The possibility of being immortal has always been a speculative fiction, but fiction is only a few letters away from nonfiction.

No one has ever killed me. Since birth, I have completely avoided being murdered — even when I was a stupid helpless baby, which is arguably the most murderable stage a person could be at. I wasn’t even aborted, and my mom is pro-choice. My mom also never gave me flu vaccines. I know this is an unpopular opinion, but it is possible not vaccinating kids makes them immortal, just saying.

I have never been able to fully grasp the idea of death, or post-death, for that matter. It’s only logical that this incomprehensibility is directly tied to the lack of ability to experience death. For people my age, the most likely ways to die are unintentional injuries, suicide, homicide, “other” (the scariest of the whole list, if you ask me), cancer, heart disease, congenital malformations and some other slices of the pie chart too small for me to care about, in that respective order. Yet I have died of nothing.

I have wanted to die many times, either because of inexplicable sadness or because I really didn’t want to write an essay that was due in a few hours, and dying seemed like a valid excuse. Yet I have never killed myself. Is this because of Lexapro, Zoloft or simply my inability to die?

I have never broken a bone. Ever. You could argue that this is because I haven’t been physically active since the release of Bowser’s Inside Story on the DSi. You could also, with equal validity, argue that it is because my bones simply cannot break.

Somehow, I have always recovered from every sickness I have ever been inflicted by, and I get sick very often. Like, every few weeks.

How am I still alive? Is it the work of very strong pills and soups, or is it simply a case of virus incompetence when faced with my seemingly weak but invincible immune system? There are currently no confirmed cases of coronavirus in Michigan. Is that because my immortality has reached such strength that it has affected my home state and so deadly viruses don’t dare penetrate state lines?

If you’ve seen me, whether it be on campus, social media, Tinder or in that little picture of me beside my column, you probably have noticed I look 13. I have lived for 20 years, yet I have never transitioned from a training bra. The only believable reason for this cruel developmental joke is that I am immortal and have ceased to physically age.

Immortality would be an impressive evolutionary discovery, for which I would probably be kidnapped by the government should they realize I really am immortal. For this reason, I am hiding this information in a Lanthorn column, where no one will read it.

You may be thinking, “Why Athena, you are so, so dumb! Can you not use inductive inference?” There has not been a human to resist aging, or to live over 100-something, and there aren’t very many who make it to that point.

So, since I am a human, I will die. Well, to that I say, prove it. About 6.5 percent of humans who have ever lived have also never died. I’m just saying, no one has proven to me that I, nor the rest of us 6.5 percent, are mortal.

Therefore, I will henceforth blindly believe in my immortality as others continue to blindly believe in their mortality, and I encourage my fellow 6.5 percenters to join me. And no, this is not a coping mechanism.