Flashfiction Collections

Life

I hear the sharpness of my own breathing as I sense that the old lady beside me on the bus noticed I have been glancing at her.

"Are you okay, Miss?" she ask in a soft voice that makes me wanna cry.

"Uh... Yes. Thank you for asking. But... Uhm, if I may ask, do you live alone, Ma'am?" I have to know. I have to.

Her forehead furrow in confusion. "No, child. I live with my grandson. I'm guessing he's your age. Such a treasure though, he never waste his youth on something not reasonable enough. Why ask?" she answered anyway.

I nod in relief. "It's just good to see that some grandmom's are not being sent into the Home for The Aged," I reason.

The bus pull up at East 92nd Street and the grandma beside me stand.

"Like some passengers, it's my turn to go. Goodbye, child," she mutter, patted my shoulder and starts to walk.

I feel my tears slowly filling my eyes. "I'm glad I get to talk to you, Ma'am!" I call; she's half way out the door. She glance at me and smile as she goes out of the bus.

Her last words echoes on my mind: "Like some passengers, it's my turn to go. Goodbye, child." I sigh. Her words made it sound like she knew her time is up. My late grandmom once told me that for some reason, regardless of the health condition, a person somehow knows if he's dying. Maybe it's their instinct.

I hope she gets to say goodbye to her grandson too, I hope her grandson is with her tomorrow. Because the numbers above her head says that her life span is up... tomorrow.

While other people wishes to know when their life is ending—I wish I don't have the ability to see when they are exactly dying.

My parents told me that the reason why my name is Life is that because when I was born, I was strangely small, even if I am not premature and my mom was taking every precaution she needed. They thought I won't make it, but I did. Though sometimes, I would like to think that I live through curse.

At first I was perplexed. I keep on asking my parents about the series of numbers I see above people's head. The other one is white, above the black numbers. Later when I was 10, I realized the white ones were their birthdays. But my parents wouldn't believe me. Told me I was making it all up to seek for attention, do I not understand they have a business to run? Until my grandmother died when I was 12, that's when I knew the black ones are for their death date.

I started to research about this kind of 'gift' as what my grandmom named it, but a decade after her death; still, the answer is unfound.

• • •

As the sun floats down in gloomy tangerine, I sit on the grass looking down my grandma's now 10 years old grave.

Life have been lonely since I left my parent's loft, but I can never be with them knowing that I have weird ability I can't stop blabbering about. Why won't I? I can see their death dates for Pete's sake!

I take my journal—which I call 'Life's Span'—out of my bag. The white ribbon that I use as a marker indicates that already half of the journal have been used. I flip a page then started writing 'Grandma on the bus - 11.11.11. - Lives with grandson.' I close my notebook and heave a sharp sigh. There's something weird about the grandma that I could not figure out.

A cold wind begins to blow. Without looking up, I can sense the gray clouds starting to envelope the sky. I get up; stare at grandma's gravestone, reading her name engraved on it like I forgot about it, stare a little more on her death date then decided to walk my way home.

If trying to avoid my sight above people's head is not hard, then I don't know what hard means anymore.

A ring on my phone startle me.

"Joy," I answered.

"You're not planning to 'good evening' me? Good evening, Life," she sarcastically answer.

"You should know I am rolling my eyes on you right now."

"Felt it. Besides, I am your only colleague and friend that you're entitled to roll your eyes on."

I chuckle. "So, what's up?"

"Deadline of Mag cover and layout is tomorrow at 10 in the morning, have you—"

"What?" I ask in a high pitch voice.

"God! I have never seen an employed lady too lazy to read emails until I met you!" I can hear the frustration from my assistant editor and it made me feel guilty.

"Fine. I'm sorry, okay? I'm just not in my sunniest disposition today. What's up with the deadline? What's with the rush?"

"We have a new boss, remember?"

Oh, right. Our great old boss just retired.

"What does that have to do with our deadlines?"

I look around me and notice I have passed a block away from my apartment. "s**t!" I mentally banged my head on the tree near me.

"What happened?" Joy ask. She obviously heard my cuss.

"Nothing, I just pass over my apartment. Please proceed."

"Are you high?" Her voice is in high pitch, yes. "Don't roll your eyes on me," she warns as if reading my actions. "So, anyway. As what I have heard, we'll be having a huge project so every magazine issues that's in line is on the rush," she continues. I roll my eyes.

"Got it," I say, stopping in front of my apartment. "Anything else?"

The doorman greets me good evening.

"Make the most of your rest day's remaining hours, productive, don't act too weird or I'll deny that you are ever my friend."

"Yes mom," I kid. She drops the call.

I light a cigarette the moment I am able to kick my boots off, make coffee and reheats my roasted beef sandwich leftover for dinner. I stare out of my window while I'm alternately sipping my coffee and chewing my sandwich, watching the drizzle blur the lights that slips out of the houses from the outside.

I can't get 11.11.11 out of my head.

I take a shower, letting the cold water chill me to the bones.

There's something about repeated numbers that makes me feel ill at ease.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a moment after combing my hair, hoping I would see numbers above my head, as if this is the very first time I ever did this. I mentally roll my eyes to myself. There's no number, of course. That's the price I pay for having to see people's life span, maybe.

I slump on my bed with my journal and starts to flip pages.

I started writing on the journal when my grandmom died-01.01.01. which is on page one.

Page two, mom and dad's birth and death date.

Page three, 'Why can't I see my life span?'

Page four, 'Sarah-03.10.04, lives with her parents.'

Page five, 'Sarah died through car accident today on her way to school. 03.10.04.'

11.11.11 what does it mean? I ask myself over and over.

I snap when a realization hit me! Grandmom's death date! I did not write the reason of her death. But that was the time I have learned what the black numbers are for, and her death date has repeated numbers!

Could it be that something unusual is about to happen?

I have fallen asleep with the thought.

• • •

"Life, you're late!" Joy exclaims as I hush my way into my table. I overslept because of last night's wonders.

"Caught by downpour when I went out of the house. You know how spring's weather is unpredictable." Lie. Yes, there was downpour when I woke up, but stopped right after I took a shower.

"Yeah, that's why we have this thing called umbrella," she argues. I wave at her in dismissal.

"You have to meet the new boss, but you have to bring another undie, just in case it drops off." Oh, yeah. Today's the schedule of our new boss's welcome party. But I can wait until later.

"Is he that strict?" I ask without interest.

"Nope. He's that handsome, you bore!"

I shrug. "Whatever."

"Life, he's coming," she whispers in a thin, melodious tone. I ignore. "Life!" she whispers again. But I am focused on my computer now, for there's a new photo sent to me for editing.

"Please make her skin tone a little lighter." I look up to where the unfamiliar voice that spoke came from. The second thing I notice was how handsome he is. Is he the new boss?

"I'm sorry for interrupting but I was looking for you earlier, since we need the layout and the cover two hours from now," he adds but with confusion in his eyes. Why?

"No. I uh... Okay, I will, sir. I'm sorry, I got stuck with the downpour," I stutter.

"May you please follow me to my office for a moment?" he ask—not instructing—just asking. His eyes are uneasy. Why? I nodded. He led the way. Joy mouthed 'good luck' with a suspicious smirk.

The first thing I have notice about him, which made me feel unsure earlier, is now crystal clear. Since he is tall, I wasn't that certain for I can only see a portion while I was glued on my chair earlier. But now, as I walk behind him, I can see it well. And for the first time since I have lived with this curse I got, I felt afraid.

What's above his head are not numbers. It is an infinity symbol!

As we enter his office, he motion the chair in front of his table. My heart is thumping so much it hurts. He is staring at me with such expression I cannot name.

"Life, is it?" he starts. I nod. Too distress to speak.

"The name's Brio. I am your new boss, though I'm guessing you already know that."

I nod again.

"I just have one question to ask," he add after a couple of seconds pause.

"Sure," I answer shortly.

"I know this is kinda weird but..." He paused for a second, I bit my lower lip. "What is that infinity symbol above your head?"

I think I just felt my jaw drop. What did he just say?

I'm about to open my mouth to speak when his phone starts to ring.

"Yes, Sally?" he directly asked without hello; froze for a moment and stand up. "What happened to grandmom?" He walks out of the office and the last thing I heard is, "Oh my gosh, no!"

END.