Dbootloot t1_j1z943y wrote
Jarrod sat at a polished oaken table, the warm glow of the bulbs that occupied various ornate light fixtures reflected in its lacquer polish. In front of him was a single plate, silver and ornate, with a simple spam sandwich placed in the middle. The choice of food seemed out of place among the refined and understated taste of the rest of the room.
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Leaning forward slightly, Jarrod took another bite. Good, he noted. Despite the feeling that the kitchen staff were likely unfamiliar with his particular choice of meal, it was delicious. Some small part of him found that vaguely annoying. That people with so much could take something like that, something that he felt belonged to people like him, and improve upon it. Make it something better. He took another large bite and left the remaining half of the humble sandwich atop the shining plate.
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Part of him felt that he should be scared. Surely, anyone would be scared. Yet despite willing his heart to race, he couldn't shake the sense of calm. Perhaps the calmest he'd been in years.
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The dark door at the end of the room gently swung open, and the face Ms. Kesner pushed through the now open portal. "Jarrod, need anything?" she asked.
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She was a beautiful woman. Her auburn her fell lazily around her shoulders. Its brown and red shades complimented her stormy hazel eyes, further accented by her simultaneously simple yet elegant grey dress. All of this was starkly in contrast to Jarrod's own meager appearance.
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Jarrod knew beauty like that. Beauty that you might mistake as a casual sort of accident at first. It wasn't brought about by shades of expensive satin or gaudy makeup. There was not any overt display of wealth. Yet, most often that kind of calculated simplicity was brought about by those who'd spent their entire life perfecting the art - wolves in the clothing of sheep.
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"Some water, maybe?" Jarrod replied. Despite their best efforts to spruce the sandwich up, you couldn't get all the salt out of spam.
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Ms. Kesner raised an eyebrow and cast a disarming smile. "Water? Are you sure? You know you can anything you'd like. If you can dream it, we can arrange it."
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Worried I have cold feet, then? he thought.
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"No, thanks. Water is fine."
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The woman nodded and exited as gracefully as she'd arrived, the door closing silently on well greased hinges. What am I trying to prove? Jarrod pondered. Part of him wanted to ask for top shelf whiskey. Part of him wanted to taste wine more expensive than a car's down payment. Yet his being refused to do so. He'd leave the way he lived. Simple. He wouldn't give in to the luxuries denied to him for so long. He wouldn't surrender now - he couldn't. Not after so long.
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In the soft glow of the room, Jarrod wondered what other men and women must've felt like in his spot. Some had undoubtedly panicked. Felt the constricting darkness of death creeping in from the edges of the peripheral vision, and squirmed at its midnight touches. Of course, they could leave anytime as long as they pledged to pay back whatever items they had consumed. This was, after all, a voluntary action.
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It hadn't always been. They'd started with prisoners. Of course once the general populace caught wind of this, the bleeding hearts of the world had gone into an uproar. They'd dared to ask the question 'what is the worth of a human life?' Ironically, Jarrod knew that was probably the wrong question to ask. The answer, though most with a lesser understanding of the will of men would protest, was that many lives aren't worth the husk they were imprinted upon. A week's worth of power for a city? Shit, it was a bargain.
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He was stirred from his bout of contemplation by Ms. Kesner returning, a crystal glass of ice water clinking softly in her hand as she strode forward into the room. She deposited the glass neatly in front of him and turned sharply on her heel to leave.
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"Wait," Jarrod spoke.
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She paused, turning back towards him. "Yes?"
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"How much longer?" he asked.
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She delicately turned her wrist and inspected the shining watch which adjourned it. "About 5 minutes, now." Her features grew ever so slightly concerned. "Are you still looking to move forward with this?"
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Jarrod let out a soft chuckle. Of course that's her concern.
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"Yeah - yeah, don't worry about that."
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Though she tried not to make it obvious, a bit of tension left her shoulders as she heard his response.
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"Will you sit with me?" Jarrod asked.
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The easy practiced smile which had danced across her features earlier returned, and she flashed a white smile. "Of course," she spoke as she moved to pull one of artfully crafted wooden chairs back from the table.
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She settled in, running a hand through her hair and removing a few stray auburn wisps which had fallen lightly across her forehead. "So... are you ready?" she asked in a soft tone.
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Jarrod took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Hell, I have been for a long time."
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She pursed her lips and offered a sympathetic look. As he had wondered about the feelings of those before, he wondered how many times this woman had offered that exact look to those which had sat in this room.
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A few moments went by in the resulting silence.
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"Do you all feel good about this?" Jarrod began again, "About what it is you do here?"
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As soon as he spoke he regretted it slightly. It's not like this woman in particular was to blame for the way the world had turned out - how his world had turned out.
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"Frankly, yes." She didn't offer a sympathetic look at this. In fact, a thoughtful certainty crossed her features.
Dbootloot t1_j1z94qb wrote
"You do?" Jarrod laughed dryly. "Really? Or is this part of the act. This whole 'make them comfortable thing' you've got going on."
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Ms. Kesner relaxed in her chair, casting a speculative gaze over him. "I do. Off the clock answer - yes, I really do." Her quizzical eyes studied him for a few moments, her foot tapping lightly against the soft carpet. "How do you feel about what we do?"
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"I - I.." Jarrod struggled to formulate his thoughts. He hadn't taken their opulent meal, or their whiskey, or their wine. Part of him was determined to retain his sense of stoicism. He wouldn't give them anything - not his wants or desires or feelings. Yet part of him also knew these were his closing moments. If now wasn't the time to express his thoughts, when was?
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"I hate it. I think it is everything that is wrong with the world summarized and wrapped in a neat bow." Jarrod gave in to his weakness. He would have these few moments. The last gift of men resigned to the gallows.
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The young woman nodded, her face impassive and urging him to continue.
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"It's a neat solution, I give you that," Jarrod continued, "you cull the population and reap countless millions in energy savings. The lights of the groomed downtown streets stay lit, and the people who couldn't conceive of making this choice will sip their drinks in the warm glow of light provided by the dead. Beyond that, you manage to quell the rising population crisis. A real two birds with one stone type of deal. Hell, I can see the jagged beauty in the thing."
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Jarrod's fist began to clench inadvertently. His heart, which had remained calm all the way through this process, began to beat faster. An engine roaring to life. It drove not fear now, though, but a quiet and hot rage.
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"Of course, you even manage to convince the population at large it's a service. That by freeing us of this world you cease our pain. That by neatly cutting our souls free you forgo the sins of the thing - we will not be resigned to heaven or hell. Our payment is the smooth and impartial darkness of eternity." He cast out a condemning finger towards her. "But you, and the people like you, know all of this. You knew only the hopeless would come here. Only the destitute who have on known destitution. You profit off of our euthanasia."
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As Jarrod finished he felt his veins pumping hot blood to his face. He was turning red - he was blushing in rage and sadness and at the sheer injustice of it all. He was blushing and he hated it. His hands reached out for the crystalline glass of water. Trying to slow his breathing, he took a long drag of the ice cold drink.
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Die with dignity. You've had your say. You won't walk into the chamber flushed. You can't give them the satisfaction.
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*"*All of that is true, to a degree." Ms. Kesner replied. Her mesmerizing features had shifted into something that sat just between the boughs of regret and sadness. Looking closer though, there was something else. Something in the way her eyes softened.
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"Well.." Jarrod spoke in a voice which he fought hard to level, "I've had my say. You're welcome to yours."
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"Do you imagine it to only be people like yourself, Jarrod?" she asked. "People like yourself that come to us, I mean."
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Jarrod shrugged.
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"Would it shock you to know the majority of the staff that work on the operations level have had at least one close personal contact come to a generation center?" She blinked a few times, shaking her head slightly. "You are right in some sense. That only the misfortunate find their way to our doors. Yet, that is more often than you think not nessacrily symptomatic of socio-economic class or birthplace. Rather we take all kinds of destitution. Those destitute of heart, of body, and of mind as well."
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She paused, leaning back in her chair. Her voice was low and soft, tinges of exhaustion creeping around the edges. "When my mother come, it was shortly after a diagnosis of rapid onset Alzheimers. With what lucidity she had left, she elected this fate. It was, in some small sense, fighting back. Declaring with finality that her death would not be recessed and alone. She chose her death to be, if even in a small way, an act of compassion. That her soul might bring warmth heaters on a cold night, or luminescence to the bulbs in a room dark and forgotten. So, I suppose when you - "
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She was cut off as her watch emitted a series of low tones. The alarm. She deftly flicked her finger over the face of device, silencing it. Her eyes shot towards Jarrod, who met her gaze unflinchingly.
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"Well. That's the bell. You can leave, of course. It's an option until the very end." She extended her hand towards him, palm open.
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Jarrod wordlessly put his his hand into hers and allowed himself to helped out of his seat. He did not speak a word as they departed the room.
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The dark oaken door slowly shut as they exited, as silent as when it had opened.
Lawino28 t1_j23g207 wrote
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
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