Sixty seven years.

    Twenty years.

    Twelve hours.

    That was only the people in line beside me.

    Behind me; that old man with a cough? Two weeks.

    The brown eyed little girl and  her mother? Thirty minutes.

    I force a half-hearted smile to the mother and her child before turning back around. It was none of my business. I had to let it go and keep moving. If mother taught me anything, it's that we shouldn't dig our noses where they don't belong; in other people's business.

    I was disgusted with myself. I knew full well I could do something. Yet, here I was, desperately trying to turn a blind eye to those in need. I could invite her and her daughter to sit at a table with them; I could make a phone call, or pull them aside and inform them. 

    Shaking the thoughts from my head, I stuff my hands in my torn up pants pockets and shuffled on. I wanted nothing more to do with this. Not now, not ever.

    Yeah. Right. Like I had that option.

    No matter what the case, I knew better than to mess with fate. Or, at least, I'd like to think so. Okay, so, truthfully, I didn't, there, are you happy?

    It hurts, you know. Knowing something so important about someone you'll never see again. Realizing that these innocent people won't always be around to care for their families, friends, pets. That within a fraction of a second, your time could be up, maybe before you even realize. 

    We're all terrified of when the day comes that death knocks on our door. We decide to ignore it; to let be what will be. "Que Sera, Sera," My mother would say. Yet some people obsess over this kind of thing - really gets into their heads. Festers and burns in your mind. It starts off as a simple question, but turns into a compulsive nightmare. Every little thing, you're left worried about how much time you've got left on your watch, as if you could stop the inevitability one day anyway. Your old age will catch up to you before your crippling chronophobia comes to an end. Hell, I'll admit straight out, I'm even a bit anxious.

    After all, I can't see when I'll kick the bucket.

    But I can tell when others will.

    What a cruel world I live in, huh?

    “Holy shit, Gale, you could've like, sent me a text or something? I had no idea where you were!"

    Two steps into the apartment and already Gale is being interrogated. It isn't the first time, and she is certain it won't ever be the last. She's received many a scolding from her curly haired roommate within the past few months, and at this point, Gale is so used it, she only gives a lackadaisical shrug in return.

    "Sorry, didn't think about it."

    "Clearly." 

[wip below]

You think you’d feel like some sort of super hero or something.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t, okay?”

Gale glares intently at her roommate, who decides to busy herself by reading a magazine rather than cleaning their small, two room apartment.

“I just want to forget about it, alright?” She mutters, turning away to head into the dining room. She extends her foot to kick the chair lightly out of it’s spot so she can sit down. As she takes a large gulp to finish off her treat, she glances over to Heather.

“You just saved two people from a car wreck dude.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Heather knew they probably weren’t the ones she should’ve said. She winces as Gale audibly chokes on her drink. A few coughs and a cleared chest later, she stands, her steely hazel eyes boring into her friend.

“Anyone could have done that, and you know it.”

Heather shifts, eyes of disbelief as she looks Gale up and down. “Gale, what person was going to do that? What person would be willing to go out of their way in a busy place like this?” she extends an arm towards the far window as she stands.

“Look, I know you’re still torn up about what’s been going on. I know it’s hard for you, and... I’m sorry I pressed you. I should’ve just stopped..”

Gale loosens her fists, and they drop to her sides. “I accept your apology,” she nods, walking over to her, “And I’m sorry for my attitude.”

Heather flashes her a smile. “When do you not have one?” She teases, to which Gale gasps mockingly, sticking her tongue out.

“Don’t make me take it back!” she laughs, for once, a genuine laugh. It’s been a long time since Heather had heard one of those, and she enjoys it while it lasts.

Which, in this house, never seems to last for long. A knock at the door only confirmed that.

Heather bolts upright mere moments after just having sat down. She looks to Gale, who’s already striding towards the door, which is unusual to say the least. She always insists somebody else get it.

“Who is it?” Heather inquires quietly, unsure if she should make her presence known.

“If I’m lucky, someone for mom. If not... I’m probably fired.” She swallows harshly before glancing through the peep hole.

Even from several feet away in poor lighting, Heather can see Gale paling more shades than one. She watches as Gale’s shaking hand reaches for the doorknob, only to slip completely off of it. In a panic, she grabs it and twists it roughly, popping the door open and smacking herself right between the eyes.