I woke up on the morning of December 3rd, 2040 with a sense of relief. Another night had passed and I was alive. I stepped outside for my morning walk. The fog was dense as steel and I could only see but a few feet in front of me. Twenty years earlier, my doctor had taken some blood tests, made me do some push ups, and checked my VO2 max on a stationary bike. She handed me a printout that late fall day. With 98% certainty, I would be dead by December 2040.
By the time I rounded the corner for the last half-mile back home, the fog had barely lifted. A car pulling out of a driveway screeched to a halt just a few feet in front of me. I leapt back. The driver shot a hand out and waved apologetically. I motioned for him to pass then clutched my arm. A shooting pain pierced the center of my chest. I felt the vessels in my neck engorge and my forehead cool. I fell to my knees as the world spun about, gasping my last breath as the end drew near, as my life left me.
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