I came to be in a dish. It was a very exciting moment for those around me, actually, both my parents and the geneticist that was helping them conceive. The feeling of bubbling into existence as two lonely cells finally unite is one that is unique, although far from memorable. I relished the sensation of bringing those chromosomes together, combining what each party had to offer and becoming more than the sum of my parts.

The excitement of discovering myself! I was going to be short, have brown hair, have a slightly nasally but not too high-pitched voice, and have toes that were just a little bit too long! I was perfect. And I was a girl!

Such a life ahead of me! All the ingredients were right there for a personality, complete with character flaws, quirks, talents, fetishes, and that's not even mentioning my physical traits! Oh, it was all so exciting! So perfect!

I could hear the geneticist analyzing my traits. She read the sequences of my chromosomes on a computer and described to my parents how I would be: how I would have my father’s nose but eyes that didn’t really match either parent, how I would probably not be very athletic but had long fingers that were promising for piano playing, and how my IQ would be just barely below average. I was perfect!

But my parents didn’t agree. My father wanted someone he could cheer for on a soccer, or even lacrosse, team. My mother wanted someone who would score higher than her neighbor’s kid on the ACT. And they both wanted a boy. Oh, how they wanted a boy.

The science had been pioneered, had undergone rigorous testing and even more rigorous legal battling, and was ready at the fingertips of that smiling lab coat. All they had to do was give the word.

The first thing my little zygote being heard after the ordeal, with my new Y chromosome squirming in my essence, was the joyful voice of my teary mother.

“He’s perfect.”

I think it's kind of funny that Friday the 13th was yesterday, you know, considering that the world is ending today instead.  I guess we're often a bit slow on the uptake.

I'm really only writing out of habit at this point, since I expect no one will be able to read soon.  Or even have a brain to read with.  Still, it's kind of therapeutic.

I cancelled my date with Brian over text, which would be a pretty sucky move if I wasn't too scared to go outside to find him in person.  He didn't respond, which means he is either offended or already dead.  Either way, I think we can safely say I am single.

So, this is an apocalypse, huh?  It's actually really boring right now, since I'm shut up inside my house with my family and the mailman that ran in here for cover and won't leave.  He's in the guest room.  He's kind of shy, but a decent guy, and he has a bunch of tape and rubber bands, which I guess may be useful at some point.  The zombies that came down the street this morning (thus the mailman coming inside) are gone, but our neighborhood has too many trees and alleys to be sure they aren't still out there.

Most of my friends are okay, but are holed up inside, too.  Katelyn was at the movie theater when they announced the lockdown, so she told me she's living on popcorn and nachos until a rescue party comes or the zombies find them.  In the meantime, she's memorized the Trolls movie.  I don't blame her for going with the kids movie; there are too many jump scares in real life now.

Well, I'd better make sure my windows are securely boarded before bed.  Maybe I'll write again tomorrow; who knows?

I had only the best of intentions.  When I realized my visions were revealing the future, I vowed to use the power for good, and I did, in a superficial sense.  I'd see the impending  test and give my friends suggestions of what to study.  I warned them about police officers who would have caught them speeding.  I always had a hunch of what would be a good or bad idea.  In time, I started noticing that other people were acting differently towards me.  Those I helped would look to me for advice any time they had to make a choice, accepting my counsel unquestioningly, and as their endeavors succeeded, they leaned on me more and more.  With horror, I acknowledged the truth: I had taken away my friends' power, or at least their will, to make choices and learn from the consequences.  And as I dug deeper into the future than ever before, I saw the devastation that would result from that loss: the people I love, mindless slaves of the fear to make a mistake, unable to make a choice without knowing that the results will be favorable.  I swore that day to never use the power again, for evil or for supposed good, and I have been haunted ever since by the visions of disasters that I refuse to prevent.  A perfect future doesn't exist, and who am I to try to force others into one?  What's more destructive, a tragedy or the fear of it?