[ WP ] Science has advanced to where we can predict the day and the month of our deaths , but not the year . Today is your potential death day .

The alarm on my phone blares at 6 A.M. like it does every week day. I begrudgingly roll out of bed stumble across my cold room. I can ’ t sleep unless it ’ s cold, but every morning I wake up freezing. I head into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water is refreshing as it pounds my back and chest, it helps me to wake up. I need all the help I can get. I ’ m listening to music on my phone while I shower, a sample oftoday ’ s hit songs. While not my favorite, they mostly are at least up-beat and help me get my day started. The music briefly stops as the reminder tone, which is much louder than the music, reverberates thru the small tile bathroom. Chills go down my spine. I turn off the shower and just stand motionless. I am naked, and now cold that the water has stopped running. But I ’ m not thinking about any of that. I can ’ t think of anything else now. In an instant my every day, groggy morning is transformed into the most stressful day of the year. My phone just reminded me that today is my deathday. God damn it. Why did I have to download that stupid application? You would think not remembering what your deathday is would be a blessing. No matter, now I know. 
 
 It ’ s been seven years since the leak. In 2018, Zachary Bristoff, a former high ranking government employee turned whistleblower, released the last government document that anyone really cared about. Dubbed “ The Death Diaries ” by the general public, the leak documents detail how scientists discovered a sort of “ life clock ” hidden in our genetic information. Almost everyone thought it was a hoax. Some thought it was an outright lie for the government to leverage some sort of power over the people. We had to know. The streets in the capitol flooded, citizens demanded to know the secret formula for the “ life clock ”. If it was true, it was too important to ignore. After several weeks of rioting, and almost three-hundred civilian deaths, the government caved. A full-out revolt was narrowly avoided. They made an official release, due to popular demand, that they would open government run facilities to figure out your own “ deathday ”. There were more than a few skeptics at first, but in the weeks following the influx of initial testing, an appalling truth started to emerge. It was inevitable, and so far has a 100 % accuracy rate. Everyone knows what day they will die. My death day is August 13th. We don ’ t know the year, or so the government says. Of course there is a large movement insisting the government secretly knows which year we die, and is refusing to tell us for moral reasons. Who knows? I don ’ t care, I wouldn ’ t want to know anyway, and I ’ m already burdened enough knowing what I do about my own demise. A lobbyist for the major life insurance companies managed to make it mandatory, and punishable by jail time, to get tested for you deathday. Fuck that guy. Almost no one wants to know this. 
 
 I step out of the shower and start to dry myself off. My mind is preoccupied. Will today be the day? I slip back into my pajamas, I won ’ t be going out today. I pick up my phone and see the notification. “ You know what day it is ”, the alert reads. I clear it out and delete the application, hoping to avoid the same situation next year, if there is a next year. I call the restaurant I cook at. “ Hi, it ’ s Brent. I can ’ t come in today…it ’ s my deathday…. ok bye. ” John wasn ’ t happy, but only because he is going to be short-staffed today. What a jack-ass, have some sympathy. He is one of the people out there that think they are immune to the deathday. He thinks that it ’ s just a case of mass hysteria mixed with a dose of the placebo effect. No matter, I don ’ t care what he thinks. For legal reasons employers are not allowed to have their employees work on their deathdays for a fear that they will die on the job. I crawl back underneath my thick blankets to get warm again.I can ’ t seem to fall back asleep. I ’ m awake so I suppose I better go live possibly the last day of my life. 
 
 It ’ s common practice to not go outside on your deathday. Better to stay safe at home, as if it might actually keep you alive one more year. I go to the kitchen to eat my standard breakfast, cereal. Although I think nothing I do will keep me from dying when I am supposed to, I subconsciously take small bites. I walk slowly around the house for the rest of the morning, listening intently for anything strange. I ’ m nervous and stressed, just like every year. I spend a couple hours playing on my computer. Not really enjoying it. I ’ m startled as my phone goes off at 9AM. Right on cue, mom. This year she is already distraught. She gets mad that it took me more than 2 rings to pick up but I don ’ t blame her for being so obsessive. Just like every year I promise her I ’ ll be more careful than I was the previous year. This year she makes me promise I won ’ t “ do anything stupid ”. Suicide rates skyrocket on the victims deathday. It ’ s just too much for some people. We small chat some, I agree to help her go car shopping tomorrow so she can finally replace her old junker of a car. An old, vomit green Toyota. God that thing is hideous. The small talk dwindles off, we both know there isn ’ t much worth talking about today. As I hang up I promise to text her every hour. What now? I decide that gaming is about the safest thing I can do today. I put my phone on silent, it ’ s startled me on more than one occasion today. 
 
 As I sit down in my beaten up chair, my back aches. The cushioning is almost completely gone. I ’ ll go get a new chair tomorrow. I pull up the browser, but it remains a blank canvas. Damnit, the internet is out again. That ’ s the third time this month, and it ’ s getting worse. Of all days for the internet to die. This is the first time in 7 years that I have had no internet on my deathday, I am at a loss for what to do now. Should I go out? What if I get mugged? What if I slip and fall? What if? what if? …... “ STOP! ” I yell out loud. I ’ m mad at myself, I ’ m stronger than this. Stop giving into the hysteria. Stop giving into the fear. What I do doesn ’ t effect when I die anyway, right? “ I ’ m done hiding! ” I tell myself. 
 
 I get dressed into some shorts and a thin tee-shirt. Texas in August, it is already over 90F halfway thru the morning after all. In a rush of courage I swing open the door and descend the steps of my porch. I decide that I ’ m going to walk to the store to get some groceries.Today feels great. The air is warm, but refreshing. I fill my lungs with the morning air and breathe. I really breathe, for the first time. It ’ s ok to go out on your deathday! I feel free from the fear, why have I been stressing so much for this? When it happens, it happens, right? I am invigorated, and happy. Today is going to be a good day. As I check my phone for any new notifications, I see the time. Shit, its 10:30, I have 12 missed calls from guess who. A call proves useless, she doesn ’ t answer. I begin to type out a short text to let her know I am O.K. as I walk down the same path I always do to the local shop. I hear something. Someone yelling, “ WATCH OUT! ” The tire screeches are incredibly loud. My body slams to the ground faster than my brain can process, and immense pain shoots thru my left side. The bright, warm sun is blotted out for a split second as the car passes over me. My head twists and contorts as the rear tire crushes my neck. The car finally comes to a stop a little bit down the road. A pool of blood is already blotting the vision of one of my eyes as my head bleeds profusely. The pain is gone. I only feel cold now. What remains of my vision begins to fade. The last thing I see is the bumper of an ugly, vomit green Toyota. 
 

