Quitting Life...

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She picked up a resignation form today. She had been thinking about it for a while, handing in her notice, taking her last year. Every day is just the same, different faces, different flavours, but underneath, it was all the same. Was there any point in the endless forward march, the slow decline into ill health, unemployment and poverty? She didn’t have children, no friends who came to visit, and it was at least three years since her last match.
She sat on the corner of her single bed, in her single room, the thin long window illuminating the bare floor. She pushed a loose strand of mousy blonde hair behind her ear, and picking at her thumb, she wandered in thought.
She could travel, she could see the ocean, she could stand beneath trees, she could sit in silence. For one year. It was as good as it got, some people only got 6 months. But was she ready?
She couldn’t keep going, not like this. She had seen the lifers, the people who worked for 65 years and collapsed, decrepit, into the hands of hapless, half-hearted “help”. She had even been that half-hearted, hapless help, she had worked for minimum wage, clearing up bodily fluids, spoon feeding, doing what she could, but it destroyed you, seeing all your future had to offer.
A lot of people who worked there handed in their notice; you had to do it between 40 and 55 to get the year. Some people applied for special circumstances after 55, but generally they got less time.
She was 47. A lot could change in her life still. She could meet someone, she could have children, grandchildren, she could grow old. Couldn’t she…? Did she want to? She turned it over in her mind. She had accepted a lot in her life, but she just couldn’t face the rest of her life, playing out, day by slow dragging, hardworking, lonely, day. Night after empty, starless night. If she took her year, she could get away from the cities and their thick rank pollution. She could escape the crush of the masses, the regimented flow of preoccupied people. Her parents took her to a forest once, before the regulations changed, and closing her eyes, she could almost hear the hushed whisper of branches, almost feel the dappled sunlight on her upturned face. Almost. She opened her eyes, was there ever really any question? She had dreamed of it for as long as she could remember, and in that moment, she realised, she was always going to quit, it was never a question of did she want to, just when. Was she ready?

She flopped back onto her bed, bouncing back against the overly springy mattress. Relief coursed through her. She was going to quit, maybe not today, but she would do it. The digital display in the wall flashed, green numbers ticking over, 23:00. Instinctively, she felt around her bedside tablet, and pressing the button, retrieved her small blue pill. Blue before bed, white before work. It dissolved on her tongue, and she felt the thoughtless relaxation wash over her.
The next morning, she woke before her alarm had chance to rouse her. She stood at the window, watching the constant ebb and flow of people and traffic, the living city beneath her never slept. Her resolve had only hardened overnight, it felt right. She retrieved the form. She would quit. She would take the year. One good year, then call it quits...

...

She used one hand to dust the face of the form. It still looked as good as new. She had filled it already, all that remained was to sign and turn it in at the office. It was odd, how much this little piece of paper could change the entire course of her life.

She stared at it without seeing it, the importance of the decision once again dominating her thoughts. She was single yes, she had been single almost all her life. She had little or no friends and family, but that had clearly been her lot since her young years in foster homes. Why wasn't she content? The textbook way of living she and her colleagues at the office were indirectly forced to partake in? That was what gave them their daily bread, and not a lot of them had much of a choice to earn a living otherwise.

It was difficult, trying to find a way around life. Because that was what it was; her life, their lives. Quitting meant quitting life, and that was the only thing wrong with the whole equation. She knew she would quit, yes, but she didn't know for certain if she wanted to die yet.

Then there was the year, the supposedly good year. The calm and solace of the greenery in her dreams was as appealing as ever, but she mentally pushed that image aside. There was more to think of. More that didn't immediately come to the surface.
It would be a good year alright, but it would be one underlined by the background knowledge that death hovered at the other side. One year to live, just so she could die.

The sound of the alarm rang again, this time it signified that she was running late. She tore her eyes away from the form which she really did not see, in the process placing it back on the bedside table. As she picked up her keys and reached out for her small white pill, her mind did what it had done every day for the past seven years since she first picked up the form... It calculated...

She was 54 now, she still had a whole year to sign it and take it back in. But for now she would live, while she considered quitting life...

#SladenSpeaks

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Written for @f3nix's Finish the story contest

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