I'm not too sure about this story, but hopefully it'll go well. It's another short story!! I hope you enjoy it!
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He sat lazily at his desk, ignoring the mutters of his workers as they crowded around him. They were just irritable gnats that he couldn't swat away. Giving one of them a time hadn't taught the others a lesson. If they didn't watch it, they'd all be timed, even his most loyal. He had no time for useless, mere humans. All they did was saunter around HIS building, shouting and arguing as if they owned the place. Most of them were selfish, only caring about giving an enemy a time. Some even begged Him to curse generations of a family with a time. Stupidly, He had accepted a few of these pleas, and now innocent humans and other creatures were being forced to have a time scarred on their wrist for their short, miserable lives. He had His eye on one of the newest victims, a teenaged girl called Ava Baker. She was a boring girl with dark brown curls and grey eyes that seemed to bear no life. Ava's whole family had been cursed with the Countdown for generations on end and He made no move to stop the time that circulated year after year. This girl should be the last of the Bakers'; then the Countdown would be vanquished for eternity.
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Ever since I could talk, the same question erupted from my tongue, repeated hours on end. "Why is there a time on my wrist, mama? Why is there a time on my wrist, papa?"

It was never answered, my parents barely registering me. They were too busy drinking their sorrows in alcohol, screaming at eachother for no reason. Both of them have a time on their wrist as well, except it's a smaller time than mine. For my father, it says: 5 months, 7 days, 24 minutes, 10 seconds. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. What was it counting down to? His death? Him finally being fired from his job, a job that he never attended? Our whole family was cursed with this 'time' or what my grandfather said: 'Countdown'. If my grandfather hadn't have told me what it was, then I'd never have been prepared.

I'd have never been terrified either.
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I was around 6 years old, a rather sad thing who had to experience her parents' barely concealed anger. My grandfather lived down the street from us, in a larger, cleaner house. He was wellknown among our large family, for he'd survived the longest with his 'Countdown'. 
"Grandfather, mummy and daddy never told me, but why is there a time on my skin?" I asked curiously, sitting on the floor beside him as he sipped his tea. His brows creased, his wrinkles and lines even more prominent. 

"It's what we call the 'Countdown', dear," he responded, gulping his tea down his weak throat. I was still confused, so I then asked what that meant. In reply, my grandfather set his tea down, let out a loud sigh (as much as his lungs could muster) and began to tell me the story.

"One day, there was a Man called He. This may have not been His real name, but all his servants knew him as that. This Man was not a normal man, for he was much more. He did not live like a human, and His sole purpose for being on this Earth was for the 'Countdown'. Now, this Countdown was something that He used only on enemies and those who'd done wrong. In a way, He was like God, punishing the humans that did not follow the commandments. However, as time stretched on, His workers began to beg for their own enemies to be punished with the 'Countdown'; He gave in to them and allowed this. But the problem was, they never stopped asking, and soon people all over the world, families as well, were being punished innocently with the 'Countdown'. He had one weakness with His power - he was unabled to lift the curse. The only way the 'Countdown' in a family can be stopped is when the last person does not breed. They have to be the final member of the family, and when dead, the time will be gone." My grandfather then sipped some of his tea as his voice grew hoarse, coughing slightly. I stared back at him, even more keen to know more.

"What does the 'Countdown' do, grandfather?" I then proceeded to ask, tugging his sleeve as he was too distracted draining the rest of his cup. Flinching slightly, he finished his drink and carried on, his voice cracked, letting out stuttering breaths.

"The 'Countdown' is a timer that is seared onto your wrist for all your life. It is part of your flesh, and is always moving. Only you and those who also have a time can see it. The humans that don't have times only see plain skin. Many people assume the 'Countdown' is counting down to your death, but it is counting to much worse."

"What is it counting down to?" I wasn't sure if I really wanted the answer. I was too young to know, but the question had already left my mouth before I could shove it back down. 

My grandfather never broke eye contact with me. As he opened his mouth, his eyes suddenly rolled upwards and he started shuddering, gurgles breaking out of him. Other family members ran in, screaming as they called for an ambulance. Amidst the terror and panic, I crawled to my grandfather, peering at his arm.

The time was 0:00.

TO BE CONTINUED