Countdown Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Mack really hated meeting new people. He hardly ever went out if
he could avoid it and he never ever went to parties. He wasn’t an introvert or
a misanthrope or anything like that. Mack had unfortunately been cursed with
the ability to see in great detail the death of every individual he came into
contact with for longer than ten minutes. He knew the time, the date, the means
and methods, and the what and why of it all. It came as a vision, not always at
the ten minute mark into a conversation, but usually pretty close to that time.
In the vision Mack would be an outside observer to the incident, whatever it
was, unable to affect or change anything, but he would see it all. It was a
miserable experience each time. Even if the person was going to live a rich and
full life and die in their sleep, it was still terrible and draining to
experience it. The visions were quick, but their effects were long-lived. Mack
would freeze up, sometimes mid-word mid-sentence, and then wake up seconds or
minutes later, a shell-shocked PTSD victim who was unable to properly explain
to anyone else what was going on. A few people knew Mack’s secret curse, but
that was a very very small number. Mack kept these people close. He didn’t tell
them their life expectancy or their death story, but he assured them that they
were all going to live a very long time, and most of them would outlive Mack
himself. He didn’t want to face his friend’s deaths. He would rather be gone so
long and not have to deal with the pain. He had lied to Shelly, but he really
liked Shelly. He knew it was going to break his heart when she died, but she
was so much fun to talk to, he couldn’t imagine his life without her it in for
as long as possible. He knew his other friends would wonder when Shelly died
before her time, and think that maybe they too were doomed to a young death,
but he was sure they would understand and get over his deception.
At one point early in his life, Mack had been fairly psychic,
fairly regularly. But one time he went to the astral realm for far too long and
nearly fried his brain and lost his way back to his body. He was in a coma for
three weeks and had almost been pronounced brain-dead. When he came back he had
lost most of his psychic ability and was left with just the painful
prognostication of people’s deaths. By the time he was out of the hospital he
had alienated or lost almost every member of his friends and family. He hadn’t
learned to lie properly yet and had told far too many people far too many
details of their future.
Some people liked to think the idea of knowing their countdown
would somehow be very liberating, as if it meant they would suddenly live a
more meaningful life and do more meaningful things. It wasn’t, they didn’t, and
all it did was create a great amount of anxiety and fear. Freedom is freedom,
whether it has an expiration date or not. Somehow once that date was set, the
only thing that person could focus on was the ticking of the clock and the loss
of every little second. Sleep became a nightmare. Waiting in line was
maddening. Jobs became meaningless. Conversation was torture. Every common
little moment that made up the average of most every day ever became the worst,
most difficult struggle a person could ever have. Everything about life was
unfair, but knowing just how much of someone’s life it was stealing made it all
unlivable. Mack was surprised more people didn’t try to commit suicide after
they found out. He always wondered what would happen if they did. Would there
be some cosmic deus ex machina moment? Would fate have to intervene to save
them? Mack had never been wrong yet, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be
right. He wished someone would try, but it wasn’t going to be him. He
vehemently held onto what was his. He wasn’t going to be his own cosmic-psychic
time paradox guinea pig. Mack was quite content avoiding new people and keeping
as few secrets as possible.
No comments:
Post a Comment