It's Been 84 Years Novels & Stories

I’d be here, working away. I supposed, either way, I could have ended up here with the rest of these poor souls. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isaac,” I said, casting aside my thoughts, and then we began to walk. As the old man kept pace with me, I noticed several other men rushing past us just as Peter had. “How long have you been here?” I asked, ignoring the flurry of movement around us. Another sigh escaped Isaac and the old man’s eyes seemed distant. “I’ve been here for forty years, son.”

He first took off the timid and nervous look on his face, saying “Lei Rainier from the year 2019 of the Gregorian calendar.” These words made the old man look at his personal terminal and had a thoughtful look. Lei thought he would continue probing him but his next words surprised him instead. “Hmm.. 2019 of the Gregorian calendar, huh. Then, Eliza’s spirit must be in the year 2018.” “Eliza?”

The recorded time in the Wades’ genealogy might not even precede her! So, Charlie exclaimed, “1646… You… I mean, Miss… Miss Lavor, wouldn’t you be nearly four hundred years old now?!”

"Christine, don't leave me. I know I was wrong. I realized it too late. Let me love you. Give me a chance to make things right." But I stayed still, unmoved. "It's too late. I'm tired." His brows furrowed as he stepped closer. "Eight years ago, you crawled into my bed, got pregnant, and married me. And now you want to walk away? Is this some kind of push-and-pull game?" I stared at him in disbelief. I'd thought he finally understood. But the way he saw me… was still just as selfish as ever.

At forty-eight years of building from that understanding. At a seven-year-old who had written the opening of the human record of the whole thing on a Wednesday morning in April before going to school.

Lex snaps quickly. “Lex, this is important. We are trying to figure out who I am before we can shift. We have to make sure it's safe for both of us. You want to shift, don't you?” “Ugh. Fine. I'm four thousand six hundred and eighty-two years old, I think. I've kind of lost count because we kept track of time differently back in the old days.” “Lex, be serious.” “Why the Hell would I joke about that?” “She says she is over four thousand years old.”

“No. About fifteen years?” “Fourteen years, five months, two weeks, and eight days.” That had him blinking. “That’s precise.” I nodded. “It is. Because do you know how long I’ve known this moment would come? Except, instead of you standing here, I figured it would be Dec?” He cleared his throat. “Fourteen years, five months, two weeks, and seven days?”

"Jane and I have been married for 40 years. But I've loved her for much longer. Will you believe it if I tell you that we discovered we were mates at her eighteenth birthday celebration when I was already 239 years old?" I gasped, "Oh my God!" My hand flew to my mouth in shock. "I think you mean 38, sweetie," Jane corrected. "Did I say 238? Slip of the tongue!" Mr. Jefferson laughed, and I let out a sigh of relief, as I first thought he’s really that age. Yeah, I know some people turn out to find their mates late, maybe because their mates weren't already at the appropriate age for them to recognize each other, but Mr. Jefferson's own seems to be kind of… mysterious.

His voice was drier than usual, but every word was steady. "Three hundred years. My great-grandfather waited his whole life and didn't live to see this. My grandfather waited his whole life. My father waited half his life until his death. I've waited over seventy years." He straightened his shoulders—an old man standing in borrowed time. "The motion to amend the covenant. House Vidor votes in favor."

He found the accurate answer. "The eighth year," he said. "The naming. The category was built when the naming was possible. The naming required the full category." Don looked at him. "Eight years to build the category," he said. "Eight years from the beginning to the naming," Ernest said. "Seventeen more since then." He looked at the first year's entries in his lap—the thin volume, the tentative handwriting, the sentences that did not yet know what they were trying to say. "Twenty-five years. The category has been built for seventeen years and we have been living inside it for twenty-five."