It's Been 84 Years Novels & Stories

I asked as I slightly moved away from Tyler. “You know your grandpa's birthday is in two days. Of course, your father will be busy making different arrangements for the event,” My mother said and my mind went to today's date ‘September 2nd’ I picked up my phone just to confirm the year again, even though I had checked it inside the conference room, but I still couldn't help checking again. Before I was killed, I could remember the year was 2024, but it changed the moment I found myself in the conference room; it suddenly went from 2024 - 2019.

While I was helping him, he suddenly posed a question, "Scarlett, it has been two years since you married my grandson. Are you both still not considering having a baby?" I stood frozen in my position, contemplating what I could possibly say to him. As I turned to my mother-in-law, hoping for some guidance, she greeted me with a smile that seemed to anticipate a positive response. The weight of the situation made me feel uncomfortable and rendered me speechless. "Scarlett, your grandpa is correct. Storm is already 31 years old, and you are now 25. It is time for both of you to seriously consider this," Mrs. Scoville asserted.

Elara turned eight in April. The party was the kind of party that a child turning eight in a household that had been through a war and a plague and two cross-territory crises in the past year deserved: full, warm, attended by everyone who loved her, with excessive amounts of food and the specific noise level that made quiet houses feel alive.

I tell him, referencing my childhood best friend. "You're a woman now" Vince states as he finally moves to stand behind my father. "I am" I sneer. "That's what tends to happen as the years pass." 'How long has it been?" He asks through a strained smile. "16 years, 10 months and 26 days..but who's counting ey?" I say with a dry smile as something like shame crosses by his and my old mans face. "Wow" Vince states with an uncomfortable laugh. "How do you remember so well?"

he asked, voice rough. Melody softened. “She’s tough,” she said. “You can feel it. She’s been running on fumes and spite for how long?” “Eight years,” Jimmy said quietly. Baylee’s head snapped toward him. Eight years. Eight years. Her throat closed. She’d been seventeen. She’d spent eight years thinking she’d watched them die.

Melvin blushed but did not move away from the contact. "I was born in nineteen twenty three which makes me forty eight and I doubt if your mother has seen forty summers yet."

Diana 84 years. The words hang in the air like smoke after gunfire. The room goes deathly still. Then— A raw, guttural scream tears from Elder Fendel's throat. "Eighty-four YEARS?!" Spittle flies from his lips as he lurches forward, his aged body trembling with rage. "You've been betraying us for decades—before any of us even joined the Council?!" The other Elders recoil, their faces slack with horror. Gasps echo off the stone walls.

he explained. “That sounds so weird to hear you say that the last time you did something was 40 years ago, because you look so young, and you definitely don’t act your age. How old are you really?” I asked. “I’m 147, but I lost my human life at 21 during the Spanish-American War in 1898. My ending wasn’t tragic or glamorous, just a soldier that happened to be fortunate enough to be found by my sire and given a second chance,” he shared.

She smiles at him, “Thank you, grandpa.” He smirks, “I’m not going to say all those ‘greats’ every time.” He nods chuckling, “I appreciate you trying for me.” He nods, “As to how old you are, you’re three-hundred and eighty-two. I influenced Marla when she chose your birthday, so that it would be correct. It felt wrong for you to not have the right day, but yeah.” Eliza sat back in the chair, letting her head drop back, then looks up at Ash and Kai, who are staring at each other in disbelief.

She closes her eyes slowly, keeps them closed for a moment and then opens them. “How old are you?” She asks again. “Four hundred and sixteen years old.” I tell her. I was sixteen when my father died. This year is the exact four hundredth anniversary of his death. “And Mark?” She asks again. “Mark is four hundred and thirty-two years old.” I tell her. “He is sixteen years older than you are?” She asks. I cannot help but laugh at her. She quickly catches on and a broad smile appears on her face. “I have to admit. When we were only sixteen and thirty-two, it did feel like a vast difference. But after four hundred years it feels like nothing. Age does not matter anymore.” I tell her and start to