Time: An Original Novel

Chapter One: Eddie

I've been seeing numbers for years now. Some are longer and some are shorter, but they all float above everyone's head, steadily counting down like sand in an hour glass. I've never seen a counter hit zero. I don't want to. I'm afraid of what the timers count down to— what they control in everyone's life.

Well, except my own life. The only counter I have yet to see is mine. I'm not bound by its rules because I simply don't have one at all or, perhaps, I'm not allowed to see it.

In the beginning, I tried everything from looking in a mirror to find my number to looking through pictures, but it's never there. It's missing like everyone else's was just a few short years ago. This "ability" wasn't ever given to me. I woke up one day and numbers suddenly floated like digital balloons over their person. Sometimes I wish I could go back. Sometimes I wish I was normal again. Either way, it doesn't look like I'll get anything I wish.

My cab driver's number is 23 years, 6 months, 42 days, 22 hours and 17 minutes. He's in his early 60s or very late 50s but I can't know for sure because he's a heavy smoker. His dark brown skin sags heavily around his eyes and his voice is rough like sandpaper as it reaches my ears. Still, he's nice. Like a young grandfather, he smiled brightly when I found myself in the backseat of his car.

"What brought you to the city, darlin'?" He asks, catching my attention almost instantly.

"A job, actually. I have an interview with someone from Black Mask Magazine." I was dressed for the occasion too: a tight pencil skirt, a fancy dress shirt and a black coat that screamed 'professional'. I even wore heels though they made me much taller than I wanted to be granted my brilliant ability to stumble everywhere. I was ready.

"You have an interview over there? Well I'll be damned! I read Black Mask all the time!" He exclaimed, laughing in his seat until a sudden burst of embarrassment became him. "Now, don't you judge me. What's the job you're going for?"

I smiled brightly, a laugh still on my own lips from the outburst as he turned down a brand new road. I noticed him smile into the rearview mirror and realized what he was doing then. He was calming my nerves.

"Freelance Author. They're looking for someone to create short stories for the magazine monthly. I'm bringing in some of my past work for them to peek at."

"Really now? Well, bless your heart... I hope you can land it. What's your name?"

"Clara."

"Clara, I'll be looking for you in all the issues to come." I smiled with that, watching then as he took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and stuck it between his lips. My smile dropped. "Would you mind if I smoked in here? I know some people do."

I shifted a little uncomfortably in my seat but shook my head. "As long as the windows are down, I don't mind." But I would still be forced to watch as he lit the butt with a glowing red flame and inhaled deeply, his counter speeding down a whole 11 minutes.

"Thank you. Are you feeling a little nervous then?" He asked after his long drag, still holding the cigarette between two of his wrinkled fingers. I watched smoke roll from the steering wheel toward the roof of car, how it swirled from the wind outside.

"Honestly," I said, "very much so."

"The best way to deal with nerves is breathe and count down from ten. While you're counting down, think about how important you are. Somebody thinks you're important, right?"

I laughed a little. "Yes?"

"It's a silly question, I see you laughin' at me, but it's the truth. Everyone is important so act like it. Live it. You'll be successful."