Prologue: Tell This to the World

14.08.2067

Most people don't learn to live, until they learn of exactly how many days they have left.

Tell this to the world.

I've seen them tear each other apart, go insane, and unite under a common purpose like never before, just because they know that the EXP virus gives them those fifteen months to live. To make every second count.

Now it's my turn.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my infection, but I can't bear to think about what I'd be doing at home. This virus had first targeted the old, the poor and the weak; but being slightly more privileged, we aren't all that different. You can't just, for next fifteen months, dwell on the fact that a cure doesn't exist, or dedicate all your energy to a dying daughter. My sister is perfectly healthy - focus on her instead. The future is in the hands of kids like her, but you can't expect it to be brilliant when the sickness is interfering with their education. Make sure that she is able to survive when this world is virus-free, and I'll be happy. This day will come sooner than you expect, I promise.

In a minute, I will climb out of the window and disappear from this family. My hand is shaking as I write and I'm trying not to cry but I must make this decision. I simply cannot lie in my bed like the rich do and wait out the last year of my life.

Don't try to find me. You won't. Also, please don't tell Simone that I'm dead unless it is confirmed so. I'll be thinking of you all. If the world is safe again within fifteen months, then one day I will see you again. If not, I tried, and many others will still be trying.

Let me take this chance to find a cure.

Happy birthday, Mom. 16.09.2067.

Happy birthday, Dad. 23.12.2067.

Happy birthday, Simone. 30.07.2068.

And for all the following years, if I don't get to celebrate them with you in person. My spirit will never expire.

(By the way Simone, the Ducati is yours. Consider it a birthday present that makes up for all the arguments we've had this year. Don't crash it, please.)

Cheers to a long life.

Love,

Elise Eckhardt-Levin