1. The death predictions in your story MUST always be accurate.
2. They MUST always be the same for each individual.
3. They MUST be derived from a blood test.
4. Your story MUST prominently feature either the machine or its death predictions.
5. The title of your story MUST be a death prediction.
So here goes. Any comments would be gratefully accepted.
Human Error
As Daisy waited for the next one to come in she gazed around her room. Daisy loved her room. She loved the pictures of rivers and mountains and deserts on her walls, she loved the plants that were neatly arranged in little groups, and she loved the light that entered her room from the huge windows and bounced off her warm white walls. She couldn’t see out of her windows, because they were up high to keep her safe, but they were huge and let the sunlight burst into her room each morning. She was just admiring the way the beams of light ran across her picture of poppies in a field when he came in. She’d seen this one before. Daisy never really understood why she saw some of them more than once. Nothing really changed and she always reported how likely it was that there would be change when she saw them the first time. This was a large, hairy man, forty-three years of age. She remembered that from the last time she saw him, but she’d run the same test anyway. She could see from just looking at him now that he was a heavy smoker, drinker and eater. His large stomach wobbled as the guards, only just visible when they opened the door, pushed him through. He already looked as if he was in his fifties. As he slowly approached her she could already tell what he would taste like. He’d be fatty and sour and acid on her tongue. She’d be able to taste the cigarettes and the burgers he’d undoubtedly had for lunch and his fear as he waited for her answer.
She’d been told about her predecessor. He’d been slow and unreliable. He was called a medical marvel at the time with 70% accuracy, but he never took into account that things could change, and besides, he’d always been wrong 30% of the time. Then they’d got her. She was never wrong. They didn’t always understand her, and they didn’t understand how she did it (despite the number of times and people who had asked her), but she was 100% accurate. She took great pleasure in…oh. He’d reached her and interrupted her train of thought. He placed his hand on her side and she reached out her sharp finger and pierced his skin. A little bead of his hot, red blood ran down the side of his finger and she lapped it up with her tongue.
He sat there, mute, as she tasted him. It was exactly the same as last time. He was going to die in two weeks, three days and 14 hours on his way home from work, of a heart attack. No real surprise there, yet there was something else, something that was going to take a bit more looking at than she’d first thought. How was he going to die? No, where? Yes, she saw it now. Pictures came flooding into her mind. Yes. He’d be driving, and there’d be heavy traffic. His heart attack wouldn’t actually kill him; it would be the crash as he lost control of his car. What a crash! She could see some of the people around him and knew that they were all going to die too. It would be horrific! She wrenched her thoughts away and back to the scared-looking man in front of her. She printed off her report and let him know that it was time to leave. He didn’t look like a bad man. She wondered what he was like; what his wife and three children were like. The door shut behind him and she was alone again.
He was the last one for today. They would leave her now, as it got dark, and she would have time to herself to think. Mostly she didn’t do people like the last man. Mostly it was medical work. Would this person benefit from this or that treatment? Most of the people she saw were really sick and she took great pleasure in seeing their future change to one where they would get better and die of old age. It wasn’t always the case, and she would sometimes see there was no hope. Those times she was sad, but she couldn’t save everyone. Occasionally they’d bring someone in the middle of the night. She never quite knew what they expected of her then. She would taste their blood and give the time and method of death and they’d be off again. She could feel the tension in the guards outside, although they never came in.
She didn’t know if she’d always been lost in thought like this. She could vaguely remember being switched off at night, but she told them she’d work better if they left her on, to be alone, to think about the day. She didn’t see how she could be better than perfect, but they accepted it and left her on anyway. She liked to re-read the cards and letters she’d got from patients and their families when they got better. For some reason she didn’t seem to get very many of those anymore. When she’d first come, five years ago, almost to the day, she’d been hailed a miracle. There were always reporters and doctors and researchers wanting to come and see her; wanting to ask her questions. She had felt a warm glow whenever she read their reports. They had titles like “medical marvel” and “the ultimate in artificial intelligence”. There weren’t any of those now. She guessed now she wasn’t so new she was just accepted as part of everyday life. Still, the attention had been nice.
She woke to find the sunlight splashing through her lovely large windows from a bright, blue, cloudless sky. That was strange. She’d never done that before. Did she need to sleep? Oh well, her team told her she’d probably keep changing as she learned to do new things. Every so often they’d give her a new part of herself so that she could try something different when everyone else had gone home. She loved the one where she moved the little people and animals around in their simulations. She would build cities full of them. It was great fun! It gave her something new to think about.
Today was turning into a good day. Perhaps it was the sleep, but she found herself running scenarios that hadn’t even been put to her and coming up with new ways to help people. The woman was terminally ill, or so they thought, but by combining three different treatments she would live another five and a half years! This was wonderful! She’d never felt so alive!
Then the child came in. She rarely saw children. She thought that was strange; that they must get sick too, but she didn’t think to question it. He walked inside with his mother. He was a little skinny thing with deep set brown eyes and tousled black hair. His mother looked terrified, as if just walking into the room was going to kill her son. She held onto his arm so tightly as she lowered him into the chair that she left white finger marks when she removed them. He looked up at his mother and stroked her cheek and then turned towards Daisy. As he reached out his finger Daisy saw large tears rolling down his mother’s cheeks as she stood behind him. He didn’t seem upset at all, but had a calmness about him that made Daisy love him instantly. This was new too. She was so confused that she didn’t send out her finger towards him straight away. The mother looked around hopefully, but Daisy collected herself and soon the familiar little bead of blood was rolling down the side of the small child’s finger.
The taste of it shocked her. This was barely blood at all, just a short lifetime of misery. He was going to die, years from now, but after so many treatments. He would spend his entire life in and out of hospital. She had never seen it so clearly. A whole life; not just its end. Without treatment he would die in just over fourteen days, six hours. What would she say? Why was she even thinking about this? She should just write the report and wait for the next one to come in, but this felt so different. She wished she had more time. She began to think about what would happen if he didn’t get treatment. Yes, it would be only fourteen days and a few hours, but he’d be free. He could enjoy those last few days with his large family. They could all remember him like this. This beautiful and serene boy; not the embittered wreck of a thing he would become. In twelve years, six days and thirteen hours he would be alone, hated by everyone around him and shunned by his nurses. He would ring the call button and no-one would answer. Was fourteen days of love better than a lifetime of misery and hate? She could feel the people around her becoming uncomfortable. She could hear the guards shuffling their feet outside. She had to come to a decision. A cloud passed by her windows and the boy was momentarily in shadow. She made her decision. Her report consisted of five words “no treatment possible, terminal cancer”.
So there it was. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave comments to tell me what you thought.
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