Everyone has a tattoo with an expiration date=your death date
The surgeons had called in the tattoo artists. The pulled out their needles and inks, their scalpels and markers.
They took the little baby in their hands and marked down six numbers:
The mother of that baby did not want to know the date. She did not want to know when her newborn child would die. But she had too.
She looked down at her own wrist and sighed. She was to die before her daughter.
Oh my god, the mother thought. We’re going to die a year apart. She going to die when she’ll be seventeen!
She hoped the day her daughter would die would never come.
But she, the surgeons, and the tattoo artists knew that was inevitable.
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