When It's Cold I'd Like To Die

Chapter 1: Death-Cast

00:15

watching as she stepped out of his quarters, closing the door behind her. 

Clay turned back around, twisting the volume knob to a rational level, letting the next song play in the background as he reached for the first sketch, grasping for the tape as he began working on his room decor once again. 

Late night telephone 

Clay pictured where he wanted his drawing to be placed, picking at the lost ending of the tape whilst mindlessly planning ahead at the many drawings he still had to hang on the wall with just the power of tape, hoping he wouldn't be showered with artwork at some time in the future. 

Calling all the wallflowers I know

There was a sudden vibration coming from the pocket. Clay, stopping midway through placing a piece of tape on the second corner of his drawing, pulled out his mobile device from his pocket to look at the number. 

Out the dark and into the light

Clay didn't think about the music playing as his finger hovered over the green option on his screen. He was still kneeled on his bed, tape and pictures before him, expecting the number to be some mistake, so he could quickly get back to finishing what he had to do before calling it a day. 

Tapping the green button, Clay brought the phone to his ear. ''Hello?'' 

Clay's hand hovered towards the music source, planning on turning it off, so he could hear the voice on the other line, yet with the playing music, he could still hear the upcoming words loud and clear. 

''Hello, this is Death-Cast. Is this Mr. Clay Jensen?'' 

Clay paused, hand still hovering in the direction of the CD player, which he hadn't managed to turn off as it kept playing. He just kneeled on the bed, back stiff and legs quivering as he fell down in a seated position. 

''Y-Yes,'' Clay could barely speak, feeling a stickiness in his throat that was clogging his airway, disabling his ability to swallow. 

Break the air to feel the fall

Or just feel anything at all

''I am sorry to inform you that some time in the next twenty-four hours, you will be-'' 

''Dead,'' Clay finished the woman's sentence. He wanted to ask her if she got it right, if she had the right person. But as each second passed, the more Clay wished to hang up. He didn't need to hear anymore, he got the point. 

''That's right-''

The line was cut off. 

Clay was going to die today. 

Today.