It’s all I can do to just lean on the wall, my neck groans at the strain of having to hold up the weight of my head. Rivulets of rainwater, an amalgamation of dried-up leaves and dust plaster my hair onto my head, bangs glue onto my eyes, the rain and bristles of hair blurring my vision, along with the tears. Funny, I don’t feel despair.

I do feel at the bite on my forearm, the poison has spread over time, my veins have turned black as the skin around the bite area is now a stark greying white. I have until dawn to reverse its effects, after which my death is forfeit.

Through blurred vision, I take in the floor, given my head can’t be lifted to a higher angle. A pool of water has formed before me. Within it, I see neon signs - a store in front of me.

‘24 hours’ blinks from bright orange to dark purple. When I twitch (a side effect of the poison) I see other things reflected in other pools of water; cars, traffic lights, rippling buildings, drops of water, pitter-patter.

I half-twitch, half-drag myself in the direction of the store, adjusting my bearings based on where I had seen the store situated in the puddle and I think on how I had gotten here. The poison was supposedly my “reward”. For a few, it augmented the body, for others, it was poison. There was no way to know for sure what group you’d fall under.

I’ve got a penchant for… I’m not sure yet, but I’ll know when I get to it…. I think. I can barely keep a train of thought on course. The store feels lightyears away, I want to stop and find my bearings, but the rain is beating down on me so heavily, yet I go on with blind faith that I am going the right way. I can’t look up; I can’t even try to.

***

I’m inside the store and it’s empty, dark. I don’t know how I got in. I’m lying on the floor, looking up, just nebulously feeling the poison spread with every heartbeat. The rain doesn’t let up, and through flashes of lightning, I can see a clock in my peripheral vision. It’s 2 AM, good. I had four hours until dawn.

My breath grows heavier, but I strangely feel lighter, better, it’s a health paradox. The two words spark some grand elucidation in my mind. I visualize the dwindling population and empty cities, the upending of all that which we once held dear, all thanks to the death cure; one bite and you cold say goodbye to your mortality, perish only to rise again brand new.

 I visualize the work of my managers and fellow program officers on the project, joining hands, being the epicenter of the death cure efforts, spreading its gospel. I remember the pushback, the protests, the red tape we had to cut through, the fighting and debating with the “Preserve mortality” campers and their efforts at spreading non-compliance.

They’d gone above and beyond, even offering incentives to any and all that refused the bite; fast tracked transport off world to star systems without death. One crisis cascaded to another, people fled their homes, killed and stole and plundered and warred for a bite and they did the same for a ticket off earth.

Here's the thing, the “Preserve mortality” campers have weaponized the bite, hence the 50-50 potency rate, which brings me to my current predicament as I lay dying – “Will I arise brand new?”

The campers had forced it upon me, marked me a hypocrite. I guess it doesn’t pay to be the face of a vaccination campaign aimed at enabling the permanence of life. They’d been able to pick me out, pump the tainted serum into my bloodstream, all between guilt trips and cries of justice or revenge. I guess they blamed me for breaking the planet.

I black out.

***

When I wake up with a start, I am immediately appalled, furious even. Impermanence was always meant to be a choice; this is what the “Preserve mortality” campers - despite seeing eye to eye with us on - could not truly macerate emotion from: the prime ideal of choice.

They saw the availability of possible alternatives as ‘do not dangle the removal of impermanence in our faces, lest risk the upheaval of that which transience enables us hold dear.’ - In verbatim.

To them, the death cure was something that should not be popularized, normalized. They seem to believe people shouldn’t be trusted with the option of living forever, that they may grow to resent the absence of an ‘undo’ button. They labelled us devils, keeping them here on earth, seizing their chance at heaven.

I… I wholly think they were right. However, it is not that I adopt the doctrine of the “Preserve mortality” campers, I simply have – for the longest time – looked forward to my demise. My yearning began the day I was born.

This… what they have forced upon me is the worst curse that I could ever have imagined, and I will ensure to return the favor tenfold whilst dividing my time with efforts aimed at discovering how to end this accursed existence.

One hour and thirty minutes until dawn.

I watch the clock tick all the way to the hour, to the thirty minutes, to days later, into weeks. I lie, and stare, and dread and despair and think and plot, oh how I plot.

When the clock no longer ticks as its batteries have no doubt run down, I stand in the thickly dust-ridden store, which looks grey and ancient, as no doubt do I.