[ WP ] You live in a world where the day of your death is on your body . You are also extremely bored at the moment , and have begun to test whether or not you have control over your death time .

`` A few years before I was born, the first baby which the date of death was inked onto the back of her neck entered the world ignorant of the fact that she was going to die a few hours later. The nurses did their best to save her, but God-willing, that little girl drowned in her own blood. All children born after had their'death date' signed on the back of their neck, in tar-black ink. 
 
 `` These death dates ca n't be removed, but they can be covered up, which most parents opted to do to avoid their children afflicted daily by an existential crisis. A skin colored tattoo over the date was all that was needed to live a fulfilling life where death is unexpected and tragic. It became as common as circumcision once was, and life went on normally. 
 
 `` I resented my parents for not covering my death date up. They believed in the new'inkless' movement, where kids were forced to struggle with thoughts of death everyday. The'inkless' movement believed that this struggle helped you become a better person that would lead a more fulfilling life. The trend was catching on in Southern California, and specifically in the hippie community. My parents were were hippies — they smoked pot, dropped acid, were frequently naked, listened to music that made them feel young again, even though they sagged in all sorts of places. And the most telling sign that they were hippies, to me at least: they were terrible fucking parents. 
 
 `` I think my upbringing contributed to my depression, which was the reason I found myself holding this revolver in my hand. There were six chambers, but only three bullets. My death date was sixty years from now, presumably after a life of drinking and disappointment. I couldn'tThe imagine it any way else. As I spun the cylinder, I wondered if I could expedite the process. Fifty-fifty, and a win-win at that. Who would n't play? 
 
 `` I spun once. 
 
 *click*. 
 
 `` I spun again. 
 
 *click* 
 
 `` I spun ten more times, and ten clicks followed. I'm not a math whiz, but the chance of that happening is less than one percent. Maybe I was just lucky. 
 
 `` So I popped in three more bullets which landed into their sockets with a small clink. I snapped the cylinder back into place and raised the revolver calmly to my head. What's the difference between sixty years later and the present? Not much, I thought. Death comes to all of us, right? 
 
 `` I pull the trigger. 
 
 *click*. 
 
 `` The gun jammed.'' 
 
 `` That's amazing!'' Exclaimed my grandson. `` What happened next?'' 
 
 `` Well happily, I got over my depression soon after, and I did n't try to kill myself again,'' I said. `` But I did become the world's richest Russian Roulette player.'' 
 
 `` So those crazy stories Mom told me about you and the Brazilians are true!'' 
 
 `` They're all true,'' I said, smiling with a glint of pride. `` They're all true.''
