chronometer

prologue - reflecting

A/N: Omg y'all here it is! My first scomiche fanfic. I really enjoyed the movie In Time when it came out, so a majority of the credit goes to them for being so original! If you haven't seen the movie, please do! Of course, I'm also adding my own twists of things as well. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to get back into writing!

Bear with me, the chapter is short bc it's a prologue. They'll be longer! Just gotta set the scene so those who haven't seen it can get an idea of what's poppin'. Let's go!

"Your clock does not start until you are approximately twenty-five."

I remember when the countdown began like it had been yesterday-- I really wish it was. It had been the first day that I hadn't checked the glowing emerald zeros lined along my forearm. I was walking down the street away from the convenience store when a force in my chest shoved so hard I was nearly off my feet and I felt as if I couldn't breathe. I looked to my left arm where the numbers replaced the zeroes. Ten years, fifty-eight minutes, thirty-nine seconds. At the time, I figured there were many things I could do with that amount of time if I was smart.

Unfortunately, we were so far in debt I had lost two years in a week for a pay on a loan.

Mom had given up a lot when my father died. I was too young to remember; he had gambled his life away to the very last second and never came home. Due to his tendencies, it wasn't the most difficult thing to piece together. It broke her, took away a majority of her funds but she kept herself together for me. She became very protective to ensure that I would not make the same mistake. Raising a child in the poorest timezone as a single mother was a terrible feat and as I grew up I promised her that I would help when my time came.

Helping would turn out to be a serious understatement.  Arlington is the most poverty-ridden timezone out of all of them. Dead people litter the streets every morning when I walk to work, and they usually aren't gone until noon. Most of the time it's because they were mugged, sometimes because they just.. ran out. It's sickeningly sad how numb I've become to the sight because of how common it is to come across.

I give mom as much time as I can, but slowly I am running out as well. Sometimes I'm not able to help her until she's just under five minutes, and those are the most stressful moments I've ever felt. She deserves to live longer, and I don't know what I'd do if I lost her. I pause in thought, glancing at my arm that I've learned to check every chance I get. Two days, twenty-three minutes and three seconds.

Most people would be panicking, but unfortunately this is normal for me. It's something I can work with.

I get back to work loading the truck with steel beams while my limbs feel like they're going to melt off and my blonde hair fall right out. My job is shitty to say the least.  It includes repairing factory lines, constructing and assembling robotic structures and loading them to send to the richer, more populated timezones. It's low wage, and the conditions for a good pay are varying so much that I can't keep up. There's more to it than that, but that's putting it in the simplest terms. Speaking of the richer timezones, I decided long ago that I loathed them and the people that lived there.

The rich don't have to worry about a damn thing. They live for thousands upon thousands of years until they are either killed or decide that they are tired of living, while those years that are lost could be easily given to the poor who need them. So those years go to waste and they go on enjoying themselves, flaunting what they've got. They've continuously turned a blind eye to the crime and rising death rates among the poor mostly because they prosper from it, which is beyond sick. All that they could possibly ever want is handed to them by the banks because -- here's my favorite part -- they run them. In fact one of the families, the Grassi's, have one million years stored in a vault. Who even wants to live that long? Why do they even need it? I've never met or seen them before, but they seem like the type who would spit on the poor people. I've been longing to destroy that outrageous mess, but there's only so much that one guy with less than two days to live can do. I am patient.

The sun beats down on my back, and I still have probably another four hours left of my shift until I can collect my timeshare. In the distance I can hear my boss yelling at us to "stop dicking around and get to it", but I've learned to tune it out instead of allowing it to anger me. He gets paid for standing there and yelling. Lucky guy. I roll my eyes. Maybe he'll die soon if someone gets angry enough. My eyes dart to check my arm again.

Two days, fifteen minutes and one second.