Writing Pinterest Prompts

Three Dates Prompt

I lay on the soft carpet of my apartment, my vision fading in and out, my head swimming. The robber must have been scared off by the sirens, but his mark remained: a large bullet in my side. The sight of it brought a wave of nausea. I looked away, paying attention instead to the marks on my wrist. I barely noticed that the times for meeting my soulmate, accomplishing my life goal, and death were all marked three minutes from now.

A woman and a man rushed in, carrying a stretcher and shouting to each other over sirens. The woman soothed things like, "It's alright, sir, you'll be fine," as I was carried to the ambulance.

As the doors shut and we began our trip, I felt an itch and glanced down: both the "soulmate" and "life goal" marks had vanished. I remembered all the years alone in my small apartment, terrified that was how I would spend my life, the same routines over and over.

One mark to go.

And fifteen seconds.

I had been watching it since it started counting down from thirty.

Now ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

We never did make it to the hospital.