"In America, only the very rich and the very poor live forever." - Ray Childs, 2012 - 2276

"Inmate 5461. Childs, you got a visitor."

The sound of metal on metal rattled Ray's teeth. Heavy steel bars rolled aside and he stepped forward.

An angry looking man held out cuffs. His tarnished badge read "Harris". He looked every year of 55. "Spin around" he said, his voice gruff from a chain smoking habit, and cuffed Ray.

Cold steel closed tight on Ray's muscular wrists. "Hey, too tight man." Officer Harris didn't hear or didn't care.

Ray took a deep breath and let the anger flow through him, like water around a stone. Young him would have spun around and smashed the officer into the bars, then waited in his open cell for the the heavy hitters with their riot shields and pepper spray.

But the decades had changed him. Most inmates lost their minds. Ray worked tirelessly at sanity, and that work paid off. Now his fiery anger was gone: A lifetime of rage that took a lifetime to quench.

"Let's go Child's." A forceful prod in the back, like cattle, and they are on the move. Slowly they make their way through the facility, past row upon row of lifers, their skin young and tight, their bodies lithe and healthy.

Some pace their cell frantically, a few of the newest additions pound the bars as they pass, spitting threats at the Ward officer. One or two lay weak on their beds, first time recipients of telomere lengthening. The first few treatments wrecked you, but it got easier.

Officer Harris motioned through the glass pane window in the steel door at the end of the ward and it swung open heavily. As they passed it, Ray caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. A twenty year old's face looked back at him through the knowing, tired eyes of a centenarian.

Officer Harris gave him another prod, and down the hall they went, past several checkpoints of cynical officers, each bearing the marks of a normal life lived. The veterans were the angriest, and became progressively angrier the longer than worked at the facility. Their savage gaze screamed at Ray without words: why do you get to live forever?

Ray took their looks of hate and gave back what empathy he could summon, as though to reply you do not want what I have.

They arrived in the interview booth. Officer Harris unlocked the cuffs and Ray felt the blood flow back into his tingling fingers. Ray massaged his swollen hands until the feeling returned, sitting down to wait. The door closed behind him and a heavy latch shut with a cracking metal report.

A few minutes of silence followed as Ray sat alone in the room. This moment was the worst. Who would it be today? It was no one's birthday, no children on the way, no marriages. Could just be a visit. Probably something worse. Ray breathed.

Another click and the door on the other side of the thick ballistic plastic opened. An old woman stepped in, her gait slow and careful, her face aquiline and gaunt with time. But her eyes were still vibrant, and they lit up when they saw Ray. It was an automatic response - it happened with everyone who knew him when he was young, no matter how often they visited. But then it passed and the sadness came.

Ray smiled. "Hey baby. How you doin?" He placed his palm flat on the divider, very gently, as though it were the belly of a lamb.

The old woman sat down with great care. She faced Ray and placed her own palm to match his. Her long fingers reminded Ray of the delicate reeds that used to grow beside his Grandmother's house in Georgia, so many years ago.

When the soft tissue paper of her skin touched the plastic, she began to cry. Ray braced himself.

"Daddy." The word floated in the air between them. Even imbued with sadness and the rigors of time, Ray heard only his little Eva. "She's gone."

Young Ray was a "strong" man, a gang member and thug, and proud to be these things. They were how he survived the warzone of his life. Young Ray would have held in his pain, pretended not to feel it, and then gone and broke his knuckles on the face of a stranger.

But that young man was dead, and only an old man was left hiding in his skin. Ray let the tears come. "When did it happen?"

Eva wiped her eyes gently with a small kerchief from her purse. "Just yesterday. She wanted to come one more time." Eva looked up at him again, "she said she loved you Daddy."

Ray felt the words like a warm embrace. "Thank you, baby." He closed his eyes and breathed. Feelings needed to be felt. "She was a strong one, your sister."

Eva just nodded and the two sat there together for a time in silence. There was not much else to say. Not much else happened to an old woman alone in the world, nor to an old man just starting his second life sentence.

But that was alright. Presence was all Ray needed. He sat quietly across from his youngest daughter and took in her energy, her essence, trying with all his heart to commit her to his spiritual memory. Soon enough, he would lose her as well, and then all that would remain of the life that once belonged to Ray Childs would be the recollections of his ageless mind.