[ WP ] You are living in a world where you gain 1 hour of life or `` time '' when you kill someone . You realize you have 10 minutes left .

I walked out of the bathroom and silenced the quiet, but insistent beeping alarm on my wrist with a click of the raised button on the left side. -- 20:00 -- in a harsh and almost indescribable colour. Yellow? Green? It was neither, but both. Why did n't I choose the one with the red display, or the blue? If I had chosen one of those two colours would it change how I feel? Maybe I would just have a different colour to hate, instead of this fluorescent gree-llow. Yel-een? Whatever, -- 19:32 -- now. 
 
 The stairs down to the basement creak under even the slightest of weight. I do n't bother to try and hide the sound of my descent. Years ago I did, back in a time when I used to care. Now I ca n't spare the effort. There's only so much time and energy, and guilt and shame are a young man's game. By the time I open the hook-and-eye latch on the crawlspace door the display reads -- 18:59 --. 
 
 Crying, quiet sobs and sniffling. Very faintly and far in the back, singing. A pop song that was popular about 10 years ago, something about a locket and a photograph and coming home. You could n't turn the radio on without hearing it. It's probably the newest song she knows. -- 17:48 -- I do n't have much time for reminiscing, and I do n't have much time to be picky. 
 
 They shy away from me as I walk the corridor and look in on them. One has her head on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs. Another is curled in the fetal position under the bed, back to me and wedged in the corner as far as she can fit. Something about her does n't look right, and her bed is stripped bare. -- 17:01 -- I have a second or two for a closer look. 
 
 The key to open her door hangs from a bungee cord on the ceiling in the corridor. There's enough play to get the key into the lock, and it saves me from having to fumble for a specific key on a chain that would have to accommodate at least two dozen of them. Normally I would n't have let myself get to a position where I have to rush like this, but mistakes happen. This wo n't be the last time, but all the safe-guards I have in place serve their purpose. The last close call had me racing into the room closest to the basement door. It cost me my favourite girl. 
 
 I just do n't have favourites anymore, and I keep the keys accessible on short notice. 
 
 The sheets are wrapped around her ankles and tied to the bed. They must be tight, even without coming in I can see her feet have a blue tint to them. I've put the key in the lock, ready to turn when I figure it out. I ca n't pull her out from under the bed and out of the basement before I run out of time in, 15 minutes. She's smart, I'll give her that. 
 
 Maybe I lied a little about not having favourites anymore. 
 
 Two cells further down is the singing girl. I stop in front of her cell and pull the key down to the lock. Her eyes are wild, and she scrabbles back from the center of the floor to the corner where the commode is. I swing the door open and duck my head to enter. There's not much room in here, the furniture takes up most of the floor space. 
 
 `` Please. No. Take someone else this time.'' she whispers. I reach towards her and she screams, locking her arms. 
 
 -- 13:00 -- There's not much time left to do this right. I hate when they're scared at the end. Guilt and shame may not keep me up at night, but the idea that someone's last minutes are filled with terror do n't sit easy with me. 
 
 I'm not a monster. 
 
 Her hands are gripped so tightly, they're turning white. She's not a big girl, or a strong girl, and she certainly has n't been eating enough of what I've been feeding her. She's not really set up for a long and drawn out fight. It only takes a moment or two to pry her fingers back and unlock her arms and expose what she's trying to hide from me. 
 
 The tiny blonde toddler sitting in her lap is playing shy, her face half turned into her mothers chest. She has her mother's hair, but those eyes are from my side of the family. She looks like pictures of my sister from the same age, and would probably grow up to look very similar to how I remember her. I reach my arms out to pick her up, and she's so starved for outside attention that she does n't hesitate at all. 
 
 -- 10:00 -- 
 `` C'mon love, let's go upstairs. Daddy's drawn you a nice warm bath.'' 

