Departures

Author's Note: This piece was inspired by a would you rather question: "Would you rather know everyone's death date or your own?" This was the first thing I thought of.

It was a day like any other. Bird chirped in the trees and the wind blew strands of my hair into my face as I walked to the Metro. I switched my suitcase from one hand to the other. I saw children skating by on their skateboards and mothers holding their babies up to their chest. I feel a strong shove behind me, and I almost fall forward. I whirl around to see a teenager holding his hands up apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am, I tripped on that crack on the floor." August 24, 2015 is the date printed on his forehead. I feel my stomach drop. Less than a year before he dies.....

I shake my head. "It's fine." He leaves with a goofy smile and I reminisce on his death stamp. I don't know how long I've been able to see the dates, but I assume that I've had this power for all my life. No matter how many years pass by on this earth, it doesn't get better. There have been several times when I've seen faces with stamps expiring within a week. I never truly realized the significance of the date until my best friend had hers pass. We met when we were five, and I noticed that hers was due in eleven years then. I asked my stern mother about it. When I started describing this ability to see everyone's dates she sent me to have a psychological evaluation conducted on my person. It was then that I decided that I wouldn't talk about it to anyone again, and the psychologist believed that it was something I said on a whim and declared me sane.

I remember that month when my best friend's date was due. I grew nervous with anticipation, never telling her why I kept staring at her longer and longer. She laughed it off and thought it would be because we were going to different colleges by the end of the year. If only she knew...if only I knew. Perhaps I would've invited her over for a sleepover, perhaps to a movie. Anything to avoid letting her go to that party, to drink alongside all her cousins, to fumble with the keys to get into the driver's seat of her mother's car....I wouldn't have been woken up by my father at three in the morning, I wouldn't have had to say goodbye to her in an unforgiving hospital in my pajamas. I'm so sorry, Michelle...

The dates can change; I've seen it happen before. I was in a waiting room at the doctor's for a bad virus. A man was dragged in by who I assume was his wife. As they argued with the front desk I noticed that he was due to die in several months. He kept shaking his head, trying to leave until finally his wife convinced him to get a physical. As soon as I blinked, I had to do a retake. His date had changed! What had been a couple of months was now a couple of decades! I stared at him open-mouthed until he noticed and snapped at me to look away. In that moment I knew that I would never be able to live down my best friend's death.

The metro appeared in front of us, and I could see my reflection as well as the others' at the stop. Everyone had a date stamped on their foreheads except me. I always wondered why I couldn't see my own. I frowned at the void on my forehead. It seemed unnatural, unreal. Perhaps this is a gift from God, perhaps I am meant to do something important with my life to save someone. Or perhaps, if I saw it, I would go insane as the date slowly inched closer and closer. I don't know the reason behind it, and yet I've grown to accept this power.

The door opens silently and all twenty of us step in and find whatever seats we can. I smile at the baby across from me and he smiles a toothy grin back. December 9, 2103. This child would certainly see many things in it's long and blessed life. The doors shut and the train starts to accelerate. I feel an itch in my nose and realize I'm about to sneeze. I fumble in my pockets for my tissue and release it. I sniffle a bit and scrunch up the tissue. I look back up again and pause. My heart stops. Blood curdles into ice as I slowly take in the meaning of what has happened. Everyone's date, including the baby's, had changed. November 26, 2014. Today. I start feeling my breath come in short pauses and my hands grow clammy. We're all going to die on this train, I think numbly, as a growing screech of metal on metal fills my ears and we all lurch towards one side of the cabin.