Weekly Writing Prompt #1 5/21/14

[Whitehawk]

Alright, welcome to the very first Weekly Writing Prompt! If you don't know what this is, please go and read my "PSA" about this.

So for the first writing prompt, I've decided that I will be using a personal favorite of mine that I read on Reddit a week or so ago. I have gotten a Prompt Idea already, and don't fret, if I don't use your idea the day after you suggest it, that doesn't mean I never will!

So, without any more of my pointless chatter, let's get on with it!

This weeks prompt is:

At birth, everyone has the date they will die tattooed on their arm. You were supposed to die yesterday.

[Deleted]

[ Warning for death. Sorta obvious, but hey, it's worth mentioning. ]




Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The gentle noise of the wall clock is the first thing I hear when I return to consciousness. I blink open my eyes sleepily. All around me are the standard whitewashed walls; the entire room is painstakingly sterile. I want to get up, but I know that I probably can't. To start with, this is a hospital, and the doctors would throw a fit if they saw me up and about. I'm probably meant to be resting. In addition to that, I'm not quite sure if my body will obey the command.

I can't remember arriving here, but I'm glad that I'm being cared for. It's day outside, which means that some time has passed. I can vaguely recall leaving my house in the middle of the night and going to the river. After that, the entire event is a blur in my memory. I had walked out onto the bridge, the metal clanking beneath my feet as I made my way to the center. My eyes had stung, vision becoming teary as I had stepped over the cold railing and balanced myself precariously on the side of the bridge. I hadn't made an effort to stop myself as I had slowly tipped forward. The river had rushed toward me much faster than I'd expected, and regret had flashed through my mind. But there had been no way to save myself as I hit the water and blacked out.

I'm amazed that someone had found me and brought me here in time. But instead of being angry that I failed, I'm thankful. Was everything really worth it? The bankruptcy, the divorce, the constant stress - did I really want to end my life over that?

The tattoo on my arm is indecipherable due to the scars, but I'd been unable to erase the date from my memory. Without getting up to read the calendar on the table, I know that I'm supposed to be dead. Even though the window shades are closed, light is streaming around them. I should have died yesterday, when I jumped off that bridge. So why am I still alive?

I can no longer stay still, so I sit up in the hospital bed. Perhaps, by some sort of miracle, the tattoo is wrong. Maybe I'm meant to survive instead.

The machine next to my bed is beeping quietly. As I watch it, I can tell that I'm not in great shape, but I'm still breathing. I allow myself to feel a tiny twinge of optimism for once. I can hardly believe that I wanted to prevent myself from enjoying the beauty of being alive. There's still so much to experience. The tattoo must have been inaccurate; it's the only explanation.

A car horn is honked loudly outside, which startles me. Yeah, this is a hospital, so there's bound to be a lot of activity, but that doesn't mean that people need to be so loud outside my room.

Suddenly, the light coming in from the window is starting to fade. My eyes widen as I try to figure out what's going on. Is there an eclipse? Why is it so dark?

Horror seizes my mind as I hear it and start to realize what just happened. The gravel on the road is crunching as a car revs its engine and drives away. Headlights. Someone was just parked outside my window, and they left their headlights on. It's not day, it's night.

Seconds later, a loud and steady beep starts to emanate from the machine next to my bed. I've heard it enough in movies to know what it means. But how can that be? I'm still awake and alive, sitting up in my bed.

I try to reach out and hit the top of the machine in order to get it to stop making that horrible sound. My hand passes through the metal as if it's a hologram.

Abruptly, I stand up, not caring whether the tubes and wires are ripped off my body in the process. I feel strange and weightless. As I slowly turn around, I already know what I'll see.

My bruised and battered body is lying motionless on the bed. I look down and realize that I'm ghostly and transparent. The tattoo was never wrong; the clock on the wall says it's midnight. I run to it and try to force the hands to move backwards, though I know that it's useless. My arms can't touch the clock anyway; nothing I do will affect my surroundings. I cry and scream, but no human can hear me.


I died yesterday.

[Applefall]

Every person at birth, starting in the year 2045, was born with a tattoo on their arm with the date of their death. Scientists have not come up with a solution as to why this was suddenly happening. But, it was true.

I looked at my right arm, where mine had been hidden by a sleeve that I had shoved up to my shoulder. September 19, 2102. That was today, was it not?

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion clouding my narrowed gaze. I pointed my left index finger, pushing it against the skin that covered my arm. I began to move it back and forth, lifting it to lick my finger every so often. But, what use was that? I had tried many times before to get rid of the tattoo, but it was permanently inflicted on my skin.

Why was I not dead yet?

I was sitting in my cubical at the office I worked at. My eyes were drawn to the ticking clock. The time read 8:25, the time I always arrived at the office. My stomach suddenly knotted up with fear. How was I alive when I suppose to be dead? Was there a certain time I was suppose to die? Every time I heard of one of my friends or loved ones dying, it seemed to be only at midnight.

Did it not work on me? Was I not human?

I pinched my pale skin, earning a red mark and a wince from myself. I lifted both of my hands and rubbed my face. The dark circles from the previous night stood out more clearly on my face as it grew whiter. I gave a shuddering sigh as I began my work, ignoring the nervous pangs hitting my in my heart.

My hand grew shakier as I tried to write down the calculation of the money the company spent over the past year. The numbers became so squished and slanted that they looked like random lines and squiggles over the page. I threw the pen on the desk before everything suddenly became dark. I could not see, and I had the sensation that I was falling to the ground.

* * *

When I awoke, I was laying in the bed in a white room, the floor shiny with fresh wax, and a metallic smell of metal instruments hung in the air. I gave a sigh, trying to touch my head. When I tried to, I felt a crack where my skull was split apart in two. My eyes opened wide, and I screamed for help.

No one came ...

    I was alone ...

Finally, I relaxed, and my ears heard a long, monotone beep. I turned my head before falling into a black oblivion, the last of my breath escaping me.

* * *

No one knew what happened to me that day. Some people said I was attacked by person at the office. Some say the I had fallen back on something that had split my head. Either way, I would have died.

And, I solved the mystery to why I did not die at midnight.

I was born in a timezone not like California's time zone. It just struck midnight there. I lost my life at 9 A.M. as the time in that distant place changed to 12 A.M. on September 19, 2102.

[Darkpaw]

Trigger Warning: Death & Suicide

I sat alone within my own basement, no lights daring to penetrate. It was 2:43 AM and I was supposed to die yesterday. Everything had been perfect, I was ready to die. I had lived a full life and I had no regrets, no moments I wish I could change. I was ready.
It's 2:59 and I was supposed to die yesterday.
I glanced at my arm, the prominent tattoo on my left forearm standing out, taunting me and forewarning of something. I didn't know why or when, but I was going to die. And for some reasons, it scared me. All of my life I had been prepared for this and only now did fear rear is ugly head and spit in my face. I shook and quivered, closing my eyes as I sat there in my basement. I wasn't ready.
It's 3:11 and I was supposed to die yesterday.
There were only a few things to keep me company down here, a few tools that hung on the wall, wooden beams leaning up against the stone wall, and my father's gun collection, polished and cleaned, ready to be used once again by my long passed father. And the clock. The clock hung above the door, the short staccato clicks the only thing keeping me from running out of the room. I was not ready to die. I could cheat death, right? All hose movies where they narrowly escape their own demise, but they never had the time inked onto their skin. They had not conscious knowledge of when their time was.
It's 3:26 and I was supposed to die yesterday.
Paranoid nipped at the back of my mind, my skin crawled and I could feel the eyes of death watching me. I cried silently, glancing around with feral eyes. The time was never wrong, yet here I was faced with proof and I was bawling like a child. I screamed at nothing, my sanity slipping from my grasp. I gripped my head, racked with a headache that I had caused. I couldn't take this. I wasn't supposed to be alive.
It's 3:57 and I was supposed to die yesterday.
I stood there in the middle of the room, my head hanging and my hands dangling beside me. It was deafeningly silent, my mind played tricks, imagining shadows that swayed and danced, whispers that talked of my betrayal to death, my cheating 'the game'. I glanced at the clock above the door, my hands clenching tightly. I can't stand it anymore, this waiting game of cat and mouse, except the cat isn't even real. A sob escapes my lips and I chide myself silently for the noise. I step forward until my hips are pressed against the table where the gun collection is stored. I could do it, finish it off, redeem myself.
It's 4:04 and I was supposed to die yesterday.
A small pistol rests in my palms, shifting it from one hand to another. I have no regrets. I was supposed to be dead. Nobody knew I still lived. And they didn't have to. I positioned the gun in my hand, raising it to my temple. I spike of fear runs through me and I hesitate. No. I had to do this. I had a good run after all, no regrets. I held my breathe, pulling the trigger.

It's 4:10 and I was supposed to die yesterday.

[Lakesplash]

I watched from my bed at the cot it was soundless.  I'm sure daisy was still in there maybe just holding her breath. I looked over the side of the cot she lay under the sheet motionless, I picked up my little sister and held her in my arms for a while, she didn't move, I put her down  on my bed and took of some of the blanket to show her arm 21/3/2056 that was today 'no' I thought 'this can't be happening' I undid the rest of the blanket and pulled her cold body out "daisy no not you" I cried "your still alive be alive again" tears burst out if my eyes my father had died my big brother and my uncle how cruel did life get my mum ran into the room and screamed "daisy my dear daisy no!" she too now had tears rolling down her checks she grabbed my arm and gripped it while she tried to read the tatto on it My arm yelled in pain but I kept it in. "you were supposed to die yesterday" she cried.
I lay in my bed terrified.
A pain hit my chest I gasped and lowered my head the air my throat my life gone.
My last hope of life vanished.
I was dead.

[Crowwing]

I have such a hard time writing about death. D;

Fireclan's senior.

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The voice inside my head kept speaking. "Die. Die. It was yesterday."

I was in my bedroom, hiding myself from the rest of the world down below in the living room. I found it so ironic. I was to die in my bedroom, while everyone else that I loved was in the darn living room. Catch the irony?

Taking a few deep breaths, I felt as my chest heaved, and in all honesty I was freaking out. There was ink on my arm, noting 23-05-14. That day was yesterday, but I was still here. Was someone trying to play a prank on me or something? I was not even eighteen yet!

This whole idea of death is no longer by chance. See, when you are born, the doctors tattoo you, knowing the day that you are to depart from the rest of the world, but it was not happening for me. What was going on?

There was a moment when I thought I was gasping for air, but that was just because I was eating a cheeto without really chewing. The idiot that I was. It was the tradition to leave the corpse in the bedroom for the first week of death while everyone else partied. It was like a vigil of festivities.

"You guys are so messed up." I got down to my knees and prayed, looking at the rising sun. Eight hours passed my due date. "Please, please tell me that nothing's wrong with me. Please tell me that everything will be alright."

The bangle on my arm was getting awfully heavy unlike before, and I just had to take it off. It was made of gold, and chained tightly to my arm. It took me a while to break the accessory off, and I expected to feel delighted that it came off.

Instead, I froze, shaking. A tear rolled down my face and I could not stop my screams.

The words that were under where the bangle originally were said: "if you are reading this, you are dead."

And I was. Everyone was still cheering on about my death.

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Words: three hundred fifty three

Temp by Melz @Caution 2.0, cyberlink, @adoxography and RPGD

[Deleted]

NOTES?!?! If there are errors I'm sorry. I've been writing this as I get off work which is around like, 4am xD And right after I usually crash into bed. Also, there are a few links in here, as visual aids.  WARNINGS?!?! Death, Creatures, Twisted, Horror WORDS?!?! 2,604 (Yikes! I got carried away...) Let the madness begin... I should have died yesterday. I should have been buried beneath the cold unforgiving ground hours ago. I should have stopped breathing and simply lost myself. And yet, here I was. Looking at the calender I read the date. April 8th. I should have died on the 7th. It was all so maddening, and I knew should the Mortem discover I was still alive, they would surely kill me. As was the way of things. The question was did I want to try to live, or just turn myself over and die? The Mortem weren't exactly known for their kindness when dealing with the “Undead” For those wondering, the Mortem are a race of creatures. Powerful beings with slim bodies painted white, and faces as grim as a skeleton. In fact they practically were skeletons. The Mortem were immortal, and took it upon themselves to basically enslave the human race hundreds of years ago after they sort of emerged into existence. They were the ones who saw into our futures, and in doing so branded our day of death into our skin, much like a tattoo. The trick though, was only you could see it. Only you know when you're to die. You can't even tell another person, or it will trigger whatever little brand the Mortem sets into you, and you end up dying right then and there. Such a wonderful world to live it, isn't it? Glancing at my arm where my tattoo was I checked the date. Sure enough, the numbers looked perfect against my fair skin, 4/7/2231. Why wasn't I dead? It wasn't the first time the Mortem had been wrong. There had been many others. Notice how I said “had”. The Mortem don't take to kindly to being wrong about things. The screams that can be heard from the Undead when the Mortem find them...my stomach churns at the thought. Of course usually no one is discovered unless there's a Reading. It's when the Mortem go around various neighborhoods and check your arm for your death date. So much fun. “Which is why no one is going to find out.” I muttered under my breath. I was going to go about my day as I normally would. Which would involve staying in. It was Saturday. No school. And mom was out on a business trip. I had the house to myself. “Might as well get dressed though.” Mumbling I rose from my bed and looked in the mirror. I was white and pastey, perfect look for a dead girl I suppose. With long auburn hair that fell to the middle of my back, and the body of a manatee...just perfect. (Ok, perhaps I was exaggerating. But really. I could stand to lose a few pounds. All would have been solved had I just died though, right?) My green eyes were about the only thing I cared for. They were like moms. Shrugging off the insecurities I pulled out some jeans a shirt, brushing my hair. Heading downstairs I went straight to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of cereal, Lucky Charms. Funny. I didn't feel very lucky right now. The irony of it all...shaking my head I filled the bowl and headed to the living room and sat down, putting on the TV to some stupid comedy I'd forget later on. “See. Everything is normal. Perfect. Just fine.” In retrospect I was a bit glad I hadn't died yet. The timing couldn't have been worse, with mom gone. Dad had died just last year and I knew when I left mom would be lost. Still, I was unnerved by the gravity of the situation. I guess I must have dozed, because the next thing I knew the doorbell was buzzing and I jumped to my feet, spilling the milk from the cereal all over. “. Just a minute!” I called. Trying to wipe everything down, the doorbell buzzed again. And again. Irritation level rising, I headed towards the door, still trying to clean my shirt when I flung it open. “Seriously what the hell is your prob-” “Olivia Parker. Daughter of Erin Parker. We are conducting a Reading. Please show us your arm.” The voice chilled me to my core and I cursed inwardly, the blood draining from my face. Of course they had to do a Reading today. It was as if the universe sent a giant “Screw you Olivia!” through the skies and straight into my being. Looking up the Mortem looked at me expectantly. Well. As much as it could look. They didn't exactly have eyes, but they could still see somehow. Of course they were also psychic and immortal so, who knew how they worked? Not that I had any inclination of finding out either. When I didn't offer up my arm the Mortem grabbed it and I growled. I snatched my arm back and slammed the door, running for the back. A high pitched scream sounded, and I knew I was royally screwed. He was calling for others. I didn't bother to look back. What would be the point? I threw open the sliding glass doors and bolted across the lawn, scaling the neighbors white fence with a lot more ease than I thought. “I even feel lighter...” I puffed, continuing to run. I don't know where I thought I was going to go. The Mortem would find me eventually. That didn't stop me from trying to run away though. It was funny. When I knew I was going to die I had made peace with it. Accepted it as truth and let it go. Now that I was alive however, trying to live seemed to be the most important thing. Behind me, I could hear the screeches growing louder in anger. By now I had made it through two more yards, and I ducked onto a busy street. Pushing past people I ran harder than I thought possible. Ducking into a small alley between the flower shop an the bakery, hoping it might mask me scent, I jumped into the dumpster and sat huddled in the corner away from the trash. Then, I cried. I cried for myself, I cried for the friends I had left behind, I cried for my mother...I just cried. I don't know how long I had been in the dumpster crying, but the next thing I knew the lid of the dumpster had flew open and a young man was about to throw another bag in when he saw me. “What...are you doing in there?” His voice sounded confused and I looked away. “It's none of your business.” I grumbled. Staring at me he raised his eyebrows. “Right. Because all pretty young girls hide out in dumpsters at 11 at night, how could I forget. It's the trendy new thing to do right?” Despite myself I had to laugh at that. I crawled over to the mouth of the dumpster and stood, climbing out with ease. “You're right, pretty young girls do. I was mistaken to have tried since I'm not one of them. Now if you'll excuse me, I must continue to run for my life.” Turning away I started to walk off. Then I remembered I had no idea where I was going to go. “Maybe I should stay in the dumpster. It's not so bad...” I muttered. “Now wait just a minute, what do you mean run for your life?” An arm grabbed my should and whirled, facing him with anger. “It's none of your business for one thing. For another thing, you never touch a girl whom you don't even know. Didn't your parents teach you better?” I growled, feeling my face turn hot. The young man stepped back, clearly perturbed by my aggression. His her was curly and fell into his face, which was hiding his eyes. Shaking it out of the way I could just make out the glint of hazel from the alley light. Were it not for the severity of my situation, I would have thought him cute. Not that it mattered. Fumbling with his apron I laughed, mostly at my own thoughts, but partly from the fact his apron was for the flower shop. Narrowing his eyes he through the trash into the bin. “Fine. It's not like I need trouble on my hands anyways.” he said, stalking away. Regret flashed through me, and I wondered briefly, if maybe he could help me. But that would mean putting him in harms way. Stranger or not, it was worth a shot, though I doubted he would be too keen on helping after I told him. “I was supposed to die yesterday. The Mortem are after me.” I called, standing my ground. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face me. “Are you serious?” “No, I hide in dumpsters for fun...yes. I'm serious.” I said, hanging my head in defeat. “I guess I should just let them get me. I mean, what other alternative is there. Being on the run for the rest of my life? Awesome. Just awesome.” I grumbled. “Never mind, its not your problem. Have a nice life flower boy.” I called, heading towards the darker end of the alley. Maybe I could wander around for a while, enjoy some things before the inevitable. Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned, seeing the young man reach towards me. Thinking better of it he retracted his hand. “I'm sorry. Uhm, listen, can we go somewhere private?” he asked. “Already trying to get me secluded and I don't even know your name, how scandalous.” I said, rolling my eyes. Giving me a droll stare he looked around cautiously. “Aaron. My name is Aaron. And you are?” Pleased to finally be getting somewhere I smiled. “Olivia.” “Well Olivia, follow me, and keep low.” I'm not sure why I followed Aaron. I think a part of my was hopeful that something good might happen, that maybe it would all actually be ok. But my subconscious knew full well it wouldn't. I ignored that little part of my brain, which in retrospect was a very stupid thing to have done. I was only only human though, and we all made mistakes. We ended up out in the grass lands, further away from the town than I had expected. Ahead there was a dark little trailer, illuminated by only a single dim light that kept flickering in and out. It looked creepy, and perfect for a place to take someone out and kill them for that matter. Aaron looked around again, making sure we were alone before pushing the door open and inviting me inside. I stepped in cautiously, worried I was about to be ambushed but there was little to be afraid of. Actually there was little of anything to begin with. A couch was about the only thing with some clothes here and there. Suddenly I felt a wave of nausea sweep over me, but whether it was because of my own thoughts or sickness in general I couldn't tell. He looked at me a shrugged. “I know it's not much, but its home.” I looked at him and smiled softly. Things could be better, but they could also be worse. And in my case, I knew that very well. “May I lie down? I'm not feeling too well.” I asked. “Of course, let me just move these...” he trailed off, clearing the clothes from the room and couch. Gesturing I thanked him softly before lying down. The couch was a lot more comfortable than I anticipated, and I had to admit sleeping seemed like a very nice invitation right now. Aaron sat on the floor across from me and his face looked sad, his hair falling into his face. “My mom was killed by the Mortem. Like you, she didn't die like she was supposed to. I watched the Mortem kill her.” For a moment my heart stopped and my words caught in my throat. I was sure what to say. 'Sorry' seemed too cliché, and any other coherent words were lost at me. I reached out my hand and took his, squeezing it gently. Looking up at me, he attempted a half smile. “Thanks. It was a long time ago, but...I just can't stand the thought of them doing the same to someone else. I doubt I can hide you for long though...for reasons. But at least for tonight you'll be safe.” I wasn't sure how to react. Words were lost on me at this moment. Instead, I stayed quiet and continued to hold Aaron's hand. We stayed like that for some time, as the hours passed. Eventually he fell asleep and soon after I followed. • • • • • • • • •  I woke up to searing agony. I felt like I was dying, and I thought that perhaps that was a good thing. But the pain was so intense I wished someone would just stab me and get it over worth. Aaron awoke to my screams. He seemed a little confused at first then his face went white, and I screamed again, falling off the couch. He backed away, and I wondered why. Why wasn't he helping? I reached out to him, begging him to help me but to no avail. A screech sounded, of a Mortem, and I knew my time was surely up. I fought against the pain and kept quiet though the sound did not return. Slowly the pain subsided and I rolled over, pushing myself to my feet. I felt light as a feather as I did so, and confusion set in. Looking back at Aaron he scrambled away again and I yelled at him, just as another screech echoed throughout the area. I tried to close my eyes but nothing seemed to happen. It was like they were glued open. Shuffling around I stood up, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window. I screamed, loud, but it wasn't my voice. It was that of a monster. I brought my hands up to my face, but they were not my hands. I was one of them. My skin had turned white, my face had sunken in. My eyes...they were gone. It all made sense now. That was why the Mortem killed those who didn't die. They were all once human. Every Mortem had once been somebodies mother or father, brother or sister. They weren't trying to kill us off for the fun of it. It was like a record of sorts. And when they killed those who didn't die when they were supposed to, it was to make sure they didn't end up like them. Like me. The thought sent shivers through my body. The worst part was I didn't even sound human anymore. I sounded like a Mortem. My humanity was lost. I looked back at Aaron, feeling numb. A small sensation rippled through me and I looked down at his arm. Aaron was supposed to die yesterday. Dream crept through my body as I read the numbers, clear as day on his arm. This...this was not a life. This was a permanent death sentence. I shook my head, trying to make the whole situation disappear, but it didn't. I stepped forward, touching Aarons had one last time. “I am grateful for what you tried to do Aaron. But I must do this. For your own good.” I said, choking on the words as I said them. Without giving it another thought I snapped his neck, his eyes still staring into me. Death was only the beginning.

[Rowan]

I lay in my room that evening, staring at the clock on the wall, listening to it's rhythmic ticking, only interrupted every so often by the sound of a car passing by outside. It is quiet, and peaceful, and I am content. The nurses, by my own request, will not be checking in on me tonight. I will not have to take any bitter medications tonight, and all my thoughts will be my own.

It is 6:45 pm, and in less than 3 hours, I will die.

Now now, before you go throwing a ruckus about it, let me tell you that I have lived a long 86 years, I have raised a family and lived my life, and now I am hooked up to a machine in a hospital hanging on by a thread. I am ready to die, and I have made peace with my date a long time ago.

On my arm is a date and time, visible only to me. Like everyone else's, it marks when I will pass on from this world. No one really knows much about these "tattoos" or where they come from, but a lot of us find they make it far easier to live our lives. We know how much time we have in the world, and we make the best of it. It's morbid at times, and it's sad when a young person has such a close death date, but at least it gives them incentive to get their priorities straight.
My family had our last day together yesterday. My son and his husband came to visit me, along with their daughter. We talked, and we laughed, and we cried, then we said our goodbyes. It's good that we have the opportunity to give each other closure.

I am ready to die now though, and I would like to die with thoughts of my family on my mind. My wife is waiting for me, and I am eager to see her again. Thank you for reading the last thoughts of a dying old man.

I close my eyes, and let myself drift off to sleep, knowing I will not be waking up.

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There's a light, and it's almost blinding. I guess this part wasn't a myth after all. Now, how do I move towards it? I don't feel like I'm standing. In fact, I still feel like I'm laying down. I start to make an effort to push myself up. I feel myself struggle, and a familiar soreness shoot through me. What? Why would I be feeling pain?
I blink a few times, and my eyes begin to adjust to the light. Slowly, a flower like image comes into focus. I've seen it before.

Wait a second. That's from my rooms wallpaper.

I rub my eyes and look again.
The light I was seeing was the sun shining through the window.
That can't be possible, could it? Something must be wrong.

I look at the clock. It is 8:12 am, and I am still alive.
I don't panic just yet, it's rare but it's not unheard of for dates to change sometimes. I don't know why mine did, especially since I didn't take any of my medications last night and I'm no longer hooked up to any machines, but I guess my body decided it wanted to pull through for a little while longer.

It's almost a bummer actually, last night was the ideal scenario for me to pass away in, for I was calm and collected. Now I just feel kind of anxious. I guess that's what happens when you accept death and then it doesn't come.
I sigh and lift my arm to look at my new date, hoping that perhaps it'll be soon before any of the nursing staff come in to take away my body.

It's blank.

This is concerning.

It's not unheard of for dates to change, but never before in recorded history has a date every disappeared.

Before I can dwell on these thoughts, I hear the door click, and start to open. A nurse walks in, talking to two men behind her rolling a gurney.
"Let's get him wrapped up and taken care of before his body starts to-" She stops mid sentence and she notices me sitting up in bed, looking directly at her.
Her eyes grow wide, and quickly turns to the two men and gestures for them to wait outside
"I'm s- sorry sir, I was under the impression we would be removing a uh, well you from this room today." She sounds a little flustered as she speaks. She's nervous, and with good reason.
When someones death date changes, it's usually implied that they are fighting to live, in which case facilities are required to care for them by law. It's very much illegal to not provide assistance to someone who wants to live, regardless of the date on their arm. This nurse is suddenly counting numbers in her head, and praying that this isn't going to get the facility shut down.

I smile at her, and look at my blank arm. "Well, what have we here! Oh my I feel like quite the fool. It would appear I misread the date. Old age and bad eyes you know. I'm not due for another couple of hours." I lie.
She eyes me briefly, almost as if she doesn't believe me. "I'm sorry to be a bother sir, but I'll have to get you a new AOP (Allowance of Passing) Consent form, and I'll have to stress that you write the correct date on it this time. Usually we aren't supposed to ever give out a second form, but I don't want you to suffer on account of human error" She says, the kindness in her voice sounding strained. She's still thinking about all the legal trouble her facility is suddenly in.
"Thank you nurse, I truly appreciate it." I say to her with a nod. She nods back, and leaves me alone in the room.

Well, not only was I supposed to die yesterday, I now also have no idea when I really will die. This is unheard of, and I am suddenly feeling very anxious.
Everyone in this world knows when they are going to die, no one is plagued with the mystery of their limited time.

Yet here I am, defying all the laws of whatever nature this is.

And I'm terrified.

I stare at my arm again, hoping that the numbers that have been their my entire life will come back.

They don't


[It's really early and I haven't slept yet and Idk where else to go with this so I'm ending it there]

[Afterlife]

CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOL,
MENTIONS OF DRUG USE, DEATH

Life is full of little mysteries. Take a look at bees. By any right, they ought not fly, and yet they do. Look at the modern human, homo sapiens; we are estimated to be the slowest, weakest evolution of our kind, and yet we managed to have the tenacity to adapt and build and rebuild as we grew smarter and smarter. Our minds have turned into our greatest weapons to favour ourselves. They have also been weapons against us. Your brain can do any number of incredible things. Dream, think, make one arm move one way and the other another. It can tell you when you're in danger and when you're safe.

Last night, I looked down at my arm, wondering when the proper time would come. The tiny black print was there, stark and unmoving on my left wrist. When I was little, I had hoped that it was something I might have removed, or maybe it would fall off and I would live forever. As I grew older, I saw the gravity of that little number. Imagine the mothers holding their children, and looking there to see how long they had, only to find that the birthday and the death day were the same. Imagine a husband looking at his wife and seeing the next day printed there, black as night, clear as day for all to see. Imagine waking up and seeing the dates match up. Living in constant fear of what would get you.

I didn't have to imagine that.

That was yesterday.

Today, I sat bolt upright in my bed, looking around my bedroom. It was a mess. I mean, it was always a mess, but this was a particularly messy mess. Bottles of vodka and cans of beer cluttered the floor from last night's pity party. It was a tradition of sorts to make you forget yourself before you had to go. I'd been building up to this for weeks. Empty syringes lay stuck in the carpeting, and a fine white powder had been spilled on my entertainment centre. Fearfully, I reached down to pick a pair of underwear, just as a test.

Closer and closer...

Almost there...

And contact. My skin touched the rough fabric with ease and I lifted the clothing up to my face and breathed it in. It smelled like my arse and spilled beer, but no perfume had ever smelled so sweet. I was alive. Both lungs working, lightning still zipping through my neurons. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. And my head - oh, God, my head. It was pulsing and vibrating. My eyes began to sting and the pressure on my sinuses grew past the breaking point. I can see why you do this when you die and not before, I reflected, stumbling over to my bathroom.

I splashed water on my face for a few minutes to wake myself up. The mirror was covered in a fair bit of vulgar graffiti, so seeing how I looked was out of the question. My general assumption was that my hair was sticking in all directions as it always did, and I probably needed to shave like whoa. I ignored that for now. Appearances could wait.

I was alive. My skin felt, my eyes saw, my ears heard. The world was real around me, not some false trick of the eye or some punishment of the Devil.

I was alive. Air crept down my throat into my lungs, blood pumped through my veins, my brain absorbed the world around me.

I started to cry. The tears, warm and salty, dripped down my face like waterfalls. I wasn't supposed to live past this day, even though I was only 23 years old. I was destined to die young. When I reached up to my face to dry my tears, I recognised the problem. The reason why I was alive.

I was not myself.

This face was smooth and chiseled, where mine had been rough and still soft. I ran up to my bedroom with haste, searching for...well, me. But I wasn't there. Some trick had led my soul into this body. This person had more time than me. I bet they had years. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the date.

Not years.

Not weeks.

A day.

This man had a day longer than I.

How had I come into his skin, though? I had so many questions. I needed to know. Where had my body gone? What had become of the real me? What would be come of this man? I had to find out before -

---

I dunno, I like cliffhangers. It felt good to write again, and this was a really interesting prompt. I thank you.

[Forestbreak]

Tick.

It's an hour and ten minutes past midnight, and the seconds are sinking into your skin.

Tock.

The moonlight spilling in through the sheer curtains illuminates the tattoo in between the knuckle of the index and middle fingers of your left hand: 5-25-14, it whispers, teasing and cruel. The sounds of the numbers rewinding and repeating in your head no longer bears any meaning for you. Too familiar; too dreary. The first thing they'd taught you to write in primary school was your Day, in shaking, lopsided scrawl on countless sheets ruled with watery blue lines. "This is the Day you go to the sky," they'd said, with their grins stretching from ear to ear, blinding white. "This is the Day you go to sleep. This Day is your friend."

They'd laughed at you, the students. "Croak's gonna die before he's even eighteen," their grating voices had nagged. "He's never gonna get married. He's never gonna get rich or famous." Then they'd shoved you off the swings in the playground, yelling, "Or maybe he's gonna die today!" They'd known it was but foolish banter. Everyone died on their Day, no matter how many times they brought a gun to their head or how many pills they swallowed or how high they hung the rope. There was no getting around it. There was no tempting fate. The old legends said that if you tried to escape your death, it would only be more painful when it came.

Tick.

But then again, you were never a superstitious man.

The gun in your belt presses into your flesh, practically bruising your hip. You take a sip of your tea. It's gone cold already. And no wonder- the cellar is freezing, despite the late spring humidity simmering above ground. The soil is damp and cool against your bare feet.

"Are you doing okay?" you whisper to the huddled figure across the room.

"Yeah."

"Good." You lean back in your chair. It creaks softly, and then the air lapses back into silence. An hour and eleven minutes past midnight. Your death was supposed to come, at the latest, an hour and twelve minutes ago.

I'll continue this later

[Cloverstar]

Trigger warnings: drug use and death (though the last one is pretty obvious). 
---
The day was normal enough on its own. It was a routine, really. 

Every morning, at seven, I woke up in the prestigious Central Academy dormitory that I shared with my friends, Kat and Maxine. Kat would be sprawled across her bed as usual, sleeping late, and Maxine would be up before either of us, singing loudly from the shower. When we all were fully awake and dressed, which more often than not involved hits with pillows and arguments over toothpaste and hot water deficiencies, we would head down together to breakfast. Maxine would be gushing over the cute guy she swore had looked at her in the library yesterday, while Kat would be talking in low tones about how Natalia had spotted Chris and Bonnie together where Chris should’ve been on a date with Jan. And I, as always, would play the one in the middle, to simply accept Maxine’s infatuations over guys and Kat’s endless supply of fresh gossip.

After breakfast, there’d be classes. I wasn’t an exceptionally brilliant student--I was abysmal at algebra and gym, and average in history at best. But I got by, just enough to scrape some A's that kept me within the Academy. After all, my parents had paid so much for me to be here. I wasn’t wealthy like so many others, with their old money and their networks of connections and their ancestral ties to nobility. I had to take what I could get.

The actual period schedule would always vary from the day to day, but lunch was forever around noon. At lunch, I would eat outside in the gardens as many others did, with Maxine and Kat under a certain tree. It was tall, gnarled and almost ancient with moss on the trunk and spindly branches. I would always sit at the middle of the base, in between two large roots, while Kat and Maxine sat anywhere on the sides. If the day was warm enough to justify sitting in the shade, I’d take off my uniform jacket and hang it from a branch. It would stick out like a sore thumb, a shade of rose pink trimmed in white lace against grays and greens and browns.

It was around that time now. We'd just gotten out of a particularly grueling exam, one of the many finals we'd have to undergo before school ended and we could go home. Kat was complaining about how hard question twenty-two had been and how the guy in front of her wouldn't stop chewing on his pencil, which had made "the most awful grinding noise", while Maxine was worrying about whether or not Mr. Puckett had caught her sneaking a peek at her neighbor's paper.

"—and I'm just so glad that's over with, now all we've got to worry about today are history and English," Kat finished, flipping back her glossy red hair as she sat down. She rolled up her sleeves as she did, baring her tattoo. The date on it, pronouncing when she'd die, marked numbers that would fall seventy years from now.

"Oh, I heard the English one's going to be really hard." Maxine sounded almost fearful, hazel eyes wide in apprehension as she took her spot on top of a large tree root and placed her lunch tray on her lap. "Do you think Ms. Hopkins will—"

"Come on, Maxine," Kat scoffed, grabbing her fork and using it to pick at her steak. "You believe she'll really make the test harder on us just because her boyfriend dumped her? Sometimes, rumors are just rumors."

"Well, you're one to talk," Maxine muttered, pushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face as she picked up her sandwich. "You spread those rumors most of the time." 

"Do not!" Kat snapped indignantly.

"Drop it," I said shortly, sitting down in between them. I moved to pull my arms through my jacket to take it off. "Can't we just enjoy our break for now before we have to go back in? We still have one more week to go before the finals end."

"Hmph." Kat made a dissatisfied noise, but complied and returned to her steak. Maxine only let out a long, long sigh. 

"Yeah, you're right, Alicia," she agreed. She paused to swallow a bite of her sandwich before continuing. "But...still, one whole week. It feels more like forever, if you ask me. All this studying's been frying my brain."

"It's not all bad, though," Kat interjected. "The dorm party last night was great."

The dorm party. Now, that was something I wouldn't be forgetting for years to come. It was a tradition, at Central Academy, for a party in the dormitories to be held every year prior to the finals. It was a chance for everyone to let loose, to forget about the stress and the worries and the high expectations, to just have some fun for one night. Whoever hosted it varied, but it was always the same: there'd be flashing lights, lots of music, plenty of drinks, and a serious mess in the morning. The teachers knew about it, of course, but they usually never interfered unless it got too out of hand—as it had last year, with the infamous "cat in the bucket" incident.

Last night, it had been Kat's idea for Maxine and I to come with her to the party. The captain of the school's football team, Cody Trenton, had been the host for it. I still wasn't exactly sure what had happened: Kat had gone off dancing with Cody, and Maxine had left early to get some last-minute cramming in. I was pretty sure I'd spent most of the party at the snacks table, eating crackers and drinking something deep red that tasted like liquidized pure honey poured over raspberries. 

Come to think of it, I remembered that drink. It was called "red sleep", though I didn't know the actual scientific term. It was infamous for inducing a slow blood flow in its drinker, as well as a slower and weaker heart rate, along with a feeling of euphoria that lasted for hours. The Academy had banned it, but apparently, someone had been able to sneak it in here.

It hadn't been hard to see why. I knew what it was after the first few sips, but by then, I couldn't stop. The feeling was heavenly, as if the entire world had been lifted off of my shoulders. And it was such a relief, so warm and sweet, after weeks upon weeks of cramming, of stress and overwork and so many crushing worries I hadn't had time to so much as look at anything as mundane as my legs or arms. Besides, I had told myself, one drink wouldn't hurt. Just one. It couldn't hurt.  

When I'd woken up, I'd been lying on the floor outside the dorm where the party had taken place. According to a passing girl from my algebra class, I'd passed out after a few cups. Needless to say, I hadn't stuck around. I'd just sought out Kat, who'd been swapping spit with Cody behind a sofa, and Maxine, who was still asleep, and we'd gotten out of there.

At the mention, Maxine only made a face. "Yeah, you'd know. I bet Cody really liked it."

Kat only stuck her tongue out in a display of immaturity. "Pfft. You're just jealous you didn't get any. Not my fault he's a great kisser. And I got his number."

"Isn't he dating Vivian?" Maxine pointed out, taking a sip from her milk carton.

"They broke up just before the party," Kat said offhandedly. "Had some fight and then she just left. It's why she wasn't there."

"He seems pretty shallow if he's going to hook up with another girl right after he dumped another," I commented dryly. Up until now, I'd been eyeing my food with some level of disinterest. The pain in my head and chest from the drink was still there, lingering like a dull ache. When I touched the area over where my heart was, I only felt a small, faint pulse under my fingers. I felt too sluggish, lethargic. It had been more difficult than it should have been to concentrate on the exams. 

"Hey, it's not like I'm fawning over him," Kat defended herself. "We made it pretty clear from the get-go we're just in this for the fling. I don't know his favorite color, his favorite food, or whatever about his life, and he doesn't know mine. And we're cool with it. What's the harm in that?"

"The harm," I said curtly, lowering my arm to pick up my spoon, "is that you might—" 

"OH MY GOD!" Maxine's shriek sent both Kat and me leaping into the air, nearly spilling our trays entirely. She was staring in horror, eyes the size of saucers, at a point somewhere on my arm.

"Jesus Christ, Maxine!" Kat groaned. "If you're going to do that, at least give some warning!"

"What? What's wrong?" I demanded at the same time.

Maxine's eyes seemed to grow wetter and wetter by the second. When she spoke, her voice was trembling, choked as if she was fighting back tears. "Your—Alicia, your arm—!"

"What about it? What's—" I cut myself off when I looked down, all words dying in my throat.

On my lower arm, near my wrist, was the tattoo bearing the date on which I would die. It was there in the same spot as everyone else's. It was unheard of for someone not to have it. It was a given as to when a person would die—just not something you'd bring up openly. It was there, as a fact of life, as normal as breathing or as the sky being blue.

The tattoo's numbers were 5/27/15.

Today was the twenty-eighth.

I could only stare at the numbers, my mind numb in disbelief. For that one moment, everything seemed to have stopped in time. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Dimly, I registered the roaring of blood in my ears, the hitching in my throat, the tremors through my arm as it started to shake and blur the numbers. 

Or maybe it was the drug, acting up again. Its effects didn't wear off until the next day. Did they? They wore off when the drinker did something specific, and then they'd cough some of it up, but I couldn't remember what. It'd been in my health class, though. I should've remembered it. I was supposed to remember it, shouldn't I, it would be on the finals, they were next period, or was that for English, I didn't know, Ididn'tknowIdidn'tknowIdidn'tknow—

"A-Alicia?" I heard my name, spoken in stutters in Maxine's voice. But it was murky, as if it was coming from above underwater. I blinked. Maxine's and Kat's faces came more clearly into view. Tears were streaming down Maxine's face, trickling from the corners of her wide eyes, and Kat only looked stunned. But they both looked terrified, confused—everything I felt, I saw reflected all too clearly on their faces like a mirror.

"Alicia—" Now Kat finally spoke, her voice cracking in the middle. Her eyes—there was no other word for them—they looked pained. It struck me, then, that this was the first time I had ever seen her like this. There was genuine fear, grief, in her face. Hurt. She was actually hurt that I was supposed to die, there was even guilt there, as if she felt it was her fault I had to die as a teenager while she'd live on well into old age. 

Maybe I'd never known her as well as I'd thought I had. 

She reached out, her hand aiming for my arm, where the incriminating numbers were. Without thinking, I retracted it. 

"It's fine." My voice sounded hollow, nothing like my own. It felt as if someone was talking for me, moving my mouth for me. "It's okay, guys. I'll be fine."

"Fine?" Maxine repeated tearfully. "Alicia—you're—you were supposed to die yesterday! And—oh god, I'm so stupid, I didn't notice your tattoo, I was so busy I didn't—Alicia, I'm sorry. I didn't—I c-could've—"

"It's fine." I sounded like a robot, lifeless and automatic. "It didn't happen. I'm still alive. The date was wrong."

"It wasn't wrong!" Kat, in turn, sounded furious. She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me, and I jerked as if I were a puppet being yanked on its strings. "X it, Alicia, stop it! You need to take this seriously! When this happens, it means you've only got a certain amount of time left to live! It's called—a delayed reaction, or—or some crap like that! You need to—"

"I told you, it's fine!" My arms were moving on their own, shoving Kat away. The force sent her sprawling against the tree root, bumping against her tray until it fell. It landed on the grass, food splattering the ground.

Maxine gasped. "Alicia—!"

Kat gaped at me in shock. She breathed, hard, not saying a word. The look on her face, the hurt, said it all.

Bitterness welled up in my throat, spitting out words that I couldn't keep back. They came freely, constantly, shoving over that feeling of guilt, buried within, at seeing that pain in their expressions. "Just shut up. I don't need you to tell me to take this seriously. I won't die. Do you hear me? I won't!"

I didn't realize I had screamed the last two words until I looked up. Almost everyone in the schoolyard was staring at us, turned around in curiosity. Some were muttering to each other.

None of them knew.

I wanted, more than anything, to shut them out. They had no right to watch us as if we were in some spectacle for their amusement. I was going to die, and they didn't care. Did they? But they didn't know I was going to die. Right? Right? That stupid Cody guy was looking at us, too, from his little group of friends. But his attention was more fixed on Kat, to no one's surprise. Maybe he was planning to get lucky with her. Maybe he'd throw her away just as he'd done to Vivian, who was also watching, pointedly not looking at Cody.

Seeing them, and then the food splattered around Kat from her tray, the one I'd caused to fall, reminded me of the emptiness in my stomach. I hadn't eaten anything at all today, not even breakfast. Only a sip of water in the morning.

To emphasize my point, I picked up my spoon and took a mouthful of soup. It had gone too cold to be good anymore, but I didn't care. 

When I swallowed, that was when it began.

A burning began to spread through my mouth, down my throat. I tried to take a breath, but it only worsened. It was bursting everywhere, shooting down through my chest, constricting my heart until I thought it was going to explode. I doubled over, trying to contain it, trying to breathe, but it was as if the air was being forced out of my throat. When I started to cough, the burning intensifying, there was red on my hands.

Blood.  

Blood, and drops of something in a darker red, sticky. Sweet. 

The realization hit me with the force of the next cough. The drink's effects wore off when the drinker ate something solid, something that was actual food. It worked faster if the food was liquid. Then they'd cough up the drug, almost instantaneously. Then—

"Alicia! Alicia!"

Someone was screaming, someone who sounded like Maxine. And Kat. Both of them were screaming, crying, I thought I could hear Maxine sobbing. Hands grabbed my arms, wrapping around my shoulders and pulling, trying to get me to my feet. But my knees buckled, my feet dragging as I felt everything give out from under me. My vision was starting to blur, colors fading, voices fading in and out around me.

I tried to focus. It hurt, but—I knew. I knew, now. The burning was fading, giving way to the regular pulsing of my heart. Or it would be regular, if it weren't for its gradual slowing once the sleep had lifted. 

"Kat—" My voice was a rasp. I could hear shouting, more screaming, crying. "—Maxine—"

"It's okay, Alicia." Kat was holding my shoulders, supporting me. Maxine gave a muffled sob. "We're here."

It was funny how calm she sounded now when she'd been so angry before. Not that she shouldn't have been. There was a catch in her voice, however. She was struggling not to cry, and I had to marvel at that. Someone was dying in her arms, and she wasn't crying. She was stronger than I'd ever given her credit for. 
 
"I'm—I'm sorry," I managed to gasp. It hurt to speak, to even breathe, but I had to say it. "For—saying all of that. I'm really sorry—I didn't—"

"Forget it." Kat held me in a hug. Maxine, still sobbing, reached forward to do the same while she continued. "Look, it was just—that doesn't matter right now, okay? You're our friend. You always were."

"Just—hold on," Maxine whispered. "Please—someone went to get the nurse. They'll be back soon, just—"

"No, it's—it's today." Everything was blurring again. "That drink—I—"

"What? What drink?" Kat demanded. "What're you—"

"At the party," I mumbled. "The red sleep. I—"

Kat and Maxine stared at me blankly. At least, for a second, before Kat's eyes widened and she let out a sigh.

"Oh. That." Now if the tears were being held back before, they began to show now. Her eyes were damp. "Oh god, Alicia—I'm sorry—"  

"Don't be." I try to smile, even though every movement sends up a numbing pain. "That was—it was fun. You were right. It was—great—"

I could have said more, so much more. I should have said more. I could have, I should have told them to tell my parents I loved them, that I cared about them, that they'd always be my friends. I would have, if I could, said all sorts of sappy things that would have been worth saying.   

But it was too late for that now. The colors had faded, the voices stopped.

And then there was nothing.

[Whitehawk]

Shout out to all of the people who have replied so far! You all wrote amazing replies, and I hope even more of you reply to this with some amazing late-death-tattoo stories!

Now, I've decided not to post the second Weekly Prompt today, as I'm sure you've probably noticed. I'm aware that for many of us this week and next week are our last days in school, and for many of us, I'm sure that means exams. So I'm posting Prompt #2 on Friday. That way anyone ending school this week can study/enjoy their last week this week, and anyone who has next week still can just write over the weekend!

Anyway, continue posting your replies. I'm really enjoying them so far~