Now a digital pilot for SYFY
The Society knows when we're going to die. They imprint it on our arms at birth. I was supposed to die yesterday. I'm the girl who's Expired.
Winner of the 2020 Readers Choice Awards
Cover by @Forcade
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This story is copyrighted. It says so on Wattpad, and I officially got it copyrighted. So don't steal it. The very first inspiration for this story came from a prompt on Pinterest. It is in no way based on the movie In Time--I've never seen it.
Part 1~~Libra
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Iris~~
I'm going to die tomorrow.
More than anything, that's what I wish I could say, and no one should ever wish to say that unless they're dying today instead. The elevator I'm in makes a sharp whine as it continues to take me down to the lobby of my apartment for the last time. Has my lie been caught yet? If so, I'll tell the truth, but there will be no taking it back once I think it.
I'm dying today.
That's the truth. The cold, solid truth. Something happens when a person is hours from death. They become reflective. Everything becomes a memory or a symbol even if it shouldn't. The handrail I grip is the handle of all the guns I've held. The buttons for twelve floors remind me of the Order.
The reflection of me in the elevator walls rubbing my Mark is a clock. A clock that's stopped.
The elevator sets into place, and I'm out before the doors are open all the way. The sun set hours ago, and if I'm fated to get to my favorite place in Baltimore before I die, I don't want to waste any time. I'm almost grateful as I walk through the lobby that I don't see any of the other residents I've come to know. I don't think I'd be able to handle their pity.
This apartment was the best I could afford while still being smart with my money. The handout the Society gave me after they took away my home didn't last long anyway. The wallpaper here is faded, the floors scuffed, and the furniture older than my nineteen years, but it's clean, and that's what mattered when I signed the lease. I wouldn't say it's home. Home was something I had over a year ago. And besides, I never thought I'd have time to find another one.
From behind his desk, my landlord, Lane, looks over his newspaper. Jonas Blackwood stares at me from the front page printed in color. He became Preeminence almost a month ago to the day, taking his father's place as head of the Order in the Society and as the king of Elleany. That's what they've always called themselves—the Society. I don't hate them because they're rich, elegant, or essentially in charge of me. I hate them because they're cruel. I hate them because they tattoo our Expiration Dates on our arms at birth.
