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Twenty Minutes Ago Alano

11:39 p.m.

Life has already been so much more thrilling in the three hours since deactivating Death-Cast.

Once my parents went to bed early to get some rest before my father heads into Death-Cast’s Los Angeles facility tonight,

I snuck into my car and took off when no one was looking. I should be able to come and go as I please, otherwise what was

the point of them buying me this BMW for my eighteenth birthday? I understood that security would’ve been forced to report

my leaving the premises, so that is why I timed my getaway with their patrolling the hills. I drove for twenty minutes with

the windows down, the wind blowing my hair back as I screamed into the night.

I parked a block away from Griffith Park, which is closed for the night, but I didn’t let that stop me from crawling under the gate. The hike up to the Wisdom Tree wasn’t easy in my condition, but determination (and a few breaks along the trail for my aching abdomen) got me up here safely. I stood on the rock by the billowing American flag, admiring the gorgeous views of Los Angeles lit up at night, and felt a childhood joy gazing down at Universal Studios, where the Milagro Castle from the Scorpius Hawthorne movies stands proudly, but the real stunner is the majestic Wisdom Tree itself. On the surface it looks like any other big pine tree that’s standing alone on this peak, but knowing it is the lone survivor of a wildfire makes it that much more powerful. This must be why it has so many other names speaking to its power, like the Magic Tree, the Wishing Tree, the Giving Tree, and the Tree of Life. There’s a rebellious spirit about that tree not dying that I relate to tonight.

For the past thirty minutes I’ve been sitting against the Wisdom Tree’s trunk, reading through the journals stored inside a green ammunition box. Some strangers kept it simple by only writing the names of their hiking party while others wrote love letters, poems, secrets, life advice, and even drew pictures. (My favorite picture is of this blue owl that reminds me of Duo, the green Duolingo owl who has celebrated and judged me many, many times since I started picking up languages after the platform opened to the public on June 19, 2012.) I paid most attention to the life advice, especially now that I’m charting my own path: Anonymous recommended starting a gratitude journal, but I’ve never had much of a need for journaling; Persida and Carlos scribbled a reminder that the best lovers are also best friends, which I’ve grown up believing from watching my parents; D’Angelo says to “read, read, read” and learn something new every day, which I already strive to do; someone known only as A says to never give someone too much power over you, which hits so hard that it’s as if Future Alano time-traveled here to write and sign this before my arrival tonight; Lena tearfully encourages those in love with someone to seize it while they can along with a postscript about how she still loves a man named Howie who died, all of which makes me wish I knew more about who they were so I could find out if Lena and Howie ever got to be together before his passing; and another anonymous writer says to choose your friends wisely, which made me freeze and stare into the night because I thought I had done just that with Ariana.

I might be a survivor like the Wisdom Tree, but that doesn’t mean I want to be alone. I also have no proof that I’m going

to be okay in the long run. I check my watch, and it’s twenty minutes to midnight. These are my very last minutes where I

know that I will not die. It doesn’t mean someone can’t try to kill me again, right here, right now. But it can also mean

what every other day has meant: living.

This grand feeling inspires my contribution to the journal: Forge your own destiny in the unknown . I hesitate at signing my name because whether I like it or not (and I don’t) I am the most famous Alano in the world. This

could trace back to Death-Cast and cause bad press. Actually, that consideration makes me sign my name. Proudly. I’m done

letting Death-Cast run my life.

I return the journal in the ammunition box and begin my journey back to my car, going down a narrow path for a few minutes. I’m thinking about grabbing something to eat, or maybe visiting some other tourist landmark, when I hear movement. First I’m expecting an animal, which does scare me because I don’t know how effective Muay Thai is against a mountain lion. Then I see a boy from behind—light hair, on the skinnier side—wearing a backpack. Him I can probably take in a fight, but I’m nervous anyway, so I duck behind a bush right as he’s turning around.

My heart is pounding as I watch him through a small gap between the leaves and branches. He stares back but doesn’t see me.

Instead, he hops a gate and vanishes.

I don’t have a good feeling about this. I should turn around, but I creep toward the gate, watching as the boy climbs a ladder

up the Hollywood Sign. It’s unlikely he’s only planning on sightseeing this close to midnight. This dread in my chest is screaming

that this is a suicide in the making. Then there’s a gunshot, and for a moment I believe the boy has already killed himself

when I realize it’s only the powerful memory of Harry Hope’s suicide. I wasn’t able to save him, but I can try to save this

boy.

I will save this boy.

I conquered my fear of heights, but now that I’m entering the uncharted territory of my own unknown fate, climbing this gate

and then the ladder feels like it’s against my better judgment, but I can’t be haunted by another memory of someone dying

because of something I didn’t do—or something I did.

Once I’m on top of the Hollywood Sign, I shout, “Don’t jump!”

If I live long enough, I will never again question anyone who accuses me of knowing my End Day when I have done something

so reckless that a suicidal boy is now aiming his gun at me as if we share a death wish.