《One Day》 -Will-, [07:45 am] [Southwest Suburbs] Life always finds a way!... Sometimes it¡¯s just not so subtle about it. ************************ -Will- [07:45 am], [Southwest Suburbs] .............. As I look around the room I take count of the number of people in here with me. 9. Always 9. I can never make out their faces or anything about them for that matter, the only thing I know is that there are always 9. When I try to make out their faces, I feel a prickling sensation in my chest. When I look down clutching at my chest, the wet touch of blood is what I feel on my fingers, along with a knife protruding from where I assume my whole and complete heart used to be. The world swirls around me as I hear the distinct sound of girlish scream shouting my name. Vertigo settling in, my body tilts backwards as I come crashing onto¡­. With a start, I wake up in my bed. Breathing heavily and with sweat all over me I try to recall as much as I can from the dream¡­nightmare I just had. Not much comes back. I sit up and take a look at the time on my night stand clock. 07:45 am. The horrific death dreams every night aside, it is nice to have a biological clock that wakes you up precisely every day. Down to the minute. I haven¡¯t needed an alarm in a while now. Hmm, I need to go through my morning routine.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I reach into the drawer of my night stand and fish a diary. Flipping to the most recent entry, yesterday of course. [February, 10th2018. 07:45 am. I woke up sweaty as usual. The dream starts always with her; 09:03 on the dot. I can¡¯t see her face but her blond hair with platinum tips is somewhat unique. She was wearing a red shirt that said, ¡®Dying to Live¡¯¡­. The irony does not allude me. The event of the dream changed a bit, but that was expected. My tattoos are there so the day must be close, I can feel it, I can see it. People in the room haven¡¯t changed, although they did move around. No clues from the room or where it could be. This time I think my killer was a female but I¡¯m not sure. The knife through the back hurts.] Even reading this I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ve kept track for the last year or so. That¡¯s when the nightmares started. At first, I thought they were just that, nightmares. However, one drunken night I got a small tattoo on my inner left wrist. It showed up in the nightmare. Ever since then I started keeping track of what happened in my dreams, the parts I could remember when I woke up at least. I noticed that whatever changes I made in my life changed the dreams little by little. Working out, wearing different sets of cloths for the week, taking different bus routes to work and even getting a tattoo. On the third month after the nightmares started, I decided on changing my tattoo once a month, every month. I had three lines/bars throughout the third month and got a fourth line in on the first day of the fourth month. [May, 2nd2017. 07:45 am. IT CHANGED. My tattoo, it changed, it has 12 lines on it. That means whatever will happen is just 8 or 9 months away. This is absurd¡­¡­¡­..] I¡¯m not interested in reading the rest, I already know what it says. I take a look at the inside of my left wrist. 12 lines. 12 bars. A tattoo that is the countdown to that day. I don¡¯t know which day it will happen exactly, I¡¯m too scared to try to find out. That is not to say I haven¡¯t prepared as much as I could. I pen in the entry for today and take a look at the clock again 07:50 am. I need to get ready if I¡¯m to catch the 08:40 bus to downtown. I head into the bathroom, washing my face and teeth while admiring the hard work I¡¯ve put into my body over the last year. Standing at 179 cm (5¡¯8¡¯¡¯) high, with black hair, clear brown eyes and clean-shaven face. Not particularly handsome but good looking enough to be above average. A well-toned body with a light tan, the effort of not skipping a single day of gym for eight straight months. ¡®I am as ready as can be¡¯ I try to convince myself as I hop into the shower. ¡®whatever comes, comes. Hopefully not today; I need to go to the bank.¡¯ -Will- [08:40 am], [Southwest Suburbs] Fate and Destiny and two distinct concepts that hold two distinct connotations which must not be confused for one another. ************************ -Will- [08:40 am], [Southwest Suburbs] .............. I live in a small house in the suburbs southwest of the city. I usually walk the 10-minute distance to the bus stop from my house and wait for the 08:40 bus that I ride to work. It¡¯s a 40-minute ride, give or take a few minutes, just in time for my 09:30 shift. Sitting at the bus stop I take stock of my bags to make sure I have everything, even though I already checked and double checked everything before I left the house. It never hurt to be prepared, something I learned from the ever-changing nightmares I have.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The bus is on time today. I get on it and pay with the swipe card I have and take a seat at the middle right behind the driver; it gives me a side window that sees a lot of sunlight and sights on the way to work. I take a look around the bus, the same people board every day. I never really got to know any of them too personally, I only overheard some names here and there. So, I made up backstories of what could be possible and impossible. The teen in a blue hat is Marty, he goes to school on the way to downtown. Not much interesting there, but I did notice he changed from glasses to contacts and is growing a bit taller. That speaks volumes. The old lady in the floral jacket is not on the bus every day, but she is on it most Mondays. I imagine she must a High-Witch in a Coven somewhere. She enjoys taking care of her cats and grandchildren, probably in that order. She also likes to take the bus for some mysterious reason. I haven¡¯t figured that one out, yet. The bus driver changes between your average joe Jon and the confirmed dream whisperer¡­. The stopping of the bus jolts me out of my thinking mode. I quickly take a look at my watch for the time and notice just as it changes. 09:03 am. The hairs on the back of my neck rise up as I take a glance at the door. Blond hair with a platinum finish. A light red shirt that might as well have screamed blood, which reads ''Dying to Live''. As our eyes cross and I take in the woman I¡¯m looking at, two thoughts cross my mind. ¡®She is beautiful¡¯ ''I''m going to miss the bank . . . My name is William O¡¯brian, and today, I die.