A world of invincible people

One woman's experience of a future in which humans are invincible from the age of 18-28. The idea was not originally mine, but was a writing prompt from ( )

Wincing as I felt the thud of his body against my car, I hit the brakes, only to see the kid pop up in front of my windshield, grinning. He puts both of his hands up, palms open, and shrugs apologetically, before laughing and running back to the safety of the sidewalk. I sigh and restart my engine. I couldn't blame him, not really. I’d been the exact same back in my Living Decade, testing the limits, reveling in the lack of pain. But boy, when it all comes rushing back to you at 28… stubbed toes are earth shattering, a hang nail a tragedy, to the amusement of your wiser, older parents. You get used to it though. At 45 it has grown normal to me again. Glancing in my mirrors, I tucked a strand of graying hair behind my ear. Smiling softly, pleased with my current lot in life, I thought BANG BANG. Brakes hit, again. I could hear the wild laughter of two girls, as they rolled over each other, giggling in the street. They were in their late twenties, and had made an impact on the concrete road where they’d landed. Glancing up, a skyscraper. In the distance I could see a group of three boys plummeting from a tall building further along down the road. Arms flailing wildly, wind slapping their faces and pavement rushing up to greet them. Great. My commute home was being prolonged by exhilarated jumpers falling all the way down the street.

I’d taken a half day at my office job, needing the afternoon to get to my sister’s house in time for my nephew’s 18th. An important occasion. 18-28 year olds have different working hours to the rest of us, finishing at 2:00pm to allow them to fully enjoy their decade. That’s why my current commuting street was so busy, it was rush hour for “living life” jumping traffic. Of course, it is taken for granted, your adventure years, wasted away in front of a tv screen, a laptop screen, a mobile screen. Depression diagnoses go through the roof in 28-35 year olds. Again, I smile softly, I am past that. Happy. I hear another crash behind me. For f***s sake. I roll my eyes, still slightly amused, but getting worried I’ll be late for my nephew now. I decide to floor it, a common driving technique at this time of the day. God knows it wont hurt the kids on the street if they get hit. It’s a mild inconvenience for some, and fun for others. Either way I’ve lost enough time already. Time to go.

I finally slow down in my sister’s neighborhood. I’d given a couple of young adults a laugh on my way, hitting them at the right angles to send them flying. I hoped to see that same expression of joy on my nephew, my Tommy’s face today. Much more like me than his mother, he had lucked out in the gene lottery. Funny, sweet and intelligent, I couldn't wait to see him hit 18. His mother, my sister, would perhaps have more mixed feelings. She’d had him at 18 and I knew she felt he’d robbed her of her Living Decade. Who could blame her? She suddenly had a fragile, precious little boy to look after, as we all leaped off bridges and took day’s long deep sea dives. Still, she loved him now, I thought, as I pulled into their driveway.

Expecting to see their quaint little home, I was confronted with ambulances. What?? Sarah? My baby sister… I threw myself out of my car, as if I couldn’t feel pain, and sprinted up the driveway, bursting into the front hall. The first thing I saw was my sister in cuffs. Then, my Tommy. Dead on the floor, knife in hand, drenched in his own blood. Queasy, bile rising in my throat, I stumbled over to two policemen, who were jotting notes in a blue pad. I couldn’t look at my sister.

“WHAT HAPPENED?! He’s invincible. He’s 18!! It’s his birthday. He stabbed himself, we all do. How?! Is he going to get back up??”

The policeman looked to his colleague, then to me, sympathy mixed with pity plain in his eyes.

“it would seem… madam it would seem that this child’s mother lied about the child’s true birth date. Between… laughter… she has confessed that it is, and, of course, always has been tomorrow. It would appear she’s lied from the very day of his birth.”

I whipped round, staring at her in shock. For eighteen years she’d lied. She’d had a home birth, of course it was possible to lie, but why? She grinned, and it hit me, hard. Of course.

He’d taken her living decade the day he was born. She’d never planned to let him have his. He took his own life on his 18th birthday... no, the day before his 18th birthday. Thinking he was safe, thinking he was invincible. I fell to my knees next to his dead body.

Author's Note

My first ever short story, would love any constructive criticism or positive feedback!