Short Stories + Contest Entries

Due Date

For maxxi10 and their contest!

As humans, we've always been fascinated with the idea of 'knowing' when our ending is finally here. When that white light will consume us, leaving only the body we were held in left on this Earth. Since I could remember, I've been one of the 'lucky ones' to get this privilege of knowing the unknown. To watch how the nameless death takes a life away. The catch is, I don't know my own ending, but every time I even make the slightest eye contact with any human, memories of their beginning sweep my brain, and all the information that comes with it. It's mind reading in whole new level, and not something I can control or ignore. The beginning part usually is a spectacular scene to witness, it's like getting a glimpse of how yet another miracle has been born. The person's birthday is always something special.

Then the not so fun part takes over, their end.

Again, images flood my brain; when it will happen and the cause, along with the date and time, but it's not a memory I try to linger onto. Of course, every time I see a person, those dates flash all over the inside of my eyes. It's as if I'm looking past a universe that only I have access to, and I wish I wasn't left alone with this curse. Knowing exactly when someone's going to die and not being able to stop it, or change the course of time.

I tried it once with my sister, Agnes. Her death happened going down a flight of stairs. I stepped down with her and made her hold my arm. I was begging her to just bare with me, but the force of her death pained my mind as I tried to change fate, and it struck me. I leaned against the rail, head pounding, and my sister turned while stepping backwards to see if I was okay. She then tripped over the stairs and the rest I've seen before too many times.

I'm thirty eight now, and I know better than to try and stop fate, and look into people's eyes, because even though the birthdate is marvelous and joyous, I know what version I see next.

The coffee shop Kaffe 1668 was always a personal favorite of mine. Only being on 275 Greenwich Street, not far from home, I go there every day before work to soothe myself. New York is the worst place to live when you're a person like. The sidewalk is cluttered, as usual, and I try to blank out all the thoughts bombarding me.

Don't look at anyone in the eye.

My throat is dry and I keep my head down, as I scurry past crowds of people. Suddenly, a tan lengthy woman bumps into me. She has too much makeup on her face, and a tight black dress snug on her thin body with a leather jacket over. A phone presses against her ear and long, blood red, plastic nails hiding her real nails and hold the phone in place. A wave of melancholy washes over me.

28 year old Claudia Mercedes Berk was born on February 8th 1988 and will die.... Today at 2:30pm in car accident.

"Excuse me sir, but you should watch where you walk. Some people aren't trying to get killed here, so it would be nice if you don't push people closer to the road, and higher their chances of death." She snaps, her piercing eyes stare me down, and then she continues to talk on the phone, clicking her way across the sidewalk.

Trust me lady, you're closer to it then you think.

I sigh, and stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket. The October air is bitter, and my breath comes out as smoke, then wisps away in the atmosphere, never to been seen again.

I reach the door of Kaffe 1668, and when I tug it open the familiar chime the greets me, grabbing the cafe's attention. With my head still low, and hands bawled in a fist inside my jacket, I keep my destination in mind; my booth at the back of the cafe. I let the aroma of creamer, and warm coffee invite me into a calm place. This cafe has always been my little safe haven, even if people are still present. Not many are in this mini joint anyways, so it won't be too hard to keep to myself.