17:13:57

“Jenna turned forty earlier today,” Mom told me as I sat down across from her at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, pickup up my fork and playing with my food. We had spaghetti, again, but I couldn’t blame Mom. She always made spaghetti when she was tired. I had never met Jenna—my existence had to be kept a secret from everyone—but I knew she was Mom’s best friend since childhood.

Anya skipped into the dining room and sat in the chair next to mine. She was only seven years old, which meant she was even more illegal than me, a fifteen year old. She frowned as she saw both of our somber faces. “What happened?”

“Jenna turned forty,” I explained, trying not to remind myself who else would be turning forty soon.

“Who’s Jenna?”

Mom looked up at Anya, her silky white hair gleaming in the harsh light above us. “My friend.”

“Your friend? Why would you make friends with someone so much older than you?” Anya shoved a heap of spaghetti into her mouth, muffling the last part of the sentence.

I leaned back on the chair and closed my eyes. “Jenna’s less than a month older than Mom.”

Anya’s eyes went wide, and silence passed over the table before she finally spoke. “What? How old is Mom?!”

I glanced at the clock on our wall. It was 18:22. “Thirty-nine years, eleven months, thirteen days, ten hours, and three minutes.”

At that, Anya bawled on the spot, her tears splattering the spaghetti. Mom got up from her chair, walked over to Anya’s chair, and hugged her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m still here.”

Anya sniffled. “How—how long until you’re forty?”

Now it was 18:23. My eyes burned, and tears threatened to fall. “Seventeen days, thirteen hours, and fifty-six minutes.”

“Seventeen days?!” Anya wailed. “That’s too short!”

Mom squeezed Anya tighter. I wished she could do that with me. “I know, honey, I know. Soraiya will take care of you, don’t worry.”

I suddenly felt angry. Of course I had to take care of Anya—who else would? But who would take care of me? I was only fifteen. It wasn’t supposed to be my responsibility. Adults weren’t allowed to have children after they turned twenty-two—kids needed to be eighteen before at least one parent turned forty.

My mother, of course, had me at twenty-four, and had Anya at thirty-one. So all three of us were illegal, and it had made my life a living hell. I couldn’t go to school, or go outside at all, really. The Counters were always watching and looking for unregistered people. So yeah, that sucked.

“Raiya?”

Mom’s voice startled me. I refused to look at her, even though I could see her on my left side staring at me. “Don’t call me that.”

“Soraiya, are you okay?”

Motivated by sudden anger, I raised my voice. “ 'Okay'?!” I didn’t care that Mom flinched. “Of course I’m not okay. You had both of us illegally, and now we have to pay the price. Why would you do that?!”

Anya cried even louder.

Mom sighed, still trying to make eye contact. “I’m sorry, Soraiya, I was young and dumb, and I had a kid.”

“Young and dumb? You were thirty-one when you had Anya! That’s far past ‘young’,” I spat.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. You were more of a rebellious stunt, but Anya was an accident.”

Ouch. Good thing Anya was crying too loudly to hear that. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. “I was a ‘rebellious stunt’?! That’s so dumb! Why would you have me when you knew I was illegal?!”

“I—”

“Guys!” Anya yelled. “Stop! Please!”

We immediately turned to her. She was sobbing and covering her ears.

Mom hugged her. “I’m sorry, sweety…”

I stopped listening and looked the other way. Mom hadn’t hugged me, but she hugged Anya twice.

Why did the stupid world have to be like this? Maybe, dare I say it, it was better fifty years ago, before World War III, and before stupid Isaac Olten Smithborn made his stupid laws.

What law did he make?

All human lives were automatically terminated at the age of forty.