Time Thief
Every other day, Leon gets to extend his life by forty eight hours.
It’s always the same. He finds himself sitting opposite a random stranger in an ostentatious room that has no exit. Sometimes the stranger is old. Sometimes they’re young. Sometimes they’re well put together individuals who ask intelligent questions about where they are or what’s happening. Sometimes they’re people that are very much down on their luck and hardly comprehend that they’re sitting at an ornate table opposite someone who gets to decide if they live or die.
Today is no different. Leon is sat opposite a little girl no older than eight and fuck.
Leon’s not a monster. He hates it when it’s a kid. They look up at him with their big doe eyes and ask where their goddamn parent is. He doesn’t want to steal time from kids but he always figures that next time, he’ll pick the other person.
Kids haven’t really lived yet. They don’t know what they’re missing, right?
Leon does. He just wants one last blow out; two days to live the way he’s always wanted. Then he’ll do the right thing. The next random stranger can be the one to sit in his seat at the grand table and decide who gets the next forty eight hours.
Leon will be free.
But then the next forty eight hours are gone in barely a breath and Leon is never ready. He still hasn’t finished that show on Netflix. He still hasn’t seen Mrs Lawrence with her rambunctious new baby. He still hasn’t managed to grow a goddamn orchid.
Or run a marathon.
Or paint a masterpiece…
The girl looks at her grubby hands first and then up at him. She has the same big doe eyes as the other kids Leon has encountered but there is something hard about the way hers shine in the overhead lighting. Her jaw is clenched, creating the slightest of dimples in a face that is a little too angular.
“Am I in prison?” she asks and Leon gapes at her. He’s not heard this one before.
“Uh, no?”
The girl leans back on the hardwood seat, crossing her thin arms over her ratty jumper. She gives him a firm stare, just a beat too long, before letting her eyes rake over their elaborate surroundings.
“Looks like a prison,” she offers.
“Been to one before have you?”
The girl gives Leon a look like he is the stupidest man in the world. It strikes something inside him. He feels like he is being seen for the worthless piece of shit he really is.
Outside of this room, nobody knows that Leon is a murderer. Nobody knows how callous he can be when he decides to steal someone else’s time.
But Leon knows.
It taints every last blow out.
The girl is right, this room is a prison.
Leon breathes out, steady.
Somewhere, the chime of a clock sounding the hour rings out.
Leon makes his choice.