The screen flickered. And then, in the same pale blue font, a sentence appeared that made his blood turn to ice:
He closed the laptop. Opened it again. The timer was still there, now reading 7 hours, 9 minutes, and 11 seconds. www.death clock.com
He wouldn’t have to do it himself. The universe had finally scheduled him an appointment. At 4:00 AM, he called his sister. She didn’t answer. He left a voicemail: “Hey, Jen. It’s Leo. I know it’s late. I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the wedding. For disappearing. For all of it. You were right. I needed help. I love you.” The screen flickered
“You can spend the remaining time proving the clock wrong. Or you can spend it proving it right. The universe doesn’t care which.” The timer was still there, now reading 7
He typed: Leonardo Frank Warren. D.O.B: 04/12/1987. Gender: M. Country: USA. Lifestyle: Smoker (1 pack/day). Sedentary. History of depression. No current medication.
At 8:30 AM, he went back to his apartment. The laptop was still open. The timer read 1 hour, 29 minutes, 54 seconds.