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Won’t remember me
September, 24th 2156.
I’ve been reading the letter over and over again for the past six months. I know it off by heart now. The one word that always sticks with me is “Denied”. It echoes in my head all day,
(DENIED, DENIED, DENIED.) It haunts me like a bad dream, which I can never wake up from, never escape. It fills my head like a plague, an invisible darkness I just can’t get rid of. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, a constant reminder of what’s coming. Sooner or later every one got that letter, a friend, a family member, everyone.
Slowly I opened my eyes. Dull sunlight streaked onto my face through a gap in my curtains, creating lace patterns across my pale blue walls. I blew a piece of dull blonde hair out of my face. The letter was still in my hand. The paper it was printed on was rough against my wrinkled hands. A thin line of printer ink ran down the middle, making certain words blurry, but not unreadable.
Again that word glared up at me, looking a million times bigger then all the other words. It was almost as if the word was taunting me. Laughing at me, telling me I was worthless, and had no purpose on this planet. It screamed at me, no one would remember me; a stupid fifty-four year old that had never done anything for anyone else. They had no use of me, so they were going to get rid of me.
I ran my thumb across the yellowed page, thinking, wondering. Had someone once looked at this on their computer screen? Had someone once printed out hundreds or thousands of copies, not caring, and not bothering to waste a fleeting moment about who these might be going to? Whose lives were ending because of this letter? Who was going to be walking into that dreaded building six months from now, waiting to be put down like a sick cat? Me. I was, but my six months were up.
I got up slowly, my arms and legs shook uncontrollably. When I had steadied myself, I walked out into the hallway. I looked at my bare walls. There were no pictures of kids, or any kind of family for that matter. Maybe it was better that way. There was no one to say good-bye to, no one to drown in my tears, no one to cry for me. No one would remember me.
I peered into the dirty bathroom mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, my hair a tangled mess. I turned on the water, with shaky hands. The warm water felt good and my skin, but did nothing for my nerves. After about an hour, the water started to get cold. I got out and wrapped a towel around me; I padded barefoot into my room and slowly got dressed. What does one wear on there last day of their life? I laughed without humor.
At about eight am, there was a knock at the door. I ran down to answer it. At the door were two men, fairly big men. I frowned.
“We are here to pick you up.” The first of the two said. He was about mid-twenties, with black hair, his eyes were covered my dark sunglasses. I pushed the mental image of these to men dragging people screaming from their homes, out of my mind.
“Right, I know.” I said, with no emotion. I followed the two men, outside to a sleek black car. I didn’t bother locking my door. I pushed past the endless crowd of people, the toxic fumes of outside filled my nostrils. The population had doubled again reaching 27 billion, since year 2100. Slowly the number had started to go down. There were less homeless, they were picked up off the streets, by men like the ones I was following. Most of them didn’t even mind. They came willingly, happy for an end to their misery.
I sat down on the leather seats of the car, and closed my eyes as we drove away. The traffic was terrible, the sound of honking horns and squealing tires, filled my already aching head.
When the car came to a stop, I could hear my heart beating franticly in my ears. I stepped slowly out of the car; the black haired man had opened the door for me. My legs shook, and finally my knees gave out. The black haired man grabbed my arm before I hit the ground. I looked up; he had taken his glasses off, his eyes were bright blue. His face was filled with concern and maybe even sorrow. He cared, but he wouldn’t remember me.
I walked into the waiting room; there were a couple other people in here, one woman who looked about my age, she had her daughter with her, a single tear slid down her face.
I sat alone, the two men sat on either side of me. I closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply. I jerked awake at the call of my name. A pretty blonde nurse was beckoning me, false sorrow on her face; I was just another old woman waiting to die. She wouldn’t remember me.
I stood up, surprisingly steady. I walked down a narrow hallway until she pointed into a large room with beds lined up against the walls. She sat me down on the closest one, and gave me a small paper cup with assorted pills at the bottom, and a tall glass of water. I swallowed the pills and chugged the glass of water. I immediately began to feel sleepy; I kicked of my shoes and lay down on top of the covers. My eyelids felt heavy and droopy.
Soon a doctor came in, my vision started to blur before I could take a good look at him. He took my wrist and stuck a long needle into my vein. I was too tired to cringe.
Black outlined my vision; I closed my eyes for a moment. I peered at the doctor, he was already gone. This was just a job to him, he wouldn’t remember me.