expired

Prologue

(Record scratch, freeze frame) Yep, that's me. May, Eva May. And you're probably wondering how I wound up in this situation.

Oh, you know, just your typical Tuesday morning, chasing after your dog who you thought was going to die in the next three seconds, narrowly saving her from being run over by a careless biker. Well, not careless per se, but I'm getting ahead of myself. If you're wondering what's wrong with my dog, how in the world I knew she was one near miss away from becoming roadkill, and who the "careless biker" was, I'm going to have to give you a little back story. We are going back, way back. To the beginning.

Now, I hope that you're not picturing dinosaurs eating leaves off trees (or other dinosaurs... but we'll stick to the docile herbivores), because I was really thinking more 17 years, three months and six days ago. The day I was born! Exciting, no? Little Eva Maria May, fresh out the oven. Of course I don't actually remember this, but to explain this whole, um, situation to you, we are going to have to pretend.

I was born with a "gift", if you really want to call it that; I don't. I have the ability to see clocks over people's heads. And no, they're not circular little analog clocks (Gen Z, of course), but like 00:00. "Digital" clocks, if you will. They're over everyone's head that I've ever met, and I have yet to meet a person without one. The numbers are constantly in a countdown, but at the time, I had no clue what that countdown was to. Was it the next time the person would have to pee? The next time they'd eat a burger? I hadn't a clue.

As I grew up, I kept this whole "clocks" idea to myself. I still don't remember much from these years, but I can assume that I didn't think anything of the clocks because I didn't know any different. My assumption that everyone could see these clocks, and everyone knew what they meant, and I too would figure it out one day.

The older I got, the sooner this proved false. Little bits of evidence along the way helped me figure out that not everyone could see these little glowing orange wonders. The fact that not everyone would stare at a person's head for (often creepy) extended periods of time like I did, and no one seemed to people watch like I tended to. Once I got old enough to begin watching TV regularly, I realized that the clocks weren't over these people's heads. Later I would realize that is because they are just pictures, and the clocks aren't in pictures either, and at the time that was enough for me to figure out that the clocks weren't normal. That I wasn't normal.

When I was eight or so, in the second grade, mom and dad came to get me from school after recess one day. I promise, this pertains to the story and the clocks. I asked why I got to go home early, where we were going, if I was going to get a present. Of course, I was giddy that I got to leave school early, though I didn't know why. All we were doing that day probably involved coloring and picking our noses. As I pestered my parents with questions from the backseat, my brother Matt would try to shush me. He was three years older, eleven at the time, and was old enough to understand what was happening and where we were going.

We drove for a long time, and I eventually shut my mouth and drifted off to sleep, like all kids do once they're exhausted from asking questions. Mom gently shook me awake after I don't know how long. We had ended up at the hospital. Definitely not a present. I had only been to the hospital once when dad had to get surgery for his knee, but I didn't remember much of it. I took Matt's hand, whispering questions up to him as we walked inside. He shushed me.

Once we were inside, mom and Matt went to the staircase while dad pulled me off to the side, sitting me in one of the big blue chairs. He sat in the one next to me and crossed his legs, shaking one nervously. His face was was solemn, his mouth flat. Dad explained to me that grandma's heart was failing her, and might not be around for much longer, and that he and mom had to pull Matt and I from school to go see her. I understood death and had a good handle on the concept for my age, but I never really thought that it would happen to my family members at some point.

I furrowed my brow in confusion at dad, and he just shook his head, pulling me out of the squishy blue chair and into his lap. He whispered into my ear that it was okay and grandma was just going home, but it was a home that we couldn't visit her in for a long time. I nodded my head, deeming this an acceptable explanation.

Dad took my hand and led me to grandma's room. As we walked past, I saw a lot of other families. Some were crying over lost loved ones, others were rejoicing over medical miracles. I wondered which we would be.

When we got to grandma's room, Matt was sitting quietly in a chair, his head hung a little, his eyes blank. Mom was next to grandma, holding her hand. Auntie was on the other side of grandma, holding her other hand. They were both crying. I looked around the room at everyone. The whole scene was solemn, their faces as white as the boring hospital walls. Dad went to stand next to grandma, and I hopped onto Matt's lap. Matt was trying to be the cool kid, the one who didn't cry, but I could feel the tenseness in his muscles and could see the pain in his mouth as he tried to keep it straight and closed, probably because mom told him to hush just like he had shushed me. Grandma's face was white, her chest barely rising. A doctor came in shortly after, whispering something that only auntie and mom and dad could hear. Mom and auntie started crying harder, and dad held mom's other hand. Matt and I sat silent in the corner, hushed.

I looked at everyone's clocks, which I tended to do when I got bored. It gave my little overactive mind something to do. Everyone's was normal, except for grandma's, which was going down almost four times faster than everyone else's. The numbers kept going down faster and faster, until they hit all zeros, and the little machine next to her beeped loudly. Mom and auntie started sobbing, squeezing grandma's hands tight. Dad cried too, slow tears running down his cheek. I looked up at Matt, whose eyes were watering as well. For all of them, this was a day of sadness. For me, it was a day of discovery. When grandma died, her countdown ended. The clocks weren't countdowns to bathroom breaks or meals, they were a countdown of someone's life. And when they flatlined, their countdown ended. Their time expired.

This newfound information wasn't the only thing I received that day. In grandma's will, she had left several notebooks to my name. Mom and dad had the rights to them until I turned 18, and withheld them from me for many years.

In the meantime, I now knew what the clocks were really for! I had known beforehand that something as typical as talking to someone could change their time-- for worse or for better. Now that I knew that I could actually lengthen someone's life, I often tried to interact with people as much as possible to change their times. Saving someone's life, if you will. It was a cool feeling, but a big responsibility.

Fast forward to freshman year, when my parents finally decided it was time for me to have access to the journals that my grandma had left me seven years ago. The first page was addressed to me, and I was instantly intrigued. The journal basically told me that grandma had the same "gift" that I did. After 15 years, I still had never thought of it as a gift before. It really didn't seem like one, more of a responsibility. Grandma instructed me in her journals that I was to use my "gift" for good, and that I could help change people's lives. She also told me that no one was to know. Grandma said that I could save so many people with my "gift", and that I must use it to its full potential. I was happy that I had been doing with my "gift" what grandma wanted, and that I wasn't alone in the whole thing.

Fast forward again to today, with my dog Clover. Yeah, remember that? Her almost getting run over by the careless biker? Well, that is where our story begins.