One time. You only live once. Every mother weeps while they carry their offspring. You are presumably assuming it’s because of the delight that their child was born. Not in my world. 1.9 billion mothers have wept because the primary thing they look at rather of their child. They look at the child’s wrist. Why? Well because everyone’s date of expiration is printed on their wrist. It’s carved in there. No one creates it. It’s just naturally there. I don’t know why, but I think it’s disgusting. I have just turned sixteen. My expiration date is June sixteenth. My anniversary is on June sixteenth. If my family notices me unconscious ever even if it languishing on my birthday they explode into tears. But I’m 16 now I finally get the operation I have always craved. The surgery is a type of synthetic, not a nose job or something like that. It’s for my skin. The president has subsequently agreed to make it statutory to get the operation to cover your death date. All of my family has reserved it at the age of 16. Now it’s my deed.
Short Stories
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Interesting story as you took us to the expiration date and at first I thought it was the birth date? I admire the way you told it somewhat parable style.