[ WP ] You are an immortal who stopped aging at 25 and have been alive for over 1000 years . On the day you turned 25 you received a prophecy that you would kill another immortal or they would kill you . You find the other immortal , who has only lived for 50 years in the year 2017 .

^^^ ( ^^^Had ^^^to ^^^post ^^^and ^^^get ^^^to ^^^bed ^^^so ^^^I ^^^was n't ^^^able ^^^to ^^^proof ^^^read. ^^^Sorry ^^^of ^^^the ^^^mistakes ^^^that ^^^I'm ^^^sure ^^^are ^^^present ) 
 
 In all my life, and their has been much of that you can be sure, their is one moment which I still enjoy the most. It is that most intimate moment you share with a complete stranger when the bustling crowd forces you to shuffle past one another to closely and your bodies shift to slide by, and the instinctive force to avert your eyes is overruled by something more primal and then, their on the street, surrounded by thousands of people, a stranger is staring into your soul and evaluating the kind of relationship the two of you may of had if only you knew each other. It is then when I feel most I am being viewed as a human being. They think things like: 
 
 *He looks vulnerable. I wish I could hold him. * 
 
 and, 
 
 *He reminds me of someone famous but I ca n't place who. * 
 
 or, 
 
 *The son I never had. * 
 
 The thoughts are unbridled from the conscious mind and once they've been processed the gaze flickers and the moment is past. We slip aside, occasionally I lift their wallet ( old habit ), and move on with our lives. Please do n't think me narcissistic. I do n't assume their thoughts or reveal in the idea that some folks find me attractive, and I sure as hell do n't think myself some roguish heart-throb. I do, however, hear their thoughts. I hear them as well as you read these very words I've put down, but only when our gazes meet. And each I think what I always do. *I can hear what you're thinking. * 
 
 I've long since battered down the instinctive thoughts of sanguine relationship fantasies with strangers. Despite that I fall in love every time. A piece of me goes with every soul I stare into and I let it break away. It's a price worth paying to feel a touch of humanity once in a while, though admittedly it's getting harder. A part of me want's to reach out and grab them by the shoulders and shout in their face, `` Live! Live you motherfucker like you've never lived before,'' and then shove a wad of cash in their face. I'd pay for their kids college, cover their mortgage, and buy them a plane ticket anywhere in the world. I'd watch them have the life they think they want and hopefully they would enjoy it. I'd cry at their funeral and, briefly, feel human again. 
 
 Life's a bitch and then you die. Well, that was the promise anyways. 
 
 Human minds have dreamed up all sorts of immortal beings. Be it vampire, phoenix, god or fish pirates humans have been obsessed with immortality for as long as recorded history ( longer, in fact, if you must know ). Truthfully I ca n't tell you much about my own immortality. It's not nearly so fantastical as aforementioned human inventions, although some of them have grasped some bit of reality in their telling. Most include some kind of caveat to the immortal status and I'm no different. 
 
 I am by all accounts immortal. Not just ageless but unkillable. I wo n't go into details about becoming what I am but it was made very clear at the time that the only way I could die, was when to be killed by the other immortal. However, that has n't been an issue. My best guess is they fell in a volcano somewhere because I've never heard of or seen them. And believe me. I've looked. 
 
 The city street is filled with it's regular hustle and bustle of intertwining paths and lives. Each person eager to get to their destination. I wish I could know all of them. I'm shuffling through the crowd, intentionally placing myself in the way occasionally and feeling those shards of humanity briefly creek together. A middle age women with crows feet and sunspots on her cheeks. 
 
 *Lovely eyes. * 
 
 A young boy in a green hoodie being pulled along by his mother. 
 
 *Looks like an older Josh. * 
 
 A twenty something girl in thin framed glasses. 
 
 *I can hear what you're thinking. * 
 
 The gaze does not break and we've suddenly become bollards in the crowd. I heard it plain as day. As easily as you can read this text. I felt no humanity shift with in me because the eyes I was looking into were not that of a human. 
 
 *Come with me. * 
 
 ____ 
 
 
 The brilliant thing about a city is how quickly you can go from an energetic throng to a private, dank and disgusting alleyway. I've kept my gaze from hers since we stepped off the street for several reasons. My thoughts were far from anything coherent or conversational. My mind was abuzz with questions. Who was she? How old? Did she talk to the tree too? Does she know the prophecy? I also was n't sure how well I could hide the fact that my fingers were locked around the handle of a snubnose in my right pocket. 
 
 My march stops abruptly when my left arm is pulled back, though pulled is n't quite fair. I've a deathgrip on her wrist and she's stopped walking beside me. My eye's flick to hers. 
 
 *Who ar-* 
 
 *Do you kno-* 
 
 I broke eye contact, the two of us standing apart except our arm clasped together like a couple extending a dance step in the waltz. I'd almost thought, *Do you know the prophecy? * 
 
 `` Who are you?'' She asked out loud. 
 
 `` Sem. You?'' I let my gaze trail down the alley. 
 
 `` Rita,'' Her voice had a slight accent. Something Eastern European. German maybe, `` How old are you.'' 
 
 `` Old.'' 
 
 `` But how old?'' 
 
 `` I do n't know,'' and that was the truth. Their were n't calendars around for centuries. No frame of reference to go by, `` I've killed mammoths.'' 
 
 The pull was to great, despite my thoughts, her thoughts, our eyes lock again. 
 
 *-e's going to k-* 
 
 *-an be rid of th-* 
 
 `` No,'' her head jerked away and she shouted. The cry echoed off the brick and mortar alleyway and fell on deaf ears. My right hand lifted the gun from my pocket and despite her desperate struggle I pulled her closer to me. 
 
 `` Rita. Look at me,'' but she only struggled more and I raised my voice, `` Please look at me. You know the prophecy!'' 
 
 I gave her a shake. She turned to face me, her face was pulled tight with fear and anger, wet with tears her eyes found mine. Terror. Pure instinctual terror brought on by a knowingly futile struggle. On one hand the unknown horizon beyond the cold embrace of death. An abrupt end of the only thing we ever know. The self. On the other hand, the indescribable, unavoidable loneliness of immortality. To exist alone and forever. To witness the end of everything else over an unfathomable period of time. 
 
 *Choose. * I thought to her and unlatched the safety of the gun. 
 
 *Do n't think me a coward. * 
 
 *Never. * 
 
 She chose. 
 

