[ WP ] A small portion of the population is born knowing when they will die . A handful of them meet weekly at their support group and discuss their impending mortality .

`` We're very sorry to hear this is your last meeting, Todd.'' 
 
 A silence fell over the gymnasium. After a moment, a distant vacuum roared, cleaning what was likely the library on the second floor. 
 
 Todd was middle-aged, which was in itself a farce for him. Middle for what, he might say. In the eyes of the rest of the world, Todd was just that: in the middle. No accomplishments of note; his law school education had landed him in debt, then in loan shark debt, then in jail for first-degree assault, grand theft and, well, public indecency. He'd been released on good behavior twenty months later with 14 years, 200 days, 13 hours and 57 seconds left to live his life. He would die exactly one week before his 42nd birthday. His end would come this Tuesday. 
 
 For Todd, middle-aged would more accurately be 21. 
 
 Todd had a handsome head of hair, but was otherwise physically undesirable. He could n't jog a quarter-mile without sweating and wheezing, he was allergic to dairy, gluten, and celery, of all things, and he had an inexorable fear of loneliness. 
 
 Something got caught in the vacuum. Still, no one spoke. The vacuum restarted and the sound drifted away like an unwelcome visitor. 
 
 `` Todd?'' 
 
 Todd's head snapped up, as if coming out of a trance. 
 
 `` How much time remains, Todd?'' 
 
 `` Three days,'' he said, glancing at his watch while his mind completed the calculation, `` six hours, four minutes, and nineteen seconds. It'll be the middle of the night.'' 
 
 The group leader, an excitable, optimistic graduate student, steepled his hands. `` But it *will* be on the Fourth of July!'' His saccharine voice forced an ugly, staccato laugh from the dozen participants. `` Tell me, Todd, what can you do in the next week - `` 
 
 `` Three days.'' 
 
 `` -- three days, to live your life to the fullest?'' 
 
 Todd hated that cliche. Life to the fullest? What does that even mean? Does it mean he eats whatever he wants, a prisoner on death row being given a final human decency? Should he rob a bank, kill a long-time rival, run for political office? Or would it mean sleeping with the light off in his studio apartment for the first time since she left? 
 
 Her. 
 
 She'd always called him a coward, a hypochondriac, a worrier. She'd suggested they go to the beach in Montauk for the Fourth one year, but he said he did n't want to waste the time. She'd been gone for seven years. Well, seven years this Tuesday. 
 
 `` I've wasted my chance,'' Todd managed, his tone already as sad and dreary as a high school gymnasium, even without a dozen hopelessly depressed individuals under its roof. 
 
 The group leader's retort was almost textbook. `` Todd, you have one life to live and you should do what makes you happy!'' Bit hedonistic, Todd thought. 
 
 Instead, he sighed. `` I'll die alone.'' 
 
 `` We're here for you!'' the leader offered. The group did not seem to support this statement, what with the averted glances and nearly audible moans. 
 
 `` I do n't care.'' 
 
 This seemed to make the congregation angry. The nerve of this guy! They all had a date with destiny and, well, they actually *knew* the date! 
 
 Todd stopped. His eyes widened. The plastic chair sighed with relief as he stood. `` I do n't.'' Instead of sadness and despair, fire filled his eyes. `` I do n't!'' 
 
 `` Todd?'' the group leader squeaked, mentally searching his mental handbook to see how to respond when a patient stands proudly and beams with self-esteem. 
 
 `` I do n't need you, Brett.'' Todd gestured to the group leader with a meaty fist. `` None of us need this! Brenda, you've got six months, but you're healthy and smart! I've heard you talking to Cal about that depressing Bronte you're always reading. And you, uhh...'' he glared at a scrawny, bespectacled teenager. 
 
 `` Joe?'' he responded. 
 
 `` Joe, right, Joe! Your parents have taken you all over the world! You've seen places I could n't even *fly* to in my three days! Think of the wonderful things you've seen! They'll still be beautiful even without you there, and that's worth celebrating! These things have value and permanence!'' 
 
 Brett gingerly attempted a conversation power grab. `` Todd, this is n't part of - `` 
 
 `` You know what, Brett?'' Todd stomped over to Brett, invigorated. Brett twitched. `` I think you have n't helped anyone with your books and your lessons, and I think Carl Jung should eat shit!'' Todd laughed, then he laughed again, realizing he'd never laughed liked that before. 
 
 `` Todd, I do n't want to do this, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave! We can have a special meeting for you on Monday, the day before, but you're not helping the group like this!'' 
 
 Todd's genie seemed to rush back into its bottle. `` Fine. But you see that?'' 
 
 He pointed to a woman in the circle that was easily thirty years Todd's senior. She was smiling, her beautiful blue eyes shimmering with tears beneath her disheveled white hair. 
 
 `` What is it you want to do?'' Todd asked, the fire slowly kindling in his voice. 
 
 She stood, matching his energy, her small, coiled body stretching tall. `` I want to paint again!'' 
 
 `` Of course you do! We all want to do things. We just have the convenience of knowing the time that we'll die. We have a window, not a door. This is not a condition of mortality, this is a condition of freedom, of choice, and of potential. People do n't understand us, but they do n't have to.'' 
 
 Brett had closed his mental handbook and sat forward in his little plastic seat. 
 
 `` Thank you for your kindness and your willingness to persevere. Meet again if you want, but do n't fall victim to your sentence. You know the period at the end of that sentence, but the words are up to you.''
