[ WP ] Every ten years you 're allowed to have a conversation with your ten-year-younger self , but only the senior remembers the conversation . 20 year old you wakes up from talking to 30 year old you with one word carved on their arm ...

*RUN* 
 
 Three bloody letters, carved on the soft inside of his right forearm. 
 
 But why? 
 
 Gaz rubbed his temples in slow circular motions, his rough, gritty hands scraping against the tender flesh, still raw from his run-in with a couple of Kaddar ’ s bruisers. His mouth felt dry, chalky even, as if he had swallowed a mouthful of flour. 
 
 He felt the headache coming on in waves of throbbing pain radiating from the back of his head, forward towards his eyeballs, which in turn were having a difficult time focusing on his immediate surroundings. 
 Squinting, he once more pulled up his bloodied sleeve, wincing as the caked blood caught and sent a jolt of pain up his arm. 
 
 *RUN* 
 
 Gaz knew the feeling, he had woken up in a similar state of drowsiness exactly ten years ago to the day, on the morning of his tenth birthday. Except back then- what seemed like centuries ago- his Awakening had been greeted by a chilled glass of water and two translucent pills. 
 
 His mother had been sitting on the side of the bed, gently tilting his head forward to help him as he had tried to regain his bearings. She had kissed his clammy forehead, and then, with her sweet nurturing voice had said: 
 
 “ Congratulations sweetheart, I ’ m so very proud of you. Drink this, slowly, and don ’ t worry honey, it will pass soon, I promise ” 
 
 He remembered her flipping his pillow over, fluffing it by striking it twice firmly, and setting his head back into the cool, blissfully soft cushion, just as a deep regenerating sleep had begun to take over. 
 
 But that was then. 
 
 There would be no glass of chilled water to help soothe away the pain today. Not unless he scrounged some credits up, and made his way two buildings over to the Automated Provisioning Machine. Something which in this state, was purely unthinkable. 
 
 And certainly there would be no translucent pills. Sure, the A.P.M. probably had one or two kits in stock, but Gaz wouldn ’ t be able to afford one, not until next month anyways- and by then this headache will have possibly killed him. 
 
 He slowly swiveled his legs over the side of the bunk, and let his feet rest on the cool metal grate for a few moments. 
 
 The flickering neon light outside the window was buzzing its usual monotone hum, the yellow light filtering in through the chips and dents in the otherwise closed blinds. Well, at least he had thought to shut them last night. 
 
 “ You ’ d think that with ten years to prepare for my next Awakening, I would have planned this morning slightly better ” he thought to himself. But then, planning had never been Gaz ’ s forte- isn ’ t that why he was living in this shit hole to begin with? 
 
 He carefully tried to calculate how many steps it would take for him to reach the rusty tap in the corner of his rented pad. He figured if he could at least make it within arm ’ s reach before succumbing to the pain, he could always crawl the rest of the way. 
 
 Planting his feet firmly, well as firmly as he could manage, Gaz willed himself up, staggered a few haphazard steps forwards, and face planted just short of the tap. 
 
 He clearly had underestimated how incredibly off his motor skills were. 
 
 Hoisting himself up awkwardly using the pedestal of the sink for support, Gaz suddenly was overcome with a wave of stomach-churning nausea. He forced his face into the sink and vomited a putrid stream of foul smelling liquid, mostly bile if he had to guess. 
 
 As the waves of pain in his head increased in droves, they seemed to amplify with each pulse. 
 
 Darkness begin to creep in from the sides of his vision, he yanked the tap open and managed to swallow two large gulps of tepid water before the darkness overcame him and sent him crashing back to the ground. 
 
 Gaz woke up some time later to the sound of loud, muffled, yelling coming from somewhere in the building. He tried to move his arm into view again but yanked himself up with a start, as he was immediately aware of a feeling of wetness in his clothes. 
 
 The tap was open, spilling water out over the edge of the sink, and water had begun to pool on the floor. 
 
 “ Shit! ” 
 
 He slowly got up, groaning as he felt the remnants of the crippling headache lurking right behind his temples. 
 
 He carefully sloshed a few steps forward and reached over to shut off the tap when his bloodied arm came into view. 
 
 *RUN* 
 
 Whatever Future-Self had wanted to communicate, Gaz wished he would have done so on paper. Maybe with some additional details as to what he was meant to be running from and where to? Let alone when. 
 
 Timing is everything they say, right? 
 
 As he strained his memory to try and remember anything else from the night before, the yelling became much louder, most definitely emanating from somewhere on his floor. 
 
 He heard a loud series of bangs down the hallway followed by the instantly recognizable, deep digitized voice of a New TriCity Enforcer. 
 
 “ OPEN THE DOOR NOW CITIZEN! ” 
 
 What was going on out there? Gaz briefly considered opening the door to see what the commotion was about but very quickly decided that would probably be just the latest in a series of terrible decisions. 
 
 His mind unfocused again as he tried to make sense of the Message. 
 
 Everyone was taught early on that each Awakening was meant to bring a sense of illumination, purpose, direction. 
 
 Gaz felt nothing but confusion, distress, and anxiety. 
 
 No one would never know what their Future-Self ’ s exact Message was meant to be, as that was not passed to them. Rather, similar to a dream you ’ ve just woken up from where everything seems so clear just moments before, it all whisks away within moments, and very little- if anything- is retained. 
 
 It is said that certain people, the *Gifted*, are able to retain the quasi-entirety of their Message on Awakening. Except no one had seen a *Gifted* in the past few centuries. 
 
 Gaz wasn ’ t asking to be *Gifted*, he didn ’ t need to remember everything from his Future-Self ’ s Message, but maybe a few extra words or context wouldn ’ t have hurt either. 
 
 Three loud BANGs on his door in rapid succession jolted him out of his stream of consciousness. 
 
 Clearly the Enforcers hadn ’ t found whatever or whoever they were looking for. 
 
 “ OPEN THE DOOR CITIZEN! ” bellowed the ominous voice. 
 
 “ Ehrmm, sure just one second, I just need to get some pan- “ 
 
 “ OPEN IT IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO BREAK IT DOWN ” 
 
 As he pondered how rude it was of the Enforcer to interrupt him, Gaz ’ s eye caught sight of a half-open metal suitcase laying on the floor at the foot of his bunk. 
 
 “ CITIZEN THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING, OPEN THE DOOR OR FACE IMMEDIATE CONSEQUENCES ” 
 
 Gaz barely registered what the Enforcer was saying. 
 
 Time seemed to slow down to where he was suddenly acutely aware of his heart beat, breathing, and the perspiration gliding down the side of his face. 
 
 The suitcase was full to the brim of brand new, shiny credits. 
 
 He had never seen the suitcase in his life. Let alone that amount of credits. 
 
 “ PER MANDATE 6474-2 OF TRI-CITY ENFORCEMENT, ENTRY AUTHORIZED ” 
 
 At the edges of his peripheral, Gaz once again saw the cryptic message on his arm: 
 
 *RUN* 
 
 Synapses fired. 
 
 Suddenly it connected. 
 
 Gaz grasped the side of the railing of his bunk and vaulted over to where the suitcase lay, just as the door gave way with a sickening crunch. 
 
 Without giving it a second thought, he grabbed the suitcase and crashed through the blinds and glass window onto the fire escape. 
 
 “ STOP YOUR FLIGHT CITIZEN OR LETHAL FORCE WILL BE USED PER MANDATE 8373-2 OF TRI-CITY ENFORCEMENT ” 
 
 Thank the Mandates. 
 
 In the time it took for the Enforcer to rattle off the Mandate number, Gaz had managed to slide down the ladder to the dark street below, just as the first bullet ricocheted off the rung above his head. 
 
 Suitcase in hand, sirens wailing, the caustic smell of the nearby sewer exacerbating the already suffocating thickness of the city air, he glanced once more down at his arm as he took a leaping step down the side alleyway. 
 
 *RUN* 
 
 He ’ d have to figure out why he had forsaken his arm over using paper at a later time, but in his head Gaz gave his Future-Self a well-deserved high-five. 
 
 Gaz may not be *Gifted* but quite suddenly he sure felt a surge of enlightenment. 
 
 Now he just needed to figure out how to get out of the City alive... 

