Someone Left a Note on My Windshield Saying "You Died Yesterday."

My immediate thought was chalking it up to being a prank, but it was so specific, so bizarre.

I took it and put it in my pocket.

I tried not to think about it.

But also, contradictorily, I watched for proof of anything out of place.

Not much. Morning drive was the same. Paper boy—I can’t believe there are still paper boys—delivering bundles of printed words doorstep to doorstep.

Traffic, same cadence. Same slow areas. I felt my same usual impatience.

The sun shone down, feeling as it always did on my skin.

I got to work, took the elevator up, and sat down for my 9:30 AM meeting.

My mouth hung open when, mid-presentation, the executive said:

“Of course, none of this should matter to Peter! He, uh, died yesterday after all.” Then, after a few muted laughs, he returned to talking about our dwindling sales.

The meeting wrapped up, everyone exchanged their “See ya later’s,” and that was that.

I answered emails at my desk after that. Completed some scheduling. Admin tasks that seemed like they held continuity from yesterday.

I caught a distinct-looking woman watching from a distance on the office floor.

And then, end of day, I took the elevator down.

That same woman got on as the doors were closing. She said: “There’s a bit of lag time,” before looking away, then, getting off at another floor.

At home, I hugged my wife and kids the normal amount. I didn’t want to be too desperate.

To my chagrin, something small had changed there too.

“We’ll miss you Dad,” said my daughter from across the dinner table between bites of steak.

My wife, in bed later, held my hand while we watched TV. She interrupted a conversation about house renovations with—

“I feel optimistic about the verdict. About what’ll happen to you.”

My confused look wasn’t assuaged, as she then returned to the previous topic.

Midnight—I noticed a light on downstairs. I headed down.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The woman from the elevator, pen in hand, looking over documents.

“Oh,” she said as I approached. “Sorry for the delay. We’re almost done.”

Her look wore a tinge of empathy, but primarily just… routine. “It wasn’t a bad life. Just the ending was unfortunate. That reckless driving accident—you killed a kid.”

I didn’t know what it meant.

“Best to go back to sleep,” she said. “We’ll have the final answer in the morning.”

So I did, surprisingly falling unconscious the second head hit pillow.

When I woke up, it was 9AM, but still seemed dark outside. An eclipse hung overhead, casting a dark, reddish blanket over everything.

Downstairs, wife, daughter, and son sat at the dinner table with wide grins. Their eyes avoided mine.

I stepped outside. Neighbors were huddled at their windows, smiling like they were in on a joke I didn’t know.

The houses looked the same, but something was off.

I found a new note on my windshield in the morning darkness of the street.

“HELL”

Where were you when all of the clocks stopped ticking?

It was an announcement that interrupted everything.

A mandatory video, overtaking all broadcasts.

Playing live on every social media platform. Unavoidable.

A group of scientists speaking on a stage—words translated to all languages of the world depending on where the viewer was.

The gist:

“Time has been discovered, and it is now ending.”

As I wondered what that meant, watching the men and women in lab coats beside morose-looking world leaders, the speakers continued with words ping-ponging between scientific jargon and laymen-friendly:

Humanity’s scientific breakthroughs were accelerating exponentially.

And this morning it was discovered that time, rather than prior descriptions of being merely a ‘human construct’ or an ‘illusion’, was in fact a real, tangible property embedded into all of matter, with one peculiar element inherent to it:

Once discovered, it would expire.

Simply put, we were going to run out of the tangible property of time very, very soon.

The experts had deduced we had exactly nine hours left from the point of discovery. After which, it would all end.

Many questions followed, all of which were given prompt answers.

What exactly would happen when time expires?

It was unclear, said the scientists.

Did they have any predictions?

No.

Was this a baked-in part of our evolution? A mechanism to stop our progression as a species?

Perhaps. Perhaps it was coded into this universe. Or all possible universes that exist. They couldn’t say for certain, nor did they have the time to explore the ramifications of this revelation.

Is this a simulation?

Unclear.

Was this the plan of God?

Unclear.

Is this—

And from there, the scientists made it clear they really didn’t know, and just wanted to go home to their families now.

It was a silent, stewing panic after that.

What the fuck were you—or anyone—supposed to do?

Some decided to go about their day, simply choosing not to believe what was happening.

Others killed themselves—an unpopular notion until the last hour, as the few remaining news organizations reported that most of the elites of the world had “peacefully passed” as time was reaching its conclusion.

Still, a few decided that their last moment would be something beautiful. Holding hands with the love of your life in a field. Or, maybe a kiss.

As time ran out, I had no idea what to do.

I just stood in my apartment and looked at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Maybe nothing will happen. And it was just a lie.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Or maybe, I’ll die, and there’s an afterlife.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

This is really quite bizarre.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

What do I do?

Tick. Ti—

And then it all stopped.

But I was still here.

I tried to blink, or take in a breath, or move at all, but I couldn’t.

Frozen.

My eyes fixed on a single drab view—the clock, a framed photo, and bookshelf in front of me.

And then, for the rest of eternity, I wondered just how long eternity would last.