[ WP ] All people born have a number engraved on their skin , and for the past few centuries , the number has been gradually going down . You are number one

People did n't like talking to me, or interacting with me, really. I was n't rude, I washed and combed, and I was just another guy. The number on my forearm just tended to remind them of their own mortality, and people did n't seem to care for that. 
 
 I say people, but I mean most people. My parents loved me, raised me well, and helped me defend myself from those who sought after me for various odd reasons. When the clock runs out, people tend to get desperate. They worked very hard to make sure we were safe, though I still had a couple of close calls. One man got into my middle school somehow and tried to shoot me. He was caught, of course, but I can still see his look of absolute fright and disgust clear as day in my head. 
 
 But, you know, I made it through. I do n't do anything too exciting. Promotions are n't a thing I count on - the 1 made people think, or want to think, that we all would n't be around long enough to count on it. There were still a few optimists out there, but for the most part humanity kind of skidded to a stop. 
 
 I did n't have much luck finding a girlfriend, much less a wife, but I do have a daughter. Lack of time meant lack of inhibitions and for the right amount some would bed a 1. Miss Alandra ( 237 ) came back nine months later and dropped off a baby girl at my door. No note, no real sign of Miss 237, just a knock and a kid. I do n't resent her for it. How could I? 
 
 I do n't even know if she's mine. She's still at that stage of babyhood where they all look like a cross between Ghandi and a potato. But I do know one thing. 
 
 She does n't have an number.
