On one fateful day, everyone in the world received a slip of paper with a date on it. (Date as in M/D/Y) It turns out that this date is when the person closest to you dies. The slip of paper that you have has tomorrow’s date. [Link to post.]
“I can never thank any of you enough. It has been a joy, and an honor to know each and every one of you.” I raised my glass to toast my friends and family. They gathered to celebrate my final day. They all cheered and wished me luck. It was the best evening of my life, and I made sure they all knew it.
The party would stretch well into the morning while they celebrated my passing, but my wife and I left early.
“You have the confirmation number, right?” She asked me on our way out the door. I nodded. I’d reserved a death suite months ago. The event happened before I was born, but every child born after is born with that same slip of paper. Humanity has adjusted. Death is normal, inevitable, celebrated as much as birth. The car drove us while my wife and I sat in silence and held hands. She still had decades left on her expiration date.
It turns out death is not very precise. No one knows why, or how it happens. Initially the date meant death at sunrise for someone around you. Eventually scientists figured out the nuances. If no one is around you for sunrise on the appointed day, you die. Some very rich people have tried outrunning the sun, but no one succeeded.
We checked into the death suite and spent the night holding each other. We woke before the sun, and she left me with a final good-bye kiss. I took a comfortable seat on a chaise lounge on the balcony and stared out over the ocean to await my final sunrise.