TW: needles

In this world, everyone has a purpose.

In this world, you will never be forgotten.

This world? This world is perfect.

I am in this year’s Seventeens. Last year, I was a Sixteen. Last year, I had thought that I would have to wait two more years to receive my Purpose. But in January, they decreed that everyone will receive their Purpose a year earlier, when they’re a Seventeen.

“All Seventeens must be ready for the Purpose ceremony tomorrow! Remember the dressing requirements! Remember the bodily requirements!” The loudspeakers blare.

My sister, a Fifteen, pats my shoulder.

“You’ll do great Casimir!” She says, and after a hesitation, adds: “And you’ll look great with a bald head!”

As she runs to catch the bus, I groan. All the Seventeens have to shave their heads before the Purpose ceremony.

“You ready Casimir?” My mom says, and we head out the door.

We ride the train across town, to the place where my brother went last year, when he was an Eighteen.

We enter a small shop, and there’s a short, old man there, wearing a purple sweater. on that back of his sweater are the words: **JOHN TRACKMAN, PURPOSE PREPARER.**

** **That’s his Purpose - he prepares other kids for their Purpose ceremonies.

** **After waiting in in line for a while, it’s finally my turn. As I sit in the chair, he hums, and sharpens his scissors.

My hair comes off in chunks,falling to the floor. when he’s done cutting it, he shaves the rest off, until my head is clean and bald.

He then gets his laser. I’ve been watching other kids do this but, it doesn’t prepare me for the pain. The laser burns the skin on my scalp, making intricate drawings on the skin. I can’t see it, but from what i’ve observed on others, he’s drawing four detailed circles, one in the middle and the other three going around the first.

I leave the shop with a bald head and a soaring soul. Soon, I’ll get my purpose. Soon.

~

I stand on the platform, waiting in line. I wait, and wait, and finally, the girl in front of me is called.

“Emily Carol!”

She steps forward, and walks toward the platform in the middle of the stage. As she stands on the steel circle, a metal capsule is placed around her, and the capsule is raised by chains, higher and higher. A bright blue flash erupts from the cracks in the capsule. The capsule is pulled away to reveal a girl; she smiling, grinning from ear to ear, her head no longer bald, but covered in hair.

“Emily’s Purpose is… grocery store clerk!” A mechanical voice calls.

Emily could not look more happy to have such a boring Purpose.

Finally, my name is called. I step forward, and walk slowly to the platform. I see the crowd, thousand of faces, anticipating to see what the next kid’s Purpose is.

The metal capsule is put around me. Everything goes dark. Suddenly, a mechanical hand holding a long, steel needle comes out of the wall. _There are four of them. _I feel the needles piercing the skin on my scalp. The skin in the four circles. I scream.

Somehow I find myself longing for the flashng blue light. I feel like maybe it could make me forget this horror, forget this pain. But it doesn’t come. I feel the hands strapping a wig to my bleeding scalp. I feel the capsule open, but I can’t see through my tears.

Distantly, a mechanical voice says:

“Casimir’s Purpose is… a needle maker!”

A blinding blue flash is shown to the crowd, and their faces go blank, smiling, empty, _stupid. _

__

In this world, _everyone _has a purpose.

In this world, you will _never _be forgotten.

This world? This world is _perfect._