 So, began the translucent silhouette of a man standing beside me with a small tap on the shoulder. Management has decided to shake things up. I spun in my chair to square my stance and better figure out what was happening. I set down my pen on my desk and set down the phone which had gone dead. The rest of my coworkers were blurry, indecipherable between them. Like CCTV footage in which everyone's blurred out, they were also all frozen. No phones rang, no footsteps, no bickering, and most fortuitous of all, no customers. There was a small relief before my heart started racing. I moved my hand to my chest. Was it racing? You know how some big wig gets an idea in their head and now everyone who actually works for a living has to change pretty much their entire day to get some half-baked idea to work. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, I gave a sympathetic nod. You even know that the idea is going to fail and take not only time, but resources along with it. You wish you could just get a word in with the decision makers and tell them, look man, I know you literally have nothing better to do than to come up with terrible ideas and force them on others. But could you just let us run the system we have that works? The figure began pacing back and forth. I tried to look at his face, but all that I could see was a shadow of light. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I think that's a thing you guys say, and it's not like they have to actually deal with any of the change, they just wave their hand, and we have to. Even without being able to make out the finer details, I could tell the person was rubbing the bridge of their nose with their head in their hands. After a few frustrated huffs, the figure clapped their hands together. In that moment, I could slightly see an outline of a face, gaunt, pulled back, like plastic wrap over a skull. Anyways, sorry, you're my first with the new system and I know there's going to be a lot of kinks to work out. As much as I'm griping about my situation, you're going to get it a lot worse than me. I still couldn't speak, which, see, I've already messed up. I'm not supposed to make you nervous. That was in the rollout packet. Something about do not instill dread. But tell me, how am I supposed to do my job without doing that? He gestured at me. And I shrugged. Oh, yeah, that's right. You can't talk. Honestly, probably for the best right now. He straightened an invisible tie. Here's the gist of it. You're going to die tomorrow. Is that why I couldn't feel my heart, I thought. And no, that's not why you couldn't feel your heart. There were a lot of complaints from, let's call them clients, that death was too sudden, too unpredictable. You're there one moment and bam. He stuck the wall behind him, but nothing moved. You're not. I couldn't move. I could feel the color draining from my face. See, right there. That's why we have the old system. Everyone knows they're going to die, just not when. Because when you establish the when aspect of death, living becomes less about life. Management hopes that with this shakeup, you'll be able to assuage the timely nature of the beast and come to terms with the whole shebang. And that's about the end of it. On your end, there's no rules. You'll be able to tell people all about this moment. You can tell people you're going to die. You can say it all. I wriggled uncomfortably in my work chair. There lies the other issue I tried to bring up. Nobody is going to believe you and you're going to look like an absolute cook. Without some kind of announcement, this whole thing falls apart. I mean, what are you going to do? By the looks of these sorry characters around you, I'd say you're at work yourself. Are you going to go tell your boss that death just came to talk to you and told you about your own expiration date? In like a year, when this system is established, I'm sure it would work. After a few million people report getting a confrontation before dying and knowing it was coming, sure, but you, you're screwed, my friend. Slowly, the people around me started to unblur. I could hear their voices and a phone ringing. If you're wondering how it happens, don't worry about it. You can't stop it. If I told you it was a car crash and you decided to avoid driving, we'd make it a chicken bone stuck in your throat. Decide to stop eating for a day. We'll stop your heart. Somehow managed to make it to a hospital and wait for something bad to happen with the hopes of resuscitation. Well, the big man will whip a penny sized meteor at your head from space. You can't escape it. This is about acceptance, not only for you, but those around you. Someone called my name and told me to pick up line three on the phone. Do what you want with it. Another saying that your kind has used that amuses me, but adopted for the situation at hand. The figure completely vanished. The world had resumed its busy nature, and the phone was blinking in my face. The voice finished their sentence like a whisper in my head. It's your death day you can cry if you want to. I spun back in my chair and faced my work computer. I stared for an amount of time, which I was unsure how to quantify. I was snapped out of it by the secretary yelling at me once again to pick up the phone. Should I? Should I just walk out? Do I go home? Do I start making phone calls? Instinctively, before I could correct my actions, I picked up the phone. Thank you for calling. How may I help you? I said for the ten thousandth time. Was this person hear any trembling in my voice? Can they hear I'm about to die? They spoke as if nothing was wrong, which somehow felt insulting. How could they just live normally? When I was just told I was at death's door. It then occurred to me that I was doing the same thing. I finished helping that customer and sat for a moment planning my next move. And then the phone rang again and again and again. I spent so much time thinking about leaving early. I accidentally left late. I buried myself in my work, not unlike how I would be buried in a week's time and nothing else seemed to matter. I couldn't bring myself to say anything to anyone. Death was right. What would they think? I'd probably be committed to a mental institution and live out my final day in a padded room. On the drive home, I spent most of my time irresponsibly looking around instead of focusing on the road. I watched people walking on the sidewalk, walking somewhere to do something, and that endlessly fascinated me. I would never know where they were going. This was the first and last time I would ever see this person and this would be the only time they ever saw me. I passed them and they never looked up. So I suppose they never saw me. How many people had I seen that never saw me? How many people have I not seen? Too many questions and there wasn't a point in asking any of them. I missed my turn to go home, as if there was anything there to draw me in. I passed by my entire life in the span of an hour, driving by past jobs, my old schools, my favorite restaurant, my friend's house, all the while fumbling with my phone in my hand, figuring out who to say goodbye to, or more worrisome, how to say goodbye. The more I drove, the angrier I got. Billions of people on the planet and I get to test this new system. Of course they couldn't choose someone in their 90s, someone who'd lived a full life. I had just barely three decades on this ride and they want me to get off when some people have had three times the bang for their buck. Where's the logic in that? Even on top of it all, they saddle me with this. You know what? No. Absolutely not. I refused to play their game. I threw my phone out the window and drove faster. They wouldn't get me. Last day on Earth? Nope. The cosmos thinks they can pick on me. Then I won't do their plan. Woven fates and predicted deaths and all this absolute garbage. I swung through the liquor store and picked up a fifth of vodka and drove out to a field where I used to play baseball as a kid. I sat down and put a CD in my car. I threw the top to the vodka out the window and down to quarter of the bottle in one pole I set it in the cup holder for my car, which felt wholly irresponsible and very foreign. I reached into my work bag to find my prescription medications. That top was also chucked out the window as the rattling pills made their way down the orange plastic tube and right into my mouth. I chewed, followed by another pole on the now mostly empty bottle of vodka. The taste was bitter, grating, and it burned. There was a feeling of it doesn't really matter, does it? As I laughed as I realized I didn't even have the dignity to give myself a last meal. I don't even think I ate today at all. The music swelled and faded as the stars above pulsated with a heartbeat in my head which began to slow. The music was getting quieter and the stars were getting darker. I reached for the last of the vodka and tried to grip it tightly. I couldn't feel my hands and my fingers let the bottle drop. It rolled down and soaked my shoes. The smell wafted up and disappeared. I kept my eyes open as long as I could. I looked across the darkness and couldn't tell if my eyes had closed. There, approaching me, was the same figure as before. I closed my eyes, but he was still there. He walked to the opposing side of the car and I could hear the door open and then close. I heard him click the seatbelt and pat me on the leg. It's alright. He said, with a heavy disappointment in his voice, you did the best you could. I drew a breath and let it fade out of me. There was no more breathing in. I heard death beside me bash on the dashboard of the car in frustrated rage. I told you, it wouldn't change a damn thing.