“Everyone has the date of their death tattooed on their arm at birth, however yours just says “TOMORROW” and has said that all your life.”
-Tomorrow (but not today)-
It started out as a mild confusion, which eventually morphed into a belligerent mix of pity and fear as you outlived time. Immortality was a concept hard to grasp for those still bound by the seconds. Swift, efficient. Life went by like clockwork for everyone else, they knew their limit and tried to get the most out of it. You wondered how it would feel.
You wondered whether life would be worth living then.
You enjoyed the knots on their forehead, made whenever you flashed out your tattoo for them to see. You smirked at their recoils. They might have shunned you, it was never much of a bother. You knew who would be able to give the last laugh at their coffins.
You were weird. You were a freak. You knew they were talking that you were a mistake, and perhaps the word didn’t mean like it seemed.
No one could live like that, unshackled by time.
You knew the words meant only one thing, it was never wrong.
So unlike everyone else, you lived in your own pace.
If everyone could only give you contempt for ever having been born with it, you could return the sentiment to them. It was your life, and forever yours, if you might.
You did, however, found your immortality a fun gimmick for the first couple hundred years. Always fond of explorations, you learnt the ins and outs of the world, taking notes on your observations. People-watching got boring after some decades. You changed to botany. Zoology. Eventually, you have tried everything under the sun at one point in your life, and the appeal faded.
It wasn’t always full of misery, although there were personas you liked to play. Humans were full of whimsical qualities. They brought along them many fanciful ideas to offset their short-lived entities. Whenever you could, you mingled among them, blending into the background where the words on your arm seemed to blend in the sea of numbers. You never let it go over your head though, and wisely kept your head down, leaving the party before the crowd learnt what was amiss.
There were hearsays, stories passed from one campfire to the next. You secretly enjoyed this, thriving safely within the realm of myth and urban lores.
They were a greedy bunch, those humans. Every era you heard them talking about their will to surpass the dates etched on their skins. They concocted potions, toyed with demons of chaotic planes, bargained others’ lives, traded their years for superficial researches. You laughed. Really, they couldn’t fathom it, can they?
What was still human enough in you, however, was boredom. Eventually you ran out of things to do, the stamina itself had been long exhausted.
One day, you heard the rumor of the apocalypse. Through many, many milennias, it was one thing that could bring you a smile.
After all, having all the time in the world meant nothing if the world itself ceased to exist. You would, finally, left the stasis snare. You would, finally, not be an intruder on this plane of existence. You would be free.