[ WP ] You are 18 years old , and you 're writing your autobiography for your entire life . Write only page 147 .

I saw the page in my mind, page 147. I was shaking, we are n't supposed to know things like this, no matter how vague it was. There were only a handful of words on the page: 
 
 *as everything faded to black. * 
 
 But was it the end, only 147 pages? Or was it the end of a chapter? Did I faint, was I knocked out, surgery maybe? Oh God this is worse than knowing the future, why could n't it have been any other page? 
 
 I'm only eighteen, where would I be now in the finished book? How many pages do I have left? I hung my head, tried not to think about it, but I had to write that down. I could n't let my memory twist that into something it is n't. Because it really was n't anything at all. 
 
 I knelt and, as an agnostic, half-heartedly prayed to keep the rest of it as far away from me as possible. 
 
 ( took a bit of liberty here, hope you do n't mind, and thanks for the prompt )
