Time Is Money

One

I lay my head down on my white comfy pillow as the maid pierced my skin with the sharp needle that was shining in the light.
"Agh.. that hurts.." I groaned, gripping the smooth plain bedsheets as I squinted my eyes closed.
"Sorry, Master Tom," the maid apologized, beginning to push the glimmering black liquids in. "But do you want to be dead in a week?"
7 days, 16 hours, 11 minutes my time showed. I gulped as the liquid began changing my time left in a swirl of midnight black.
"I guess not."
"Exactly, Master Tom."

The time finally took shape, and I gazed down at it in wonder. How does the time currency work, exactly? The maid then wriggled the needle out of my chest and said goodbye, leaving me, myself and I.
A cool breeze swept across my face suddenly, and I cocked my head to the direction it came from.

I then pulled a blank T-shirt on, and stared out of the fourth story window. Nobody was even there.

How strange, I thought, trying to pull it closed. It was stiff, wouldn't budge.
"Move you damn thing!" I yelled in frustration, trying to heave it closed. "Move!!"
The window still didn't move, so I made myself stop, and I gazed into the crystal clear window, imagining what a world without the foolish time currency around would be like. Would humans have a life expectancy over the glorious age of thirty four? Would less suffering and neglection happen?

I didn't know. Only the people that have long been buried under rough brown dirt and mud know. They lived to see. Nobody else have, except for my parents. However, even when I question them, they say they'll tell me later, but they never tell me how much later. They may as well never tell me.
I backed away from the window and the air that kept sweeping my hair to and fro, and slouched into my bed that sank under me. I loved it. It was like being consumed by dreams. Dreams the time currency would stop working.

I know that it might seem rude and disrespectful to not support your family on what makes them happy, but they only do it so they will be rich. Our family is the richest in the world, by far. I
wish they would change their ways, but it doesn't look like they will because of how filthy rich they are currently.

Suddenly, my door creaked open and it was closed quietly.
"Tom?" a familiar voice spoke gently.
"Yes, mom?" I answered, sitting up and gazing at her; what did she want?
"Me and your father were thinking.."
"Yes?"
"We were thinking that we should get you a new maid,"
"What? Why? Halee is great."
"But she is running out of time-"
"Pay her more then,"
"But she isn't helping around the house."
"Well, she's not meant to. She's meant to help me, not you."
"Too bad. We're firing her, and a man will replace her,"
"Are you crazy?!"
"No! Now come downstairs, as your father wants to talk with you about your behaviour."

I groaned and nudged past her, slammed the door, and reluctantly trudged down many stairs and went into the living room, where my dad was waiting. I then slouched into the sofa, and waited for my lecture.
"Boy," my father began, adjusting his tie. "My son. Your behaviour towards your mother and I has been despicable lately, and your disrespect towards our business has been terrible. Why is that?"

I chuckled and grinned.
"Why do you think?"
"Tell me now."
"I don't have to tell you anything,"
"If you don't say, I can't help you."
"You wouldn't agree to it anyway."
"Agree? To what, Tom?"

"Shutting the time currency down, dad. Making it go away forever, to never come back. I hate it. Do you like to see people suffer as you are overwhelmed with riches, as you are living the best life? You don't realize how much pain people go through, or do you? Do you like to see them struggle, to see them dying slowly? To see the fear and sadness in their eyes?"