The Time We Have Left

Chapter 1: Immortal

   I lie in bed, staring at the clock on the wall. As it ticks away, precious time slips through me as I think of the meaning behind the Black Zero. I thought I knew...until I met her.

Ever since I was a young toddler, I thought it was normal to see numbers above everyone's heads, indicating how much time they had left. I stopped grieving when someone passed after I got so used to knowing exactly when they would go.

My small toddler feet stood over the lifeless bodies of my mother and father on the cold, kitchen floor. I listened as a bad man stormed through my house, taking anything he pleased. How could I grieve, when I knew it would happen?

Precious time went by as I laid at my mother's body, holding her hand. I wished she had more time, but the black zero above her and my father's heads I had seen that morning told me that nothing would save them, and that they were out of time.

Since this day, time went on and I was adopted by strangers. I was treated badly when the news was spread - "my heart was more dead than the dead itself," they would say.

For years, everyone who knew who I was would be afraid of me or call me names and bully me. I was known as the boy with the dead heart. No one would believe me when I told them how much time someone had left...until they were gone. Apparently, this wasn't normal. This was scary. I was accused of being involved with black magic or that I was cursed. I was called a demon or sorcerer, and I didn't have any friends.

I locked myself away from those who tried to reach out to me, afraid of getting close to them. When I was 13, there was one girl in particular - a persistent, annoying girl who wouldn't ever leave me alone.

I sat alone at the playground as she spoke to me. "I don't want friends!" I yelled at her. She stared at me, shocked and then shook her head and pushed me off of the lonely swing. I fell onto the dirt. "Liar!!" she screamed at me, tears in her eyes. What was wrong with her?

I stared at the black zero above her head, I knew I couldn't get close to her. Gold numbers meant they had as many years as the number read, green numbers meant days, red meant hours, and black only appeared in the form of a Zero - and meant they had no time left.

"...and so I wont leave you alone!" She yelled at me. I looked down and stood up, dusting myself off. "I don't care," I said, coldly, "you're going to die today." I walked away, alone, not daring to look back.

That night, I couldn't stop thinking about her. Why was she so persistent? Why was she so passionate about not allowing me to be alone? Before I went to sleep, my foster parents beat me and yelled at me. They hated me because people treated them wrongly for having a "freak" as a foster child.

My foster father punched me in the face, "until you change, you will always be alone!" he yelled, and walked away. I stared at the gold numbers above his head glumly. The wrong people seemed to live the longest. I desperately wished I could change the numbers above his head. I went to my room with marks all over my body from the wrath of my foster parents. I forced myself to sleep and I awoke the next morning.

As I got ready for another day of school, I looked in the mirror and saw the gold numbers above my own head. I wished to die, and yet I seemed to have so much time left.

I went to school that day and hung out at the playground alone, as I always did after school. I closed my eyes and fantasized about coming home to my foster father and mother with a knife through their hearts and then a stray bullet going through my own head, catching me off guard and killing me. Many times I had even thought of killing my foster parents. Why was I so dark?

"Why did you lie to me?" a voice asked. I opened my eyes and saw the girl from yesterday, black zero still above her head. I stared at her in disbelief. "You told me that I would die that day." She said.