The year is 2104. Six decades ago a brilliant, and supposedly rectitudinous scientist created a new technology with but one objective: to predict exactly when a person is going to die. The day the person is born their parents are given a clock that ticks down the person's life. The numbers of men, women, and children in possession of a Clock spread with shocking alacrity.

When The Clock stops, the person dies. No one had ever dared to tamper with The Clock, for no one knew what might happen. Of course, there were rumors of a possible outcome, but each one predicted a disaster. None whispered hope of survival.

So often, a victim of this machine will simply capitulate to death, awaiting the end with somber acquiescence. What was said to be a benefaction bestowed upon society was little more than a malevolent curse. Yet, the people still hold a predilection for this machine, reveering it as a blessing. Despite the cloud to settle upon society, people lack the prudence necessary to discriminate curse from blessing, two antonyms  ripe with connubiality.   They refuse to let their merry conviviality be sullied by terror induced rancor. They continue on in an oblivious sanguinity. But not me.

My name is Jamie Everhart. This is the story of how I did something no one had been brave enough to do. By doing this, I risked everything. This is the story of how I cheated death. This is the story of how I stopped my Clock. Or how I died trying.

I don't know if I'll survive long enough to spread the word, to puncture this blanket of indifferent complacency. So, if you find this, if it works, use it. Emulate my attempts. Stop your Clock. Survive. But be careful, because they'll come for you. If they find you, you'll be dead, Clock or no Clock. Of course, what do you have to lose? If this doesn't work, you'll be dead anyway.

Sincerely,
Jamie Everhart