The watch ticks relentlessly. Even if it sounds silly, I always feel that the hands wave to me as they circle the face of numbers in an eternal loop.

It’s nothing but a small pocket watch; I’ve cradled it in my pockets on a daily basis for as long as I can remember. But, the catch is that it has a quality like nothing I’ve seen before: with it I can control the life spans of those I’ve interacted with.

Now normal people might extend the life spans of their friends and family for as long as humanly possible. But did I say I was normal?

I see it as an unknown source of karma and revenge. My middle school bullies may have thought they’d won when they broke my arm or strapped me in the trunk of a car, but I’ll have the last laugh when I show up, uninvited, to their funerals.

Better yet, they’ll both die just before their birthdays when they turn 21; they won’t be able to drink away the memories of their hate crimes against me. Bummer.

Sure, it’s inhumane and unethical—but so are hate crimes.

I really don’t see the difference.