I Can See the Expiry Date of Everything

The alarm clock didn’t just ring; it shrieked, a jagged electronic serration that tore Kevin Brooks from a dreamless sleep. He slapped the snooze button with a heavy hand, his vision swimming in the dim morning light of his apartment. As his eyes adjusted, the world didn’t look quite right.

A translucent, glowing ticker hovered in the air above his nightstand. It wasn’t the clock. It was a string of digits, pulsing in a sickly, pale violet hue: 42y : 06m : 12d : 04h : 11m : 20s.

Kevin blinked, rubbing his face. He figured it was a residual migraine or some strange trick of the light filtering through his blinds. He rolled out of bed, his joints popping, and stumbled toward the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, but when he looked into the mirror, the numbers were still there, hanging in the air above his own reflection. They were shifting, ticking down with a rhythmic, hypnotic precision.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He left the apartment, the city morning air biting at his skin. He needed coffee. He needed to get his head straight. But the streets were a nightmare. Every person he passed was draped in numbers. A businessman rushing to the subway had 14y floating over his skull. A young woman walking a golden retriever had 53y displayed like a neon sign.

It was absolute chaos. His brain tried to rationalize it—a glitch in his retina, a hallucination, a breakdown—but the consistency was terrifying. He pushed through the crowd, his adrenaline spiking. Every tick felt like a gunshot in his ear. He felt like he was running through a minefield where the mines were calibrated to the exact second of every stranger's expiration.

He ducked into The Roasted Bean, gasping for air. The smell of burnt espresso and steamed milk usually calmed him, but today, it felt suffocating.

Then he saw her.

Megan Taylor was sitting at a corner table, her laptop open, a massive latte balanced precariously near the edge of the mahogany wood. She looked beautiful, glowing with the effortless, chaotic energy that made her his best friend. She was laughing at something on her screen, oblivious to the fact that her world was about to end.

Kevin froze. The air left his lungs in a painful rush.

Above Megan’s head, the numbers were a bright, jagged crimson: 00y : 00m : 03d : 00h : 00m : 00s.

Three days. Seventy-two hours.

Kevin’s legs turned to lead, then kicked into overdrive. He sprinted across the café, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing glares from a woman named Sarah and a man identified as Thomas Miller, who was sipping tea by the counter. Kevin didn’t care. He crashed into the chair opposite Megan, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.

"Kevin? Whoa, take it easy, man," Megan said, her eyes widening in surprise as she pulled her earbuds out. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you miss your train or something?"

Kevin gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. He couldn't take his eyes off the red numbers. 02d : 23h : 59m : 40s. They were eating the seconds alive.

"Megan," he started, his voice cracking. "Listen to me. You have to be careful. Like, super careful. Don't go anywhere, don't drive, don't—just stay inside for the next three days, okay?"

Megan let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Seriously? You’re acting like a total weirdo. Is this some kind of prank? Did you lose a bet or something?"

"I’m not joking, Meg," Kevin hissed, leaning in so close he could smell her vanilla perfume—a scent he suddenly feared would be gone forever. "I’m seeing things. I’m seeing... a countdown. And yours is at three days. You have to believe me."

Megan reached out, placing a cool hand on his frantic, shaking wrist. "Kevin, hey. Look at me. You’re spiraling. You’ve been working too many hours at the office. You’re stressed out, and it’s manifesting in these weird, dark thoughts. Just breathe."

"I can't breathe!" he snapped, pulling his hand back. "Every time I look at you, the numbers drop. I’m not crazy, Meg. I’m telling you the truth. Something is going to happen to you. We have to figure out what it is."

Megan sighed, shaking her head as she went back to her laptop. "You’re really going off the deep end today. I’ve got that presentation for the agency on Wednesday, remember? I can’t exactly 'hide in my house' because my best friend is having a nervous breakdown."

"Wednesday," Kevin whispered, the word tasting like ash. "What time?"

"Three o'clock. Why are you grilling me?"

"Because you can't go," Kevin said, his voice rising in panic. He grabbed his coat, standing up so abruptly he knocked his own coffee onto the floor. It shattered, ceramic shards skittering across the tile. "If you go to that presentation, that’s when it happens. I have to stop you. I’m following you everywhere. I’m not letting you out of my sight until Thursday."

Megan looked up at him, her expression shifting from annoyance to genuine concern. She realized he wasn't just tired; he was terrified. "Kevin, stop. You’re scaring me. Sit down, let’s talk about this. Let’s call Daniel Cooper—he’s that doctor you like, right? Maybe he can help you."

"Daniel can't fix this," Kevin said, his eyes darting toward the street outside the window. He felt like a predator was circling the café, waiting for the clock to hit zero. "Nobody can fix this except me. I’m going to change it. I’m going to make sure you’re alive on Thursday morning."

He turned to leave, but stopped, his gaze snapping back to Megan’s head.

His heart nearly stopped.

The numbers flickered violently, like a dying lightbulb. 02d : 23h : 59m : 30s... then, in a blink of a red-tinged static, the numbers jumped.

02d : 22h : 59m : 30s.

An entire hour had vanished. No transition, no counting down. Just... deleted.

The adrenaline that had been surging through him turned into cold, paralyzing dread. The timeline wasn't fixed. It wasn't a static destiny. It was a shifting, tightening noose.

"Kevin?" Megan asked, her voice sounding small and far away. "What is it?"

He didn't answer. He turned and sprinted out of the café, ignoring the surprised cries of the patrons. He hit the sidewalk and started running, his lungs burning, his mind racing. He had to be with her. He had to watch every move, every shadow, every breath she took.

The countdown was alive, and it was hungry. And Kevin Brooks was the only thing standing between his best friend and the end of the world.