Life is a difficult concept to grasp when you know you have only six days left of it. Six days to the second. You know you should be sleeping, but for the past few nights you’ve just had to stay up and watch the blinking lights on your alarm clock change from 11:59 to 12:00.
It’s morning now, only you can’t remember ever falling asleep. You check your clock and the face reads 7:30 as you slam your hand down on the button to end your alarm. Five days and sixteen and a half hours, you think, as you get dressed. While looking in the mirror, you decide what you should do today. If you should go to work, stay home, or do something entirely different. You quickly rule out work, as the time 7:53 catches your eye in the mirror. You need to remember you have a deadline, and besides, it is not as if anyone cares whether or not you show up to work today. No one cares if you go during your last few weeks or so; in fact, they all seemed surprised to see you there yesterday. No, work is not the best thing you could do with your time. You decide to take your dog to the park instead. After all, you know you do not have much more time with him. You decide you will visit your friends tomorrow, all of them. The ones you have left, and the ones you will soon see again.
It’s midnight and you know you should be asleep, but you just have to watch the time change. You have three days left now, you think, as you drift off to sleep. You wake up feeling as though no time has passed, but your alarm clock tells you otherwise. 7:30 glares at you in bright blue coloring from the face of your clock, so you glare right back. You know this is childish and a waste of time, when time is the one thing you are short on nowadays. You have already said goodbye to everyone you needed to, and you do not know what you have left to do. You look back on your years of school, thinking fondly of your teacher. She was one of the oldest androids there, and you have a suspicion she had a minor malfunction, as she displayed more human-like actions and emotions than any other teacher. You remember in world history class, learning about what it was like before the reforms. Before the Adultless Age, when people over the age of eighteen were in charge. Your teacher explained why the reforms were created, and why they must be followed. But you couldn’t help but notice she said it with a sad look in her eye, almost as if she knew this was still hard for you to understand and accept. You decide that is what you should do. You should visit your school; you did spend a whole two years of your life there, after all.
One day left. You know it is the truth, but you still cannot accept it. You roll over to face away from your clock, thinking maybe if you look away it will magically change the time, but no. When you look back, the same hour glares at you, only this time with a few extra minutes gone by. You know you will not sleep, so you don’t even try. You will be dead in twenty-four hours, so it’s not as though you need the rest. Not as though it will have any long-term effects. You do not know how everyone else is always so calm about this. We even have birthdays to celebrate gaining a year of life, and you used to love them. Now you can think of them only as a countdown. Eighteen years is not enough, you think. You know why it’s eighteen; you understand the reforms are for the best. Adults cause wars and fight over petty things. They forget how valuable life is because they think they have so much left. You understand you are lucky to live in a world without them . . . but still . . . you wish you had just a few more years, a few more months, a few more days.
You don’t realize how much time has passed until you see the sun rising to meet the sky. You finally notice you have been crying. You have nothing left to do, and nothing left to give. You do not care anymore, and you lie there all day, awaiting the inevitable. At 11:55 you hear the bots arriving. You lie still; you will not put up a fight and you know it. At 11:57 they open the door and enter your room. At 11:58 you hear them open the case and remove the syringe. At 11:58 you feel the slightest prick in your left shoulder, as you lie perfectly still. At 11:59 they pack up and leave. At midnight on the dot, the serum will have done its job, and you will be dead. You turn your head ever so slightly to the left, and as the numbers on your clock change to 12:00 —
It’s morning now, only you can’t remember ever falling asleep. You check your clock and the face reads 7:30 as you slam your hand down on the button to end your alarm. Five days and sixteen and a half hours, you think, as you get dressed. While looking in the mirror, you decide what you should do today. If you should go to work, stay home, or do something entirely different. You quickly rule out work, as the time 7:53 catches your eye in the mirror. You need to remember you have a deadline, and besides, it is not as if anyone cares whether or not you show up to work today. No one cares if you go during your last few weeks or so; in fact, they all seemed surprised to see you there yesterday. No, work is not the best thing you could do with your time. You decide to take your dog to the park instead. After all, you know you do not have much more time with him. You decide you will visit your friends tomorrow, all of them. The ones you have left, and the ones you will soon see again.
It’s midnight and you know you should be asleep, but you just have to watch the time change. You have three days left now, you think, as you drift off to sleep. You wake up feeling as though no time has passed, but your alarm clock tells you otherwise. 7:30 glares at you in bright blue coloring from the face of your clock, so you glare right back. You know this is childish and a waste of time, when time is the one thing you are short on nowadays. You have already said goodbye to everyone you needed to, and you do not know what you have left to do. You look back on your years of school, thinking fondly of your teacher. She was one of the oldest androids there, and you have a suspicion she had a minor malfunction, as she displayed more human-like actions and emotions than any other teacher. You remember in world history class, learning about what it was like before the reforms. Before the Adultless Age, when people over the age of eighteen were in charge. Your teacher explained why the reforms were created, and why they must be followed. But you couldn’t help but notice she said it with a sad look in her eye, almost as if she knew this was still hard for you to understand and accept. You decide that is what you should do. You should visit your school; you did spend a whole two years of your life there, after all.
One day left. You know it is the truth, but you still cannot accept it. You roll over to face away from your clock, thinking maybe if you look away it will magically change the time, but no. When you look back, the same hour glares at you, only this time with a few extra minutes gone by. You know you will not sleep, so you don’t even try. You will be dead in twenty-four hours, so it’s not as though you need the rest. Not as though it will have any long-term effects. You do not know how everyone else is always so calm about this. We even have birthdays to celebrate gaining a year of life, and you used to love them. Now you can think of them only as a countdown. Eighteen years is not enough, you think. You know why it’s eighteen; you understand the reforms are for the best. Adults cause wars and fight over petty things. They forget how valuable life is because they think they have so much left. You understand you are lucky to live in a world without them . . . but still . . . you wish you had just a few more years, a few more months, a few more days.
You don’t realize how much time has passed until you see the sun rising to meet the sky. You finally notice you have been crying. You have nothing left to do, and nothing left to give. You do not care anymore, and you lie there all day, awaiting the inevitable. At 11:55 you hear the bots arriving. You lie still; you will not put up a fight and you know it. At 11:57 they open the door and enter your room. At 11:58 you hear them open the case and remove the syringe. At 11:58 you feel the slightest prick in your left shoulder, as you lie perfectly still. At 11:59 they pack up and leave. At midnight on the dot, the serum will have done its job, and you will be dead. You turn your head ever so slightly to the left, and as the numbers on your clock change to 12:00 —