The Countdown

This story is about having a countdown on your wrist that counts down to your death

When I was born I had a countdown on my wrist that counted down to 17. It was nothing new everyone had it. I never knew what it meant. As a child I believed it was when I would meet my soul mate. It wasn’t in till my 17^th birthday when I found out what it really meant.

            I looked at my countdown as I did every day, 2 days 4 hours and 20 minutes; I felt my heart beat speed up with excitement. There was a knock on my bedroom door, “Come on.” It opened slowly as my mom walked in with a cake small enough for two. My father passed away when I was 12, ever sense then we only got small amounts of food and barely celebrate anything. She smiled, but her eyes showed sadness. “ Mom? What’s wrong?”  She shook her head slightly as she sat the cake down and walked toward my bed. “Honey, I need to tell you something.” I looked at her questionably. “The countdown is the number of days you have to live.” I froze, unable to move, or breathe, my heart started to beat faster as I looked at my wrist and the cruel numbers on it, 2 Days, 4 hours and 10 minutes. Then I looked at my mom who had a look of sorrow in her eyes. “I’m going on a walk, I need to clear my head.” She just nodded causing a single tear to roll down her cheek.

            I ran out of the front door, the cool October air wrapped its self around me causing a chill to run down my back. I stood on the front step for a couple seconds before running down the street to Sarah’s, the only person I could talk to about this. When I got to her house the street lamps were on, I knocked twice before the door, before it opened quickly “ What are you doing, it’s freezing out here?” “I need to talk to you.” I said quietly, Sarah’s expression was filled with worry. “Why what’s wrong? Come in.,” she said opening the door and motioning in, the house was quiet “My parents are gone for the weekend, do you want to sit in the living room?” I nodded slightly and walked over to the couch. “So what’s wrong?” She said tucking her feet under her so she was facing me. “ My mom told me what the countdown means.” I took a deep breath trying to calm myself “I have two days until I die.” My voice cracked and tears rolled down my face, Sarah looked shocked, her mouth gaped open as if she wanted to say something but was unable to find the words, then she looked at her own countdown, 80 years, she was lucky, she had time to get married, have kids, grow old and die happy. “I’m so sorry Emma.” She moved closer and wrapped her arms me. “What am I going do? My mom is going to be alone, I’m leaving her just like my dad.” “It's not like you have a choice whether you can stay or go, and she knows that. It's not your fault.” I nodded looking at the ground “Better head back home” I said standing up “Thank you.” Sarah stood up to and wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace, not wanting to say good-bye.  

The last two days went fast; during the day I put on a fake smile and hid my pain. Everyone knows though they would see my time, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say or do, they would show a weak smile or turn the other way. At nights, I would lock myself in my room and let the fear and anxiety take over.

            “This is it,” I whispered as I glanced down at my wrist as it counted down to zero, then back to the barrel of the gun and the men holding it. Three, my hands shook with fear. Two, I closed my eyes taking a breath in and holding it. One, A single tear fell down my cheek. Zero.