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the soulless saint

Alice_4434
7
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Synopsis
To be a human means to be good, to follow morals. At least it’s how it was told since the beginning. Biologically everyone belongs to the same kind, to the human kind although we are divided by status, we are divided by borders, we are divided by morals.
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Chapter 1 - Sine anima

To be a human means to be good, to follow morals. At least it's how it was told since the beginning. Biologically everyone belongs to the same kind, to the human kind although we are divided by status, we are divided by borders, we are divided by morals.

The weather was warm, the breeze was creating a pleasant sound. Someone was playing on a guitar outside. Very likely they were trying to perform for money.

The most visible building in this area was a huge tenement where 16 year old teenagers who were about to attend the test were living with their families. Each year people about to attend the test were living in the same building for a few months, they've said it's easier to keep them togehter before and after the test. 

Guitar's lively music was hearable from a windowsill on which a girl was sitting. She had a collarbone-length brown hair and a hairpin with a black butterfly in it. Her face wasn't visible although she seemed to think about something. About what? I can't say, perhaps about life or the approaching test which would determine her soul. 

- Déjà vu again - she said to herself - How many times I've already heard about reincarnation. Dying and getting birth again while having memories from the previous life does seem like an advantage. Although can I name myself as one of those people? - she sighed - I'm aware it isn't my first life although I don't remember anything from my previous life, except Déjà vu I get from time to time. 

She leaned to see better the world under her, the lively street, a boy playing the guitar, a couple kissing each other as if it was their last moment, a kid crying. It was life. Life belongs to only one person, to everyone and to no one in the same time. For the boy it was him who was the owner of his life, for the girl on a windowsill it was her who was owning her own life. Although sometimes our life doesn't belong to us, we don't have a will to use the life we got. 

Steps become hearable. Louder and louder. The girl got off the windowsill and closed the window. She looked around to make sure that her room is in a decent state and after confirming it she smiled to herself and waited for her aunt to come.