We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow

by WhenThePhotosStop

Summary:

Four people, Clay, David, Zadie, and Jiang, have only one thing in common: the monsters who want them.

Spanning the U.S., these four live completely different lives, one of whom has existed for hundreds of years, are thrust together as the monsters emerge in exponential numbers, hunting them down for the powers they possess. The four of them, by sheer coincidence, will have to band together to stay alive and find the source of these creatures that have taken so much from them.

Notes:

I wrote this with a migraine, so please keep that in mind if anyone reads this

Chapter 1: David

What is it like to live forever? No one asks me that, I thought they would. I would think I would remember the day I discovered it, but I don’t. I remember pain, I remember contempt for my entire life up until then. I should have died, a serious illness should have killed me, but it didn’t. It just hurt. I don’t remember much besides that. I’m not sure I remember my name, though I doubt it was in use.

So, I board a plane and head back to America. I don’t know where I will end up, but I never do. The man next to me, with his fraying hair and indecisiveness about which leg to place over the other, doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t question whether or not the fellow sitting to his right is traveling on one of dozens of passports and has forgotten more than this man will ever know. He just falls asleep, and I’m left sitting on another plane, back to a place I’ve already been, knowing that everything will look different, because mortals can’t let anything stay the same.

~~~~~

I step out of the airport over ten hours later, though I know the time change will not reflect it. Inhaling the stale air of a summer time in Kansas, after my layover in Chicago, and watching the woman I sat beside on the second flight go after her car that has probably been burning on its own in the parking lot for however long she chose to stay away. But I do not have such a car, I have my feet and eternity.

I don’t carry a watch or phone; I have found myself in no need of such items. I once met an immortal by the name of Asha, who couldn’t grasp my dislike of devices. She was young, barely a hundred, and quick to judgment. All this to say that by the time I reach a Golden Corral near the airport with my single duffle bag slung over my shoulder, I am unaware of the time, but due to the lack of a crowd and the sun that seems to follow me as if I owe it money, I would guess the afternoon.

~~~~~

As I sit in a chair in the corner of the restaurant, my bag at my feet and my plate of what I can only describe as a mediocre salad and a sad piece of chicken, I find myself craving a visit to Melisent. But I know I’m not welcome for another two hundred years, so I will stay away. Instead, I eat my food, not bothering to savor something so drab. Perhaps something interesting will finally befall me, but after this long, nothing is important enough to be interesting.