Today is my mother's funeral and I've known the exact date of her death for eight years.

Knowing was a tough burden for a little boy. Until today. Today I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.

Now, I'm completely alone in the world, plagued with this curse of knowing that haunts me everywhere.

At eighteen, I'm officially an adult. I stand strong - or that's what people think - while my mother is being buried six feet under. The dust is piled on her coffin and I curse the day I've dreaded since I was ten - The bloody tattoo I had to see every day, itched on my mom's left arm, mocking me for not being able to prevent this moment.

Tears glaze my eyes. The mourners surround me with blackness, condolences and sparkly numbers peeking out of their sleeves.

Squeezing my eyes shut, my head hangs down to avoid the sight. I don't want to focus on the fact that I know the deathday of each and everyone standing in the cemetery. When you know the day everyone is going to die, it doesn't matter much that you know when they were born. The first fact overshadows the latter.

When I was four, I asked my mother about the tattoos. Those sparkly red and blue tattoos on her arms. I can't forget that confused look in her beautiful hazel eyes. The loving, comforting eyes which have ceased to exist only hours ago.

"What tattoos, honey?" Mom asked, in her sweet babyish voice.

"Shiny writing. Here and here." I traced the soft skin of my mother's arms with my once tiny fingers. The tattoos were deeply engraved right below her wrists.

"Kane, there's nothing on my arms," mother said, her smooth forehead creased.

"But grandma has them too. Everyone!" I protested, stomping the ground with my little feet.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but I can't see them. I guess only you can." Mom whispered, smiled and raised her brows. This artificial, excited expression parents use with their kids when they talk about fairies and imaginary friends.

When I was six, I learned that the invisible tattoos (to everyone except for me) were actually numbers. My mother had a set of digits on her right arm in vivid red : 25051965

On the left arm, the digits were in luminescent blue : 01102016

Grandma had different numbers on both arms as well. But I was too young to figure out what that meant.

Grandma died when I was ten. I saw the red numbers on her right arm fade and the blue numbers on the left glow brightly as she let out her last breath.

That's when it hit me. The blue numbers were the date of that day. The date of grandma's death.

I screamed then, when I had this eureka moment of mine. I wasn't happy with the discovery, because then, the numbers, all the numbers, began to have a terrifying meaning. It was too much for a child to bear.

I knew when my mother would die. And it wasn't too far in the future. I remember weeping as I hugged her in grandma's funeral. "Mom, please don't die. Don't leave me."

Mother was grieving her own loss, but she held me tight and replied through her tears. "Honey, I'm never going to leave you. Ever."

"But you will. You'll die in eight years," I sobbed on her shoulder. I was old enough to do the maths.

Mom stroked my hair repeatedly. "No, honey, I won't. I promise."

" It's written, mom. It's written on everyone!" I cried hysterically.

For days, I locked myself into my room, refusing to eat or sleep. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I knew way too much for my age.

I wanted to tell people but nobody believed me. To them, I became the mentally ill kid, who'd been traumatized by the death of his grandmother.

My mother was devastated, so after grandma's funeral, psychotherapy was the natural result of my "hallucinations".

I told my shrink that his death was due in four years. He laughed really hard for some reason, while he wrote down my prescription drugs.

A couple of months of taking those mind-numbing pills and attending therapy sessions were enough to make me a great actor. I decided to be cured and pretended I didn't see anything any more. Everyone was happy again.

Everyone but me.

Trying to bury the memory, I draw in a sharp breath as I press my burning eyeballs with my fingers. Shutting the whole world out. I wish I didn't remember. I wish I were blind, life would've been a helluva lot easier.

"Open your eyes," a female voice whispers like wind chimes in my ear and my head snaps up, eyes wide in bewilderment.

Sweeping the empty graveyard, I realize it's already nightfall, everyone is gone, and I'm standing alone in the dusky embrace of tombstones.

My heartbeat races in my chest. Something's not right. How did I lose track of time? And who told me to open my eyes?

"Who is there?" I ask in a quivering tone.

Light wind whips my face along with the Willow trees surrounding the graveyard. It's getting dark and nobody is in sight. A chill courses through my bones as my eyes dart around to try to have a glimpse of the way out.

A swift movement behind one of the tombstones makes my muscles tense. I freeze on my spot. "Hello? Who's there?"

I don't believe in ghosts, but this gloomy atmosphere messes with anyone's head.

How ridiculous! I'm not a scared boy any more. I should go find out!

Taking a deep breath, I shuffle closer towards the gravestone that seemed to be smaller than the rest. My heartbeat accelerates with each step.

I slow down when I hear whimpering sounds. "Anybody there?"

Low heartbreaking sobs come from behind the grave.

"Hey!" I say while I circle around the stone to find out the source of the crying.

A petite body is curled up into a ball on the ground. A young lady, trembling with the depth of her tears, broken and fragile.

My body relaxes a bit. "Hey, ma'am. Are you OK?"

An angelic face raises to stare at me, short pixie haircut, delicate features, eyes sparkling in the dim light. "What do you think?" Her voice was an angry snarl.

"Uh! Sorry... I just..."

"I lost my baby!" She snapped, digging her nails into the dirt.

"Sorry... for your loss." I wince and look down at her bony hands attacking the soil. My eyes freeze on her wrists. The shock makes me get down on my knees to inspect it further.

There's nothing written. Her arms are spotless. Tattoo-free.

How come?!

"The worst part is, I've known exactly when I'd lose him... and I couldn't do anything about it!" she lifts her dusty hands to her face.

"You too?" I choke.

The grieving young mother squints, scanning my face then her face twists in astonishment.

"I know you!" She bleats and springs up with a sudden jolt. "Show me your arms!"

I gulp and my voice cracks. "What?!"

"Show me your arms!" She yells and pulls my arms forcefully.

As soon as our arms connect, I feel as if I'm struck by lightning. A stabbing electric current drills into my chest with the power of a million volts.

A howl escapes from my throat, the sky seems to fall down and everything goes black.

****

Written for (contest 2 ) held by maxxi10

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