Countdown

Prologue

   My name is Tommy Stephens, and I died 2 months ago.
   They call it the Clock, but it's really just a date. A small black number tattooed onto your skin since birth, a year, a month, a day, an hour, and a minute. It's the exact time your going to die.
    Yes, I know, crazy right, knowing the precise moment of your death before you can even say your own name. Well crazy, but true, it's actually quite insignificant for most people, it's just the same as knowing the expiration date on a can of beans. For practical use...
Of course there are always the crazies who think they can change their destiny, and jump off a bridge and try to commit suicide. Spoiler alert, it never works.
   Or I could tell you about the man who locked himself in a steel box to avoid death only to suffocate from lack of oxygen right on schedule, or the women who drove her boat into the middle of the ocean only for it to sink, causing her to drown not a second later than predicted.
   It's just the way of things, it's just something that happens, something you can rely on, like the knowledge that the sun is going to rise again in the morning. It was consistently trustworthy.
   That is of course until I survived dying.