Rafi Arnob, Period 8, 4/5/2022

Rafi Arnob 

Period 8

Modern Mythology

Blog 4 (4/5/2022)

Creativity & Fiction

42 years, 3 months, 4 days, 5 hours, and 17 seconds. On a certain rainy April morning, I woke up with those numbers crowned on the top of my head. 

Is that my remaining lifespan?

“Tyson. Come down for breakfast.” My mom shouted. 

I rushed to the bathroom and shot the mirror an unrelenting glance. I lifted my head up and sure enough, the numbers were still there. 

Did I just imagine the whole thing? That was so weird.

“Tyson” my mom repeated more sternly, “I’m not going to ask you again.” 

“Alright, alright I’m on my way down” I replied as I started to slide down the stairs. “What’s the big deal anyw-”. 

50 years, 6 months, 22 days, 1 hour, and 3 seconds.

“What?” my mom asked as she stared at me with a puzzled expression. 

“Do you not see that?”

“See what?”

“The numbers.”

“What numbers?”

“The ones on the top of your head.”

My mother took a pause and sighed at me with her tired eyes. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but you’re still going to have to school.”

“It’s not even about that. Whatever man.”

I ate my breakfast and swiftly left for school. 

What a terrible way to start my day. I mean, at least mom’s gonna live a long life, longer than me anyway. 

That walk to school was something. The numbers I saw ranged from 80 years to 2 months, it was kind of surreal. It was pretty depressing too. About 10 minutes in I saw this little kid who couldn’t be any older than 4 with his parents, waddling along to school. 4 years, 1 month, 1 day, 7 hours, and 30 seconds. What a shame. 

I was pretty down in the dumps after that one. It was what it was. It’s not like I’m naive to the idea of death. But, what’d the kid do to deserve this? I mean, his life’s only begun and before he even gets to the good part, it’s gonna be over. 

I couldn’t pay much attention in school, not like I do so regularly anyway but still. I don’t know, I guess I was still pretty hung up on the kid. 

On my way back home, I bumped into Dolph. You see, Dolph’s a homeless dude who hangs around the neighborhood every so often. He’s a good dude, never bothers anyone, and doesn’t smoke in front of the little kids. 

“What’s up, man?” Dolph starts. “How’s it going?”

10 years, 11 months, 4 days, 21 hours, 49 seconds. Not too bad. 

“It’s been interesting,” I say as I head into the deli. My change came out to 39 cents so, naturally, I put it in Dolph’s cup and gave him a nod. Just as I was about to leave, the numbers change. 

13 years, 10 months, 14 days, 9 hours, 6 seconds. 

What? 39 cents gave a man an extra three years to live?

That night, I wrestled with the thoughts about the little kid. If Dolph’s lifespan could increase, maybe the kid’s could as well. Frankly, I didn’t want to believe that the kid’s 4 years were set in stone, that’s just a depressing thought. For my sake, I have to believe that the numbers are flexible. 

The next morning, I woke up to my mom’s screaming. 

I ran to the bathroom and turned the shower on. While it ran, I started to brush my teeth, and just as I was about to hop in the shower, I realized, the numbers disappeared. 

I ran downstairs, hoping that my towel would be strong enough to protect my dignity, and looked at my mom. Nothing. The numbers did actually disappear. 

I smiled. Probably more than I should’ve been because my mom flashed me the “this kid is insane” look. 

As I walked to school that morning, I saw the kid again. Smiling, laughing, holding his parents’ hands. It was cute. For my sake, I believed those numbers could be altered. 

I took a deep breath and thanked the heavens for removing the numbers. Life’s more enjoyable when you don’t constantly have death presented in front of you anyway.