[ WP ] You are legally allowed to commit murder once , but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions

I got the notice on Christmas. It was just two weeks since I gave birth to my two beautiful baby girls, in the dark of a winter night, my wife by my side and a storm at the windows. 
 
 I could n't shake the feeling that this was a hoax, that maybe the letter had gotten put in the wrong mail box and I'd be allowed to live my life on like I had always wanted to. 
 
 The front door opens, and my wife, Matilda, walks in a hurry, shaking the snow off her shoulders and hair. 
 
 `` Hi honey, how were the girls?'' She said between cold gasps. 
 
 I stare blankly at the small, and still so terrifying, envelope on the coffee table. I had n't bothered opening it. It was addressed to me, from the Homicide registry in the post office across town. That's all I needed to know. 
 
 `` I got a death note.'' I say emptily, but trying to sound nonchalant about it, thinking maybe it would take away the sting if I treated it as just another bill or maybe even a brochure for day cares in my area. 
 
 She smiled meekly while she tried to process what I just said, waiting for a punch line or hint of humor. 
 
 I get up from the sofa and hand her the notice, shaky and a bit cold all of the sudden. She squints her eyes at neatly written address, and the sender. Her eyes were always awful, she had been wearing glasses since she was six. I was going to miss the way her forehead creased when she had a hard time making out the words. 
 
 `` But—no, babe there has to be a mistake,'' she sputtered, `` Who would want to—?'' She was having a hard time finding the words, so I figured now was as a good a time as ever to crack open the vodka that had been sitting in the freezer for a week. 
 
 I walked into the kitchen slowly, embracing each step now that I knew these could very well be my last ones. The kitchen was small but warm, with soft-wood floors and flowery wallpaper. We'd picked that ourselves. I hated the color, but it was the color of the flowers from our wedding day, which I also hated. 
 
 I was in the middle of pouring us a couple of glasses when I heard her sniffling in the other room. Quietly mourning for my life, and I did n't have the heart to comfort her. Not just yet anyway, I was n't dead yet. 
 
 A couple of minutes go by, and I finally gather the nerve to go back in. We drink our drinks, and sit silently for nearly an hour in the light of Christmas tree. 
 
 We spent hours reminiscing about our lives: When we met in a bar downtown in New York; Our first date at small Italian restaurant with lights that were too bright; When we spent the Fourth of July with her family in Utah, and how I'd proposed to her that night; And the decision to have our own children, and the long, process of finding the right donor for me. So many memories, such beautiful, happy times we had spent together. 
 
 She fell asleep on my shoulder, tears wet on my sweatshirt from her, oddly enough my eyes were dry as bone. I felt a small twinge of acceptance in the back of my mind when I first got the letter, but had n't realized how emotionally unaffected I was feeling. Was I sad to die? Was I scared? I has to admit I had a nerve wrecked and petulant at the thought of it at first, but never actually felt terrified. 
 
 I laid her down gently, with a throw pillow under head and walked down the hall to the nursery, wanting a glimpse of my girls, not knowing when would be the last time I would get to hold them. 
 
 They slept peacefully, having just been fed. I was not breast feeding, as I was a working woman, and liked my booze too much to give it up longer than I already had. 
 
 Such amazing little girls, pale faced and golden haired where there was n't baldness. I squeeze there cheeks lightly, and listened to their soft breathing, so rapid and warm. I felt the first signs of tears in my eyes, cold and wet on my eyelids. 
 
 I had fought for this gift I was given, my existence. Life had dealt me many hard hands, and I was repaid with a patient, passionate and endlessly charitable wife, and these little miracles. 
 
 I walked outside into the cold, winter air to cry silently to myself. I finally began my mourning process, realizing the weight of my situation. I had built such a great life here, and had so many wonderful years ahead of me, with school plays, and proms, and graduations, wedding and grandchildren. And now, someone found fit to come in and take it away. 
 
 Yes, my days on this earth were beautiful. And now, they were numbered. 
 
 
 ( Sorry if this was boring if anyone read this, just wanted to contribute something since I have n't written in so long. )
