*Knowing

Intro: It probably would have been more appropriate to do a holiday story but I have had this idea on my mind all week. In church on Sunday there was a comment about how it was a good thing people didn't know their exact death date. I would like to think that people would be better but honestly I feel that a lot of people would find it an excuse which would push civilization over the edge.

The numbers hovered above the crowd and Laurel did her best not to look at them. It was hard. Everywhere she turned civilization glowed a like a doomsday clock. Exactly like one. She avoided her reflection as she pushed open the door to the building. The door panels were made of reinforced Plexiglas, which was the only reason they were still intact.

Inside was more of outside. Trash, debris, filth, and the dregs of humanity. She inched around the various piles and had to kick off a couple of groping hands. The staircase bred shadows and she always took a moment to steel herself before starting her run up to the third floor. On step seven she took an extra large step over a broken stair. On step twenty she caught sight of the second floor where a few people sat. They were the ones who could make the jump across the six foot hole between the stairs and the floor. At step fifteen she moved to stand against the wall and edged along the ledge for the last ten feet. The third floor had fewer people but more than the second floor.

A few people backed out of the way as she passed. Her gaze flicked to the numbers without thought. 12:05:21:10. 00:07:02:45. She turned away, her stomach roiling. Her own numbers. She'd avoided them for almost a year but she was sure they were close to 02:01:15:00. Or something. A child ran in front of her on chubby legs and for a moment Laurel could only stare. 25:11:25:31. Only twenty five and the child couldn't be more than four or five. The young mother scurried out from a room and scooped up her child.

The room at the end of the hall had no door. Laurel knocked on the doorframe and stepped in. A makeshift couch stretched across one side of the room, cinderblocks holding up half a mattress that had been stuffed with old clothes. A young man lay on the couch looking out the broken window which had been covered with chicken wire. In the winter she attached cardboard though she wasn't sure it actually helped.

"How are you feeling?" She avoided his numbers like a plague, more so than her own.

"Better."

She would have believed him save for the cough that wracked his body. His brown eyes were sunken and had anyone walked into the room they never would have believed them siblings, let alone twins. When they were younger she often dressed as him to play pranks. She pulled her attention back to Matthew. His brown eyes were focused over her head.

"Laurel?"

"Don't, I don't want."

"Your numbers."

"Matthew, no. I don't want to know. I am not going to live my life like every monster out there."

"Is that why you won't give me a mirror. You don't want me to know?" He turned his gaze away from her and looked out the window. "Yet you don't give me a chance to live."

She opened her mouth but Matthew held up a finger.

"I don't really want to live out there, but I am living the way you criticize the others for."

She sat down on the foot of the couch with her back against the wall.

"I will only ask one more time. Are you sure you don't want to know?"

"Positive. Even if I try not to, I know my attitude will change. Last day repentance and all that."

"So you live as if each day were your last?"

"If I did that I would be kinder to everyone and treat you better. No, I am not the best or the worst. I forget important information and am not a nice person."

When Matthew fell asleep Laurel got to her feet and looked out the window. Ever since the world had changed and people started seeing the countdown to their deaths, the life expectancy had decreased over the years. Anarchy reigned among all the cities. She gripped the chicken wire and felt it bite into her flesh.

As she turned back to Matthew she let out a moan. The red numbers above his head blinked at 00:00:00:00.

She knelt at his bed and cried. "I love you. I never even said that today." She pushed herself up and covered his body with a blanket. As she left the building her eyes caught her reflection. The numbers were a blurred mess from the warping Plexiglas and the tears still in her eyes.

"I didn't want to know anyway. I don't want to change." She walked away but couldn't resist a look back. At the distance the numbers were still blurred but it looked as if Matthew stood on the other side of the door looking through. She raised her hand in farewell and gave a small smile as he did too.