was stitched onto his chest.

His parents were ashamed as much as they were glad. He could see it in the way they looked at him. He could hear it in the way they talked.

Manual Change.

The real Change should have worked. It should have reset his thoughts, properly aligned them with the thoughts of everyone else. It should have properly welcomed him into his home.

But it didn't.

And they had to manually Change him.

His scars stood forever. The shame of his parents and of the other children stood forever.

His rejection from the Sky stood forever.

Never had he longed for the real Change so much in his life. Never had he waited for it so impatiently.

And he could never, never have it.