This is my entry for the finish the story contest found here:
https://steemit.com/contest/@f3nix/finish-the-story-contest-week-18
For this entry, I was tasked with finishing someone else's story with 500 words or less. The first part of this post is the prompt I was given. It was written by 
Quitting Life
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.
Again, the above was written by
The thin elderly woman standing in front of her peered down her nose at the resignation form. “You’re quite sure about this dear?” The small blonde squared her shoulders. Her choice wasn’t a popular one. She could hear the disapproval in this woman’s tone. But it was her life, her decision, that was the entire point of the program. If people didn’t feel as though they had a choice, everything these cities were built on would crumble.
“Yes. I am very sure, thank you.”
“Very well. Here is your card. It will fund your year. Here is a copy of your contract as well as the brochure for your finalizing facility. You will be expected there exactly a year from today. They will go over your final arrangements with you then. You are of course welcome to end your year early if you so choose, but reporting to the facility late is a federal offence and punishable by forced finalization. If you don’t have any questions, please sign and date here.” She pointed at an electronic pad on the marble counter dividing the two. The blonde picked up the sleek stylus and signed the electronic copy of her contract. Sarah Laurence, March 21st, 2090. Sarah picked up her card, contract, and brochure, and left the large office building without another word.
Sarah sipped her tea. She had made it herself from wild plants in the surrounding forest. Her year was almost up. She was spending this afternoon sitting by the creek that ran by her small cottage. The birds were chirping happily and the sun was filtering softly through the trees above. When she left the city, she went to the same forest her parents had brought her to all those years ago. It was hard to believe that during her lifetime people had been allowed to come and go from the cities without signing a contract. Occasionally she felt sympathy for the lifers that would never spend a day outside of the city again. Then again, soon she wouldn’t have any days left here either. She was supposed to report to her finalizing facility in three days time. According to the brochure, they would help her get her affairs in order, then they would inject her with a chemical that stopped her heart. The brochure assured her it was peaceful and painless, just like falling asleep. The large domes around the cities protected the world from the pollution the humans caused. In many ways, the cities were the world’s salvation. The humans living inside tried to ignore that the dome was also their prison. The year the government offered was just meant to allow people the illusion of choice. Technically they were allowed to leave, but very few people were willing to die for a year of freedom. Sarah was an outlier. To her, everyday outside of the city was worth a lifetime. Everything dies. When all was said and done, she was glad she chose to die free.
The image used is from pixabay and is free for personal and commercial use. Find it here:
https://www.pexels.com/photo/side-view-of-woman-in-illuminated-city-at-night-315191/
