Out of her many (many many) relations, Roxanne had always ranked her Uncle Ron as one of the best. Perhaps it was because he worked with her Dad, and so was always around. Perhaps it was because he often seemed just a bit more chilled out than quite a few of them. Whatever the reason, she didn't think it would be like him to drag an joke out beyond a certain point. A point that was rapidly approaching.
She blinked at him, his hand warm over hers. He seemed so sincere. Could he really be telling you truth... but that was bloody impossible.
"No..." she said carefully. "Because it's 2027 and I haven't heard anything about people dropping dead." Not that that was entirely true. There had been rumours, but then there were always rumours about something. It was like the old people were always waiting for something to go wrong.
And still he kept insisting, and a cold feeling a lot like panic started to creep into Roxanne's chest. Her bowl of soup sat in front of her, half eaten, as she set her jaw stubbornly. She almost didn't want to tell him, because that would mean she might believe him. But eventually she sighed.
"Roxanne. And George. But you know that. This really isn't funny, you know."