I stared disbelievingly at the tattoo I had been born with, swirling daintily across my inner wrist. At birth, everyone has the date they will die tattooed on their arm. The number on my wrist matched up with yesterday's date. I was a mixture of emotions. I was angry, yet curious. No one had ever passed their 'use by date', as people called it. All of yesterday, I had wondered when I was going to die. If I would die in a car crash while driving to my parents house, in a crazy shoot-out at the shops, or simply pass in my sleep. The last had been my main speculation once I got home. I just presumed I would pass from a blood clot at the heart or brain, or possibly I would choke on my own saliva during my sleep. It was a terrible thing to think about, yet when you know the exact date you will die for your entire life, you think of many terrible things. Coming back to the present, I brushed my thumb across the lumpy, delicate skin on my inner wrist, wondering what would become of me. Would I live for eternity, watching all my family and friends as they reached their use by date and passed? Or would I have to wait until something written in the ancient books dictating life in the past, called "old age"? No one had lived till then for over 4000 years. Suddenly, I glanced up. The TV had turned itself on in the other room. The morning news music was blaring through the speakers which had been at full volume while listening to my favourite band, Muse, last night. Walking slowly into the living room, I barely saw the newsreader before the image distorted and shifted to a man wearing a black burka.
"Ellie," he said. "You have passed your use by date because you have been called for a very important duty…"
"Ellie," he said. "You have passed your use by date because you have been called for a very important duty…"