Time's Up Anastasia

P  R  O  L  O  G  U  E

            When I was just ten years old, I started wondering when will my clock stop. You see, I was born at the age of where digital clocks were injected in our hearts to keep track of our lives. Although it was useful at first, it changed when a woman of old age had corrupted it with witchcraft. She had stated because of the fact that they have brought technology to us, they have killed almost all of them. She said that it was them who decide if they would die or not, they control our lifespan.

            Her curse was simple: they won’t be able to control the people, but the clock will count down until the person’s death. They are able to see it, feel it, and control their own fate of how they’ll die. But in the end, everyone will be pulled to their own death.

            Of course, I was still young by then. Confused by everything that has been shown to me by my family, I continued to check on my clock every now and then. It changed from 70 years to 4 weeks, then it changed to 5 days, and lastly, and thankfully 65 years.

            It was scary I have to admit, that you’ve been playing with your life. It was a timer, a clock that will end up to zero—whatever you do.

                                                At the age of fifteen, my mom died.

            It was a painful memoria that I wished to forget, though never had the strength to do so. We never knew mom’s time; she never told us. We hosted a funeral for her honour and had found out that she had cancer all along. No wonder she had gotten weak over the years…and I simply thought it was age that played the game. We had no idea about her sickness and my dad had started to worry about my health as well.

            He tried multiple tests on me, checking to see if I was secured. It was all negative, thank goodness. Nothing seemed to be wrong, and he promised nothing will ever be wrong again. He got protective; since my brother had been taken away from us—before mom had died. They say he was gifted with intelligence and bravery, needed for there research and experiments.

                                                            I was nothing per say.

            My father and I had immigrated to another country in the Eastern regions, France. Everyone had clocks, I could hear them ticking—which was odd once I have informed my father. He couldn’t hear them, nor does anybody else. As time passed by, I started on seeing them, visions like holographic images appear in front of their hearts: their clocks.

            Frightened at the sight, I cried to my father and told him what I have seen. He had asked me never to tell anybody else of what I could do. It was an ability not for humans to have; there was a possibility I could be killed for what I am carrying.

                                                            So I stayed silent.

            I went to high school like a normal person, had a change of name to hide my identity (it was allowed due to our connections in the government of France). I ignored all the clocks that kept on ticking and appearing in front of me. I would hide in the broom closet, every time I would see their clocks be near zero. I would cry, not because of their suffering or death; but because I have the power to help them and I didn’t use it.

                                                            ‘You didn’t help us at all.’

            It had been my fear; seeing people so close to death, but unable to do anything. It was a cruel curse laid upon me.

            Arriving at the age of seventeen, my father had been arrested for a murder he had not done. There were no proof, but because of the family being wealthy they threw him and locked him up.

            I had to stay with my relatives for a couple of months, trying to find a way to help my father by saved in prison. Everytime I would visit him, I see his clock getting lower and lower in time; he was dying.

                                                                          “Dad, please don’t die on me…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna be fine… I promise.”

            Dad really didn’t want me to worry, but I could see his clock. I could hear it tick slower and slower. He had forgotten about my ability, he had overlooked at the monster that I am…and saw a frightened child hiding underneath. His daughter crying out for him—wishing he would never leave her alone.

                  I love my father and I’m sure mom’s happy to see him.

            Permanently I had to stay with my grandparent’s place in Florida; I kept my name and never looked back at the past that continued to haunt me and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

            For the past several months I have returned to the States, I’ve noticed that a commotion was starting. They had stated the curse to have gotten the best of them; it had lead them to kill themselves, their loved ones, co-workers, and random strangers.

            Fear crept back to my heart, but my mind was telling me otherwise. Now was the chance to help others, even if it was a little good thing—it’s rewarding to see someone live because of you. I made it my goal to help as many as I could, around the world. It was a pretty good thing my grandparent’s were wealthy, but I still would have to work so I could reap what I have sow.

                                                And this is how my journey began.