To live is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that's all.
Oscar Wilde.
September 5th, 2017.
Mateo Torrez, 12:22 AM.
Death-Cast is calling with
the warning of a lifetime.
I’m going to die today.
Forget that.
Warning is too strong a word, since
warning suggests something can be avoided,
like a car honking at someone
who's crossing the street when it
isn't their light,
giving them the chance to step back.
This is more of a heads-up.
The alert, a distinctive and endless
gong like a church bell one block away,
is blasting from my phone on
the other side of the room.
I'm freaking out already,
100 thoughts immediately drowning
out everything around me.
I bet this chaos is what a first
time skydiver feels as she's
plummeting out of a plane, or
a pianist playing his first concert.
Not that I will ever know for sure.
It's crazy.
One minute ago, I was reading yesterday's
blog entry from CountDowners,
where Deckers chronicle their
final hours through statuses and
photos via live feeds.
This particular one about a college
junior trying to find a home for
his golden retriever.
And now I'm going to die.
I'm going to, no.
Yes, yes, my chest tightens,
I'm dying today.
I've always been afraid of dying.
I don't know why I thought this would
jinx it from actually happening.
Not forever, obviously, but
long enough so I could grow up.
Dad has even been drilling it into my
head that I should pretend I'm the main
character of a story that nothing bad
ever happens to, most especially death.
Because the hero has to be
around to save the day.
But the noise in my head
is quieting down and
there’s a Death-Cast herald on
the other end of the phone,
waiting to tell me I'm going
to die today at 18 years old.
Wow, I'm actually,
I don't wanna pick up the phone.
I'd rather run into Dad's bedroom and
curse into a pillow,
because he chose the wrong time to
land himself in intensive care.
Or punch a wall,
because my mom marked me for
an early death when she
died giving birth to me.
The phone rings for
what's got to be the 30th time.
And I can't avoid it, anymore than I can
avoid what's going down some time today.
I slide my laptop off my crossed legs and
get up from my bed,
swaying to the side, feeling really faint.
I'm like a zombie moving toward my desk,
slow and walking dead.
The caller ID reads Death-Cast, of course.
I'm shaking, but manage to press talk.
I don't say anything.
I'm not sure what to say.
I just breathe, because I have fewer
than 28,000 breaths left in me,
the average number of breaths
a non-dying person takes per day.
And I might as well use
them up while I can.
Hello, I'm calling from Death-Cast.
I'm Andrea.
You there, Timothy?
Timothy, my name isn't Timothy.
You've got the wrong person,
I tell Andrea.
My heart settles down, even though I feel
for this Timothy person, I truly do.
My name is Mateo.
I got the name from my father, and
he wants me to pass it down eventually.
Now I can, if having a kid is
a thing that happens for me.
Computer keys are tapping on her end,
probably correcting the entry or
something in her database.
Apologies, Timothy is the gentleman
I just got off the phone with.
He didn't take the news very well,
poor thing.
You're Mateo Torrez, right?
And just like that,
my last hope is obliterated.
Mateo, kindly confirm this is indeed you.
I'm afraid I have many other
calls to make tonight.
I always imagined my herald,
their official name, not mine,
would sound sympathetic and
ease me into this news,
maybe even harp on how it's especially
tragic because I'm so young.
To be honest, I would have been
okay with her being chipper,
telling me how I should have fun and
make the most of the day,
since I at least know
what's going to happen.
That way I'm not stuck at home starting
1,000 piece puzzles I'll never finish, or
masturbating because sex with
an actual person scares me.
But this herald makes me feel like
I should stop wasting her time,
because unlike me, she has so much of it.
Okay, Mateo's me.
I'm Mateo.
Mateo, I regret to inform you that
sometime in the next 24 hours,
you'll be meeting an untimely death.
And while there isn't anything
we can do to suspend that,
you still have a chance to live.
The herald goes on about
how life isn't always fair,
then lists some events I
could participate in today.
I shouldn't be mad at her.
But it's obvious she's bored reciting
these lines that have been burned into her
memory from telling hundreds, maybe
thousands about how they'll soon be dead.
She has no sympathy to offer me.
She's probably filing her nails or
playing tic-tac-toe against
herself as she talks to me.
On CountDowners, Deckers post entries
about everything from their phone call
to how they're spending their end day.
It's basically Twitter for Deckers.
I've read tons of feeds where Deckers
admitted to asking their heralds
how they would die.
But it's basic knowledge that those
specifics aren't available to anyone,
not even former President Reynolds, who
tried to hide from death in an underground
bunker four years ago and was assassinated
by one of his own secret service agents.
Death-Cast can only provide a date for
when someone is going to die, but
not the exact minute or how it'll happen.
Do you understand all of this?
Yeah.
Log on to deathcast.com and fill out any
special requests you may have for your
funeral, in addition to the inscription
you'd like engraved on your headstone.
Or perhaps you would like to be cremated,
in which case.
I've only ever been to one funeral.
My grandmother died when I was seven.
And at her funeral, I threw a tantrum
because she wasn't waking up.
Fast forward five years when
Death-Cast came into the picture, and
suddenly, everyone was awake
at their own funerals.
Having the chance to say goodbye before
you die is an incredible opportunity,
but isn't that time better
spent actually living?
Maybe I would feel differently if I could
count on people showing up to my funeral,
if I had more friends than I do fingers.
And Timothy, on behalf of everyone here at
Death-Cast, we are so sorry to lose you.
Live this day to the fullest, okay?
I'm Mateo.
Sorry about that, Mateo, I'm mortified.
It's been a long day, and
these calls can be so stressful and.
I hang up, which is rude, I know, I know.
But I can't listen to someone tell me
what a stressful she's been having,
when I might drop dead in the next hour or
even the next ten minutes.
I could choke on a cough drop.
I could leave my apartment to do something
with myself, and fall down the stairs and
snap my neck before I
even make it outside.
Someone could break in and murder me.
The only thing I can confidently
rule out is dying of old age.
I sink to the floor, on my knees.
It's all ending today, and there is
absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I can't journey across dragon-infested
lands to retrieve scepters
that can halt death.
I can't hop onto a flying carpet in
search of a genie to grant my wish for
a full and simple life.
I could maybe find some mad scientist
to cryogenically freeze me.
But chances are I'd die in
the middle of that wacky experiment.
Death is inevitable for everyone,
and it's absolute for me today.
The list of people I will miss,
if the dead can miss anyone, is so short.
I shouldn't even call it a list.
There's Dad, for doing his best.
My best friend, Lidia, not only for
not ignoring me in the hallways, but for
actually sitting down across from me
in lunch, partnering with me in earth
science, and talking to me about how
she wants to become an environmentalist
who will save the world, and
I can repay her by living in it.
And that's it.
If someone were interested in
my list of people I won't miss,
I'd have nothing for them.
No one has ever wronged me.
And I even get why some people
didn't take a shot on me.
Really, I do.
I'm such a paranoid mess.
The few times I was invited to do
something fun with classmates like roller
skating in the park or going for
a drive late at night, I bowed out.
Because we might be setting
ourselves up for death, maybe.
I guess what I'll miss most are the wasted
opportunities to live my life,
and the lost potential to make great
friends with everyone I sat next to for
four years.
I'll miss how we never got to bond over
sleepovers where everyone stayed up and
played Xbox Infinity and board games all
night, all because I was too scared.
The number one person I'll
miss the most is future Mateo,
who maybe loosened up and lived.
