We are all born with the time. Inserted into the back of our wrist. The time that counts down the years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds until we find our soulmate. We spend our lives preparing for this moment. I have spent my life preparing. Knowing that every moment past, present and future will lead to the time when I will find him. I always imagined it to be somewhere romantic. A garden filled with flowers or a beach with the sun setting. But now the time had come and I’m standing in the hall of a filthy hospital. I know it’s time because the numbers are flashing on the back of my wrist, blood red. They will only ever appear when there’s only five minutes to go. My heart is thumping. I wish I looked better. All my life has lead to this moment. My throat is dry. I want to fix my hair but my body propels me forward. The number are beeping now. 30 seconds. I feel faint. 20 seconds. Half of me is shaking with fear. The other half shivers with excitement. 10 seconds. My legs move faster. 5 seconds. My breathing quickens. 4, 3, 2……….
And then it stops. The beeping, the flashing, the rush of excitement. The numbers disappear. I stop. I can’t move. This is not supposed to happen. A whining, growling sound, begins. It’s half animal, half machine. My hand starts to vibrate and I involuntarily take a step back. A time appears on the back of my wrist. But it’s not the same one I left off with. It reads: 6 years, 9 months, 7 days, 2 hours, 15 minutes and 13 seconds. The blood red numbers flash, slowly they begin counting down…….
I sit. I’m trembling. It’s not supposed to happen this way. I’m supposed to meet my soulmate. I’m supposed to be happy forever. I’ve spent my life preparing for this and it’s failed. I’ve failed. I hug my knees and rock back and forth. I hear doctors talking, but it’s as if I’m underwater. My sight is blurred too. Everything feels like a dream. The murmuring voices grow closer. They are wheeling a trolley. A trolley with a body. A body covered by a white sheet. Some kind of instinct forces me to stand. I step towards the trolley. A nurse puts out her hand. “I’m sorry dear,” she says. Her voice is kind. “Did you know him?” I shake my head. But somewhere in the back of my mind I do know him. I did know him. That’s when it hits me. He’s no longer alive. The number’s on my wrist, they’re counting down the days until I meet my soulmate, but it won’t be in this lifetime. I turn and I run. I want to see him, but I’m afraid, afraid of what people will say when they realize. This has never happened before.
As I run I know nothing will ever be even close to perfect ever again. I will forever be the outcast. The girl with no love. I look at the time: 6 years, 9 months, 7 days, 1 hour, 2 minutes and 4 seconds. Far too long to be an outcast. To live without love. If only it could come sooner. The red numbers shiver. Maybe I could. Maybe I can. Maybe I will. I’m messed up already. I have no purpose.
To anyone who came across the girl and the knife in her hand it would have appeared that she had killed herself. On closer inspection, however, they would have found no mark on her body and a peaceful smile on her face rather than a expression of pain. She had not needed to take her own life. She had needed him, and so her heart stopped took her to him.
And then it stops. The beeping, the flashing, the rush of excitement. The numbers disappear. I stop. I can’t move. This is not supposed to happen. A whining, growling sound, begins. It’s half animal, half machine. My hand starts to vibrate and I involuntarily take a step back. A time appears on the back of my wrist. But it’s not the same one I left off with. It reads: 6 years, 9 months, 7 days, 2 hours, 15 minutes and 13 seconds. The blood red numbers flash, slowly they begin counting down…….
I sit. I’m trembling. It’s not supposed to happen this way. I’m supposed to meet my soulmate. I’m supposed to be happy forever. I’ve spent my life preparing for this and it’s failed. I’ve failed. I hug my knees and rock back and forth. I hear doctors talking, but it’s as if I’m underwater. My sight is blurred too. Everything feels like a dream. The murmuring voices grow closer. They are wheeling a trolley. A trolley with a body. A body covered by a white sheet. Some kind of instinct forces me to stand. I step towards the trolley. A nurse puts out her hand. “I’m sorry dear,” she says. Her voice is kind. “Did you know him?” I shake my head. But somewhere in the back of my mind I do know him. I did know him. That’s when it hits me. He’s no longer alive. The number’s on my wrist, they’re counting down the days until I meet my soulmate, but it won’t be in this lifetime. I turn and I run. I want to see him, but I’m afraid, afraid of what people will say when they realize. This has never happened before.
As I run I know nothing will ever be even close to perfect ever again. I will forever be the outcast. The girl with no love. I look at the time: 6 years, 9 months, 7 days, 1 hour, 2 minutes and 4 seconds. Far too long to be an outcast. To live without love. If only it could come sooner. The red numbers shiver. Maybe I could. Maybe I can. Maybe I will. I’m messed up already. I have no purpose.
To anyone who came across the girl and the knife in her hand it would have appeared that she had killed herself. On closer inspection, however, they would have found no mark on her body and a peaceful smile on her face rather than a expression of pain. She had not needed to take her own life. She had needed him, and so her heart stopped took her to him.