I only have, what is it now, let me check my watch, four hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-two seconds left. I’m making my final arrangements, and before I’m gone, I want someone to know my secret. 

***

I’ve been preparing for this day since I was born. My father cut the umbilical cord at the hospital, and the doctors handed me to my mother.

“He’s a strong boy. Nine pounds, eight ounces, date of birth July 3, 2081, 6:51AM, and with a downpayment of nine million and financing at 6.85%, that gives this little one a date of death slated for July 2, 2159, 8:59PM.”

My parents smiled. What a great investment they had just made. 

And you guessed it. Today is July 2, 2159, and it’s 5:47PM. 

***

I’ve lived a good life; I took my time since I had time to take. Almost eight decades, that is more than most. I was placated, pampered, privileged, protected—a prince amongst pigs. 

Off to private schools, I studied Latin, and my parents even bought me a violin. Can you imagine? A violin. Such a silly luxury these days. But I had begged and begged, and they had finally allowed it. 

My childhood friends were verified before each encounter. Tommy had the coolest skateboard, but I never got to ride it since his work schedule made it difficult to find the time. Plus, his death date was sometime in November 2089. Not worth it my parents decided. He was just a daydreamer, a passing nobody, a fleeting speck whose greatest ambition was not to drain too many resources before the inevitable. 

Not like me. I had to become somebody special, do something great, I had to, since I’d been blessed with so much time. 

***

Maureen and I were married on February 22, 2100, at 2:00PM. She jokes that her favorite thing about me is that she won’t have to grieve through my death. She hates loss, hates saying goodbye, and her death date was two years, nine months, eleven hours, and forty-six seconds before mine. 

We waited until our careers were establish before having children. Fifteen million invested into all three of our sons. Two of them are still at boarding school in Prague. The oldest just started medical school. He’ll become an octogenarian surgeon, just like Maureen. 

***

My days are spent in the Superior Court, hearing cases, resolving disputes, exploring the academic ether for jurisprudential insights that can help us manage the ever-expanding herd of daydreamers.

I sit on a few boards, and the conversations are usually the same. 

“Is there precedent for cutting back rations another 20%?”

“What about underground siloed housing? That would free up surface area for agricultural expansion.” 

“Can we reduce the age thresholds any further on workers? What’s the difference between a nine-year-old factory worker and a fourteen-year-old one? They’re all the same. Just fleeting daydreamers destined for nothing.”

***

It’s July 2, 2159, 8:52PM, and I am walking to my final resting place. They’ve prepared a unit for me in Jurist Hall. A place of honor where thousands will see my likeness and honor my contributions to society. 

In total, my parents spent $31 million on me, and then I made yearly payments of $750,000. I lived almost 78 years. 

But now that it’s almost over, I have a confession I need to make. Something I need to get off my chest.

They called me blessed all my life. I was told how lucky I was to have been given so much time. But what nobody knows, what I’ve never let slip from my lips, is that I too am a daydreamer. My true passion is music. 

And despite the tens of millions of dollars that were invested into me, the thousands of cases I resolved, the hundreds of speeches I’ve given, and the three handsome and successful men I gave to the world, here now, in the twilight of my life, I feel unheard and unseen. 

You see, there was a symphony inside my soul that no one ever heard.