[ WP ] You live in a world where everyone has the way they die written on their wrist from the moment they are born . One day , your parents confess that you did n't have anything written when you were born , and they had something tattooed shortly after .

I sat there in the family living room, rubbing the faded green ink on my skin. Its words, now blurred and stretched by age and growth, still displayed their ominous message. But I was used to it by now. Everybody was. When faced with the knowledge of your definite fate, you had to develop a steely constitution just to survive. Everybody had a different message. Some were more gruesome, like `` 9 mm to the head'' or `` Caught in a woodchipper,'' while others were more common, like mine, which said `` Hit by a Buick.'' For the longest time, especially when I was young, I was deathly afraid of Buicks. I remember hiding in bushes when one passed by on the street, holding my breath, sometimes crying. But like the rest, I had come to terms with this gruesome fact: I was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The tattoos were never wrong. 
 
 At least, that's what I thought, until today. 
 
 I managed to finally look up at my parents. My mother sat in a chair across from me, anxiously gripping her hands ever tighter. My father was leaning forward towards me, but he met my gaze. `` Why did n't you tell me earlier?'' I finally asked. 
 
 `` Honey, we wanted to, but we did n't know how,'' my mother replied, her voice a tad shaky. 
 
 I stood up, frustration beginning to take root. `` Well, why did you do it in the first place? Why did you even make me get this?'' I gestured to the ink on my wrist. 
 
 `` Son, we wanted to protect you,'' my father replied. `` You know how the Great Council is. Ever since the Foresight technology was invented it was decreed that any newborn's future must be viewed and their fate tattooed on their wrist. If anyone saw that you *didn't* have a tattoo, it would not have ended well.'' 
 
 `` But *why* did n't I have my tattoo in the first place?'' 
 
 My father sighed. `` We still do n't know. The doctor... he... he said some scientific jargon about `` the fog of uncertainty'' obscuring the machine from reading your fate. But he was a good man. He knew the consequences if you came out bare-wristed, so he inked what you see on your wrist now.'' 
 
 I turned around, running my hand through my hair and bringing it down slowly over my face. I took in a deep breath, and exhaled. `` What will this mean for my future?'' 
 
 `` Well son,'' my father spoke. `` That's up to you. You have a great gift.'' 
 
 `` A **gift**!'' I spat indignantly. `` You call *this* a gift? I'm cursed! What if I never die? What if I go on, living and living, forever? What then? The Enforcers will find out! Then they'll drag me to the Great Council, and they'll decree that I have to go to the work camps, or prisons, or wherever they send the other people like me! I do n't want that!'' 
 
 `` Neither do we, honey,'' my mother said, putting her hand on my shoulder to calm me. `` We want the best for you.'' 
 
 `` And that brings us to why we told you all this in the first place, son,'' my father said. `` We think we know a place where you can go that will keep you safe.'' 
 
 `` Alright, where? Just where can I ever be kept safe from the Enforcers?'' 
 
 `` Underground,'' my father said, a grin forming on the side of his face. `` There's a small group of people like you that live under the streets of our city. They fight, for themselves and for freedom for us all. Your mother and I managed to get a contact. He'll take you right to them.'' 
 
 I sat back down in my chair, dazed. Everything was happening so quickly, but I needed to make a choice. 
 
 `` I... I'll go,'' I said. 
 
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 If you liked this, check out some of my other writings at /r/Alias_Fakename 
 
 

