It's Been 84 Years Novels & Stories

It was taken 20 years ago and is now a bit pixelated. He smiled bittersweetly, "Pity?"

The distance between us is only a few meters, yet it feels like oceans. An announcer’s voice cuts through. “The celebrant, Bernard Sinclair.” Applause erupts. Everyone turns toward the door as Bernard Sinclair steps in, Isha by his side and the rest of the family behind him. He looks every bit his age, but strong. His smile is genuine. Unlike the others. He lifts his hand for silence. “Thank you all, dear friends and family, for coming,” he begins warmly, voice loud and clear. “Eighty years is not a small number. And it’s so nice to see that there are still people willing to drag themselves out to celebrate an old man like me.”

Twenty-eight years. She writes: I am forty-eight years old. Twenty-eight years into the second life. In the first life I was forty-seven and I had three years left and I did not know it and I was not paying sufficient attention to those three years. In this life I have been paying attention to every year since I was twenty.

I began to think deeper while the countdown got to 5. “It is 19…” I started immediately and looked up but couldn’t recall the exact year. “Um, 19…” I added while breathing heavily. I could feel my hands shaking when suddenly, Aiden held my hand tightly under the desk and I shut my eyes. “Think Emily… You can do this” He whispered. “3…” The compere said and added further, “2…” “1924” I said out loud immediately, jumping up on my desk and gulping. “It’s 1924” I added.

Rose said laughing her heart out. “WHAT? 800 years? 800 FREAKING YEARS???”

I know it's him making me feel this way but I don't care. His ice-cold hands take mine and he pauses for a second before saying, "I have been trapped in this house for 104 years." He looks away, as if dreading my reaction. And he's right because I quickly calculate the numbers in my head and whisper, "104 years ago would be 1888." Holy shit.

the confused man asked back. “Um…I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to…remember.” The man looked her up and down, then slowly shook his head, as if deciding there was something wrong with her. “It’s 1789, of course. And we’re not even close to New Year’s, so you really have no excuse,” he said, shaking his head derisively, and marching off. 1789. The reality of those numbers raced through Caitlin’s mind. She recalled that she had last been in the year 1791. Two years. Not that far off.

She shakes his head closer to the fire. "SORRY SORRY SORRY!" He yelps. "SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME." She yells. He takes a breath and stays silent. "Malcom Vandenberg... Fifty seven years old-Wait a second! You almost made it to fifty eight! I couldn't forget your birthday in a week. December thirty first... New Year's Eve. Fun fact, you have the same one as my father! Amazing day for a birthday, don't you agree?"

Mom is two hundred and seventeen. - Stop! Stop, stop, stop... I have to digest the previous figure. - It's okay, here's Leo ... - Elya pointedly drawled, waiting for a reaction. - And to him? - Lily still could not resist and asked. “Three hundred and eighty-four years!” - she said pathetically, enjoying the effect. Consciously or not, Elya avoided the mention of Arnar and changed the subject: - Are we going for a walk? Mitya promised to take us to the forest.

“Just tell me.” “It’s September,” she uttered carefully, observing my features. “The thirteenth.” My fingers clenched into the bedsheets. “And the year?” I asked. She smiled faintly, indulgent. “It's 2018, of course.” The room suddenly felt too big. Seven years ago. This means Lucy Hale was still alive. My chest tightened painfully, breath hitching as the truth settled in. My eyes sting with warmth, though I blink as quickly. I didn’t understand how this had happened.