I sat on the bench waiting for the bus. To everyone around me it was a normal Tuesday morning. The sun was hidden behind grey clouds, and the bus was running late, but the same people stood around me.
One man, who never failed to miss the bus, stood to my left. Every day he wore the same grey suit, with a white top, and a pale blue tie. His thinning hair was always comb to one side, and thick of gel.
A woman with bright orange frizzy hair sat right beside me. She only showed up at the bus stop every Tuesday and Thursday. She always wore something different, but it was always bright and cheerful. She had a bright yellow shirt on, that said ‘Smile’. While her shirt would made it appear that she was a happy and friendly person, the permeant frown that was implanted on her face made her seem unapproachable.
Then there was the old woman. She would always be right beside the bus sign, sitting on her walker. She was always the first on the bus in the morning, and at night she was the last off.
I remember yesterday when I had sat in the same spot thinking that I would miss watching them every morning. We would all climb on the bus and one by one, get off at our stops. I imagined the man in the suit worked for some big company. The woman with orange frizzy hair worked at some sort of all natural or vegetarian supermarket. And that the old woman would go and visit her family and friends. I thought yesterday would be the last chance that I would ever get to see them. But I was wrong.
I pulled my sleeve up my arm and examined the marking on my wrist. It had been there since the day I was born. Imprinted in my arm was the date I would die. 13-02-2017. I wasn’t supposed to make it past my twenty-first birthday. I should be dead.
Ma was meant to walk into my room this morning and find me dead. Instead she found me sitting on my bed holding my wrist. Pa was meant to knock over the dining table as he ran upstairs to Ma’s screams. I wasn’t meant to wave to our neighbour, Mr Town, as I left our small-town house. And I shouldn’t be sitting at the bus stop waiting for my bus.
My marking made it clear. I was supposed to die last night in my sleep. Just like my sister did when she was nine. Her marking gave my parents plenty of warning. They treated her like a princess for the nine years that she was alive. They spoiled her and when she died, they were never the same.
Ma would constantly pester me about the date I would die. I never told them. I wouldn’t give them another date to count down to. But it never happened. My death should have happened but I was still breathing.
There had been a few instances of people surviving a few extra hours. But sooner or later they died. I didn’t know if I was one of those people. I felt no different, in fact, I felt better than ever. If I was going to die, then I just wanted it to happen. I was over waiting.
The bus pulled up at the stop. Everyone moved towards the door. The old woman stayed in front and held up the line. She lifted her walker, got her ticket and moved to her normal seat. The bus quickly filled up. I was still sitting on the seat.
The driver looked at me. “You getting on?”
I thought for a moment. If these were my last hours, minutes or seconds, I wasn’t going to spend it in the same boring routine. No, I was going to enjoy it. “No,” I said.
He closed the doors and drove off.
I pushed myself to stand but my muscles wouldn’t respond. Everything felt heavy and I was struggling to breathe. A weight was pushing down on me. I couldn’t lift my arms. I couldn’t speak.
My body slouched down and my eyes slid shut.
I wasn’t any sort of a miracle person who got to live longer than the day they were meant to die. I was just like everyone else. I was simply given a few more hours. And what did I do. I wasted them.
ns 15.158.61.16da2
