Death Day

As I sit here and aspire to live another day, I sit alone. June 21, 2035. I have waited 21 years for this unfortunate freedom. Trying to live every year like there won't be another.

I have 1 day until my Death Day, and I can imagine every second of my free soul leaving this planet. My mother walks in as I raise my head from the kneeling stance I have fallen to.

"Honey, please don't be down, we have another day until we need to start praying." She stands over me with her hands on her hips, "Thomas, let's go." She sighs as her hands motion me up.

"I don't want to wait a day, I am tired of this tease you call life!" I hoist myself up. Waiting for her to give me another lecture on how I am an adult and can do what I want, but she wants me around for as long as she can.

"Thomas, I know you are frightened by this, and it's only keeping you on your toes, but we need to be a family, and love each other for what ever time we got left. Please, come down stairs and eat with us."

We gather in the dining room and say our prayers as we gloomily at our feet. "Amen" is said in unison. Our forks and knives clank together in a deafening silence. My moms neck straightens and she looks over to the black phone sitting on the counter. My heart drops, as this can only mean one thing. Someone has passed.

She puts down her fork and closes her eyes. Waiting in the silence for something. It rings.

A voice over the phone tells my mother that someone has indeed, passed. Her voice gets lumpy before she clears her throat.

"Okay, thank you very much sir. You too." She wipes away a tear, turns to face the whole family, "Your father has passed today. He was on the plane waiting for it to take off, and he...". She stammers, and my Aunt runs to catch her from her fall. The kids start to weep, and I sit there and pray.

"Lord, please don't keep me waiting any longer, and just take me. I am sick of this wait!" I exclaim outwards. My family turns to look at me, horror in their face. I scoot out of the table, and grab my coat as I excuse myself.

In my car, I struggle to stay in my lane. I half bottle of rum fell to the floor, out of my reach. I slow to an easy pace on a road that shouldn't be lower than 45 MPH. I reach as hard as I can to find the bottle, and my driving arm goes with me. The clock strike 12:00 am as I heave back up. Only to find myself on the wrong way of traffic headed straight for an 18 wheeler.