How, or When?
Story written by Spencer Lanzarotta _____
There’s this question you’ve probably been asked at one point or another in your life. The question being, “Would you rather know how or when you are going to die?” You might take a moment to think and weigh your options, but the majority of people end up choosing how, due to the stress of constantly knowing the exact date and time of their demise.
I was asked this question by a man in a coffee shop. I was seated comfortably at a table next to a window when he entered the store. He positioned his body towards me, he was wearing a trenchcoat and blue jeans, and had long hair that went down to his chest. He walked over and without asking, sat down across from me.
“So…” the man spoke. I looked up from my cappuccino with a puzzled look. What does this guy want? I wondered.
“Would you rather know when, or how, you are going to die?” He finished, looking dead into my eyes.
I paused, and eventually answered “When.” since I’d rather not know any gruesome details. I work in a factory so the possibility of a workplace accident is very much existent.
“Good answer. Most people choose how.” The man then left the store without saying another word. How strange, I thought.
Once I finished my beverage I left the store and took my newspaper I was reading with me. The sun was bothering me so I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the blinding light. That’s when I saw it, written on my left forearm, permanently tattooed onto my body, read March 15th, 2023, 3:50 PM.
I was bewildered to say the least. How the hell did this get tattooed onto me? I swore on my life to my parents I’d never get tattoos. I pressed my fingers against the ink and it was completely dry, like it had been there for ages. I rolled up my sleeve and continued onwards, I had a train I needed to catch.
Later that afternoon, I hopped on the train and sat at a seat. Just then I put two and two together and realized something dreadful. The question that the man asked me back in the coffee shop, whether I wanted to know how or when I was going to die. I choose when, and now I have the exact time I’m going to die printed onto my body. The worst part? That’s two days from today.
The rest of the train ride was spent with me panicking. I almost got off at the wrong destination because I was so paranoid. Surely this couldn’t be the case, surely I’m not going to die in two days, right?
Update 1
I just woke up, and I’m feeling more scared than ever. I don’t want to go to work tomorrow, I know I’m operating machines at 3:50 PM. I’ll do anything to avoid getting grinded into a mess of bloody chunks. I’m going to prevent this, no matter what it takes.
I still have more than 24 hours until that time comes, so today I decided to take the day off and relax at home. I hugged my kids like it was the last time I’d ever do it, and I told my wife I loved her more than anybody has ever loved anybody.
My family doesn’t know what’s going on. I’m scared that if I show them the tattoo and tell them the mans question and how I answered “when” they won’t believe me, and they’ll think I’m just an old, delusional, crazy man.
Later that night, I tucked my daughter and son into bed, and I kissed my wife goodnight as I crept into the blankets for the last time.
Wish me luck. I’m hoping that tomorrow I can avoid my own tragedy.
Update 2
My boss just called and said I needed to come into work, he says I’ve taken enough sick days and that I need to be productive. He’s right, I have a long history of sick days. I now regret that deeply. I wish I could just take one more sick day and lock myself in my room to prevent death from taking me, but my wife is giving me the side eye and I don’t want to upset her, or my kids. I should have just told them about the tattoo, but it’s too late now. Goddamn it.
I took the train, just like I do every day, and I spent the whole ride with images of my hand getting caught between gears and getting absolutely blended, images of terrible things no man should ever have to witness or experience. My stomach is in knots. I don’t want this to happen to me. I don’t believe in god but I’d pray for centuries to avoid this.
I looked down at my tattoo, and then at my watch, I have five hours until my supposed death. What can I do to prevent this? I thought frantically. I’m desperate. I stepped off the train and continued down the sidewalk to my work facility.
As I walked amongst the crowd of dozens of busy city goers, I spotted the back of a man wearing a trenchcoat. The man was also wearing blue jeans, and had long hair that went down to his chest. I recognized that style. I know who that man was. I needed to catch up to him.
I began to dash through the crowd, bumping shoulders with people as they yelled profanities at me. I eventually caught up to the man and I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head and it was him. I knew instantly it was the man I had met in the coffeeshop just two days ago.
“Excuse me!” I exclaimed with astonishment.
“Ah, you again. I’m assuming you have questions, yes?” He asked with confidence as we both walked down the sidewalk together in unison.
“I choose the other option! I changed my mind! I want to know how!” I shouted, desperately trying to alter my fate in any way.
“Check your other arm, buddy.” He said before disappearing into the mass of people walking down the busy sidewalk.
I looked down and gasped at the new tattoo that had formed on my right forearm. It read Murdered by Boss.