I usually begin my mornings with mixing some electrolyte powder into my water bottle and going for a run. I can feel my body ready to go, but with the timing for my photo shoot, it’s simply not on the agenda today. My body also wants food, even something small like a handful of almonds, but according to Dalma I shouldn’t eat anything without risking the surgery. It’s a good thing my fridge is empty so I can’t be tempted, I guess. I use the bathroom and brush my teeth and then hop in a cold shower, which is great for circulation, but I’ve always loved hot showers, so I should bask in that too while I can. I switch from cold to hot, and I’m surprised the water runs well, considering so much about this building has been a lie so far.

I get out of the shower and wipe the fog off my mirror. I start applying my concealer, like I always do to hide my dark circles and look more alive. Except that’s the thing. As I look into the mirror, I don’t see a Decker looking back at me. I already look alive and well because I am alive and well. The only real suggestion that something is wrong is the cut on my forehead from banging my head on the curb, and I didn’t exactly bleed to death on the streets or in my sleep. I’m okay. Then why am I living a day where my sister is on her way to say goodbye and a boy is in my bed waiting for my heart? How come instead of focusing on all my hard work that has earned me this photo shoot, I’m spending the morning upset that life has other plans for me? I don’t know why life wants me dead.

This feels like a bad way to start the day. Though maybe that only applies to ordinary days, not End Days. On End Days there are no rules, so you can be angry and smash your reflection so you can actually see yourself shattered and look the part of someone who doesn’t have their life together. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there are rules for End Days and I have no way of knowing because this is the first one ever and I won’t get to see if this changes as time goes on.