Timed

"Nat," I soothed. "Deep breath. There you go. Chill out. We're only 18. I promise we will have a long, fulfilled life."
We were sitting on Natasha's beige couch, facing each other and cross-legged. It was a lazy September Saturday afternoon, with the birds chirping outside, unaware of the serious situation inside the house.
Nat was on crying, her clear blue eyes shining with tears, her blonde hair messy. She sniffed loudly. "I promise." I lied. She needed to hear those two words; she needed comfort and a promise of a good life.
On our 18th birthday, every one of us is sent a letter containing a timer.
Once that timer sounds, we die.
It's as simple as that. Nobody knows how, or why, but all we know is that those three shrill beeps will be that thing that would ever hear.
Natasha, my best friend, and I were born on the same day, coincidentally. And we were both 18 today.
The two fateful parcels were in front of us. I took mine into my hand and squeezed it, suddenly nervous.
Nat took hers as well and took the edge of the wrapping paper. "On 3?" she asked, wiping her wet cheeks.
"On 3," I affirmed.
"You ready?" I asked. Nat let out a breath and nodded.
"One," we said in unison, both staring at our fate, carefully wrapping in our hand.
"Two." I noticed Nat's hand shook a bit. I sent her a quick reassuring smile.
"Three."
We looked at each other on last time before tearing the parcel.
Nat was quicker than me and looked at her black timer. She squealed and screamed "78 years!"
I put down my half-unwrapped parcel and hugged her. "See? It wasn't that bad."
I looked at the timer over Nat's shoulder. It was perfectly spheric with a small panel on one side, almost like a magic eight-ball.
The panel was black, and white words flashed on it:

78 years, 265 days, 5 days, 12 minutes

I smiled. I knew Natasha would have a perfect life.
"Now open yours!" Nat's smile was wide.
"I'm going to outlive you!" I teased.
"You wish." Nat's mood brightened instantly. I'm so happy for her.
Smiling, I took my half-opened parcel. "Wanna bet?"
"Sure. I say...76 years."
I shot her a knowing look. "I'll shoot higher. 81."
I tore the parcel and looked at my timer, a pre-smile already plastered on my face.
The white numbers flashed:

0 years, 8 days, 7 hours, 56 minutes

Author Notes: cLifFhAnGeRs

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