17 Minutes

The ultimate power that loss of power makes us feel is enough to fill the ocean with human tears.

When I was seven years old, I realized that not everyone saw the same things I did, such as the little numbers that appeared on top of someone's head whenever I blinked three times in a row in exactly three seconds. When I told anyone, they looked at me strangely, or, as my mother puts it, I just have a very active and creative imagination. My imagination, however, is never as vivid as the numbers I see. And it took some time to get them there because I was terrible at counting as a child, either too fast or too slow. That is, until Miss Hazel, my English teacher, told me that the best way to count is to add Mississippi after each number to make it a full second. Strange, I know. I don’t even remember how I figured out I needed to blink three times in three seconds. It’s all too complicated really.

My grandma, however, died in the hospital when I was thirteen years old following a horrible vehicle accident. My Nama was hit on the side by a drunk driver, and the doctors couldn't give my parents any good news because she needed many surgeries to fix her damage, both internal and exterior. I got to visit her with my mother after approximately a week in the hospital, and I sat next to her bed as she was hooked up to loud machinery, loud enough to disturb me and distract me from my iPad. As my cartoons draw to a close and go into a one minute commercial break. My eyes become tired and dry. I look up at my mother, who is praying to her mother, and blink a few times to get rid of the irritation I felt from the dryness of them.

They were there as I looked at my sleeping grandmother. The numbers. They were back

I've must’ve blinked just right enough to activate whatever imagination or misplaced circuit in my brain is causing them to appear. My mother wore a green 63 on her head, whereas my grandmother wore merely a red number 1. What exactly does that imply? For the millionth time in my life, I ask myself this question. I'm not sure. All I know is that my cartoons have come back from the one minute commercial and my grandma had flatlined at the exact moment. I believe that was the last time I mentioned numbers to my mother, as I tried to explain what I saw and tell her what I thought it signified, but all I got was a harsh slap on the cheek. It giving me a headache in the left side of my face and ear.

At thar moment I was upset with my mother but now that I’m older I don’t mind the slap as much as I did as a kid. I, too would be angry if my mother had passed and that same moment someone told me something I thought was silly and so very unnecessary to the moment.

It took me a long time to figure out what the numbers meant, but I finally comprehended what they meant after a day at the beach.

I can see the time people have left on earth. Some sort of angel of death I was.

Remember when my mom wore the number 63 on her head? And it was green, so it had to be years, and my grandmother had a 1 that was red... I believe it meant minutes. There's also yellow and blue, which I haven't yet figured out. Anyway, the day at the beach made sense when I saw a small girl, who couldn't have been more than five years old, stroll towards the ocean as her mother lay on her stomach and basked in the sun. I didn't have to blink three times this time to see the numbers; they appeared as soon as she walked into the water. She had a red 3 above her head, which I recognized and froze in dread. I attempted to scramble

I tried to scream, but my throat had closed up, and my feet felt as if they had been buried in the sand beneath them. Everyone was sprinting towards the ocean, attempting to save the child who had been trapped in a wave. It was a little late now. I've blamed myself for it ever since, and I've loathed myself for it. I just couldn't bring myself to go back to that beach. I know if I wasn’t frozen in fear, I would’ve had a chance to call for a life guard or maybe swim to that child’s safety before it was too late.

The company where I work is celebrating its seventh year anniversary. We've been doing very well in the media and showbiz world as a film production studio. People are moved by horror and science fiction films, so that's where I'll be concentrating my efforts. We leased a venue and had a bash to commemorate the occasion and success of the company.

There was even a band playing music, as well as a dance floor packed with folks and their plus ones. I'm not a great admirer of crowds, but my job requires me to be the company's face, and I can guarantee you that I know every single one of these people by name. But they see me, then they don't because I don't want to stay around for small talk. Especially if it has nothing to do with our job. But there is only one person in the entire world who I can stand, Milo, my high school love as my mother refers to him, but we're really simply best friends who perfectly understand each other and have each other's backs through all of life's chaos. Milo purposefully bumps into me as I drink down what would have been my fourth glass of champagne.

"I told you you'd make it." He smirks, being the constant tease that he is.

He continues to brag about how he promised me I'd have a good time, but all I can see is the number 17 on top of his head. I'm not sure if my drink had been spiked in some way, but I didn't feel like myself. I felt scared, anxious, flustered, and scared like that day on the beach.

"Milo..." After a few seconds, I mumble something. My eyes opened and closed as the numbers appeared one by one over everyone's heads," Milo…Something...," I say again, trying to get his attention, but he was already looking at me, I just hadn't noticed it.

"Something bad will happen." I mutter, my words slurred and shaky.

“What exactly are you talking about?" Milo inquires.

But I'm unable to react for a minute, "We're all going to die." I exhale, attempting to calm my racing heart.

“What? "Did you overdo it on the booze?"

"N-no," I shake my head angrily. N-no. I never told you but I know… I know… I know when people are going to die and it looks..”

“What?” He just laughs and shakes my shoulders, as if to shake me out of it. “You snuck in some of the heavy stuff didn’t you?”

What could possibly happen in 17 minutes, my mind wanders? Why here? Why to these people? But all of my thoughts come to a halt when I notice a male dressed entirely in black standing behind the glass doors.

"Everyone, get out of here!" Please leave. Make use of the exit! "Get the hell out of here!" People get panicked and afraid as they flee towards the exit as I shout and cry wildly. I wasn’t quite sure what was to happen, but I knew what happened on the beach many years ago was not going to happen again.