It was a dusty day. The sun was parched yellow in the dusty sky illuminating the red dust clouds that were already forming in about 3 hours after Mendson had got up. The kind of day that was ready to swallow you up in a dry blistering itchy kind of way and spit you out, but without any spit, or any moisture, or remorse. It was days like these that made him just generally hate the weather in his town and call bullshit when the teachers would say stuff like the ‘comparatively speaking the weather here is temperate’ even as Mendson could see the sweat slick on their foreheads in the sweltering wooden classroom.

Of course naturally, the best day for his cohort’s naming ceremony.

The day to which the little kiddie mortals that made up the first years on town would join the ranks of the superhuman folks that were in the year older.

“oh look it’s weedpuller”

Mendson was in the Stone Auditorium, a run down building which in actuality was the home of the only naming stone south of well… Mendson wasn’t sure but he thought naming stones were pretty rare.

The place was a grey stone dome made from rocks probably imported from some place that had better looking rocks, or maybe it was made from a name. It was the building, that seemed like a marvel of middle-of-nowhere architecture and technology, or would’ve seemed to Mendson if he didn’t know his father had to come here to fix cracks here every other Monday.

Mendson didn’t really think himself as a pessimistic or anything and usually he thought the building looked pretty cool and all, but somehow the cramped space and the dry heat weren’t the best combination in the morning.

“hey don’t you think it would be funny his name would actually become weedpuller”

Mendson was a cool-headed person, but many of his peers were very excited.

 He could relate, after all, like the rest of his peers he had once waited in great anticipation for the day he would be named and be perhaps granted with some great power, but Mendson was, not only a cool-headed person but a rational one at that( at least that was what he thought). Basically he had expectations of getting some shit name.

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“You guys sure are excited for getting your names, huh?” said Mendson.

“Nah weedpuller would a fitting name for him, if he were to get an uncanny one it would probably something like ‘great’ or ‘amazing’ or something”

“hah, you can’t talk, just pray that you don’t receive a name too outrageous for you, like brains or intelligent”

“What did you just say!”

They completely ignored him!

“Ok now come to the stand and place your hand on the naming stone” A tired voiced echoed though the large hall immediately interrupting the excited chatter that stemmed from the unceremonious gaggle of students that had sprawled across the area.

As if some unchecked force of nature, teenagers rushed to the stone pedestal that lay at the centre of the dome and like the sound of bullet shells falling, names began to get called: “[Shutter]”, “[Grave]”, “[Divert]” , “[Trend]”, “[Pilfer]”, “[Brick]”…. Mendson gave himself a chuckle at the last one. Looking over he went to see the poor guy who got “[Brick]”. Mendson saw and didn’t recognise them.

 Well, that would be surprising if not for the fact that Mendson had practically never communicated with others his age, although it did make him slightly embarrassed that of the people who he had supposedly been in class with for a few months, he only knew a few.  But that is not for him trying- albeit a little.

At some point the last week he had attempted a self-initiated conversation with a person, another outside figure so to speak, from his cohort, yet he recalled as they just looked him in the eye (although they had to look up as they did) and just said that they: “don’t talk to losers”… Mendson was left speechless…

Letting in the inward flow of people drag him, before he knew it Mendson was gestured to stand on the raised platform.

With a sense of impatience the Namer called out “Place your hand on the Naming Stone”. The Namer was talking to him.

The orb was called the Naming Stone, but it seemed more like an oversized pearl to Mendson , just one barely too big to be gripped with one hand. A black colouration flowed through the sphere, almost like ink flowing through water.

Before, Mendson could almost not wait for his own naming, but every day that came his desire waned till he found himself at the pedestal. He felt nothing, maybe except for a little bit of nervousness that didn’t really feel like his own.

He was tempted to touch the orb with his left hand, but for the past week, without fail, his mother couldn’t stop harping to him how he needed to ‘touch it with your right hand and definitely not anything else’ so much so that Mendson began to doubt that she had ever said anything else or anything of use. Maybe she said that because of the fact his eyes would glaze over the second she named the naming ceremony…

Mendson wasn’t superstitious.

So he was raising his left hand with all the will of a rebellious breeze, but it may have been the look of absolute distaste that the Namer was giving him and in the end he put his right hand palm on the Naming stone.

“ [Rose]”

The name was called out like all the rest of them.