(Untitled)

     Mindy stood outside the drugstore looking in through the window at the death machine. For only ten dollars it would prick your finger and print out a slip of paper declaring how you were going to die. No one really knew where the machines had come from, and most people had initially thought them an amusing novelty. However, after a few years their correctness had been proven with a scary accuracy. Mindy had never actually gotten her results; she was terrified that hers would say “plane crash,” and then she'd never be able to visit home again. Although it wouldn't really matter, as one of her friends had gotten the plane crash result. He hadn't set foot in an airport ever again, but a month later he went hiking in Canada, and a freak lightening storm brought a 747 down right on top of his camp. No, it was best not to know how you were going to die. Unfortunately, Mindy had been offered a fantastic promotion at work, and the only thing she had to do was inform them of her official results. The lady in HR had assured her that it wouldn't affect her eligibility, that it was simply a formality, but she couldn't see them keeping anyone on staff who was going to die from, say, a “printing incident.” Too much of a liability.

     She walked through the door and went to stand in front of the machine. It stood about waist height, with a hole in the middle for your finger. Feeding a wrinkled ten into the side of the box, she stuck her pointer finger into the center. This is it, she thought, and braced herself. A tiny anti-climatic pinch stung her finger, and the insides of the machine whirred into life. After what felt like a lifetime, a small slip of shiny paper wormed its way out of a slot on the front. Thankfully, it was printed face down, so she grabbed it without looking and stuffed it in her coat pocket. Just because her employers wanted to know didn't mean she did.

It was getting late, and by the time Mindy walked the remaining mile and a half to her apartment it was dark out. She walked in the door and saw her boyfriend sitting on the couch watching television. He glanced over towards her for a moment and returned to his show.

     “How was your day, hon?” Mindy asked him as she hung up her purse by the door. She got a non-committal grunt in return.

     “What's wrong?” she asked, going over to sit by him on the couch.

     “Why were you out so late?” He asked.

     “I told you, I had to stop and get that stupid test.”

     “Oh. Right.”

     “What?”

     “Nothing. Forget about it.” He turned up the volume on the TV.

     Sighing, Mindy got up and retreated to her room. He had been so moody lately, and she couldn't figure out why. She had been working late more often than usual, but that shouldn't be making him so sour. She threw her coat onto her bed and reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out the results from the death machine . Now that she was actually in possession of the results, she was beginning to get curious. Such a little piece of information couldn't be so harmful to know, could it? She opened it. Two accusing words were printed on the bright white paper: Jealous lover. Mindy's heart skipped a beat. Jealous lover. It couldn't be talking about Josh, could it? Was his bad mood jealousy? Mindy grabbed her coat and purse and ran out the door and down to the street. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew that she wasn't ready to die yet. Her mind was so focused on getting away that she didn't even notice the man walking straight toward her until she crashed into him. Disoriented, she looked up into a familiar face. She and Michael had broken up years ago, but they had remained on friendly terms, and right now that was all she needed.

     “Hey, Mindy,” he grinned, “You must be thinking pretty hard or something not to see me.”

     She opened her mouth to respond, but broke down into tears instead.

     “What's wrong?” Michael asked, “Don't tell me that douchebag Josh is being... Well, a douchebag again.”

     “I don't want to die,” Mindy sobbed.

     “Don't tell me you just got your results,” Michael said, “You always talked about how stupid that test was.”

     She mumbled incomprehensibly through her tears. Michael pulled her into an embrace. “Everything's gonna be okay,” he said, “I promise. I love you.”

     “What?” she asked, pulling away from the hug, “What did you just say?”

     “Yes,” said a female voice from behind her, “What did you just say?”

     Mindy spun around to face the speaker.

     “Why don't you introduce me to your friend, Michael?” The woman said, eyes narrowing.

     “Oh, um, Sarah, this is Mindy,” Michael said. “We used to go out, but um, it was a long time ago.”

     “Well that's odd,” Sarah said, “Because I thought I just heard you say that you loved her.”

     “I, uh, was just saying that in a friendly way!” Michael said.

     “Sure, whatever.” Sarah said. She glared down at Mindy, “Excuse me,” she said, and shoved past her to stand closer to Michael.

     Mindy stumbled and tripped over a crack in the pavement. Flailing wildly, she fell out into the oncoming traffic, right into the path of a huge semi-truck.