Emma glanced down at the meter on her wrist, tracing her finger over the ‘000004’ that glowed neon green, even when awash in the morning sunlight. Her mother always said she’d regret being one of those quick talkers, wasting words instead of cherishing each syllable as it flowed swiftly from her lips.
Now she’d reached her lifetime allotment: only four more words for the rest of her life. At age twenty five, that seemed unfathomable.
The man in front of her cleared his throat, growing tired of waiting for her.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” Emma said. “Pull the trigger.”