Suicide Cafe

Suicide Café


For those who didn’t wish to partake of the items on offer at the various suicide cafes, or wish to drive off mountains or off bridges. They could make their way to Death chambers to see off their final days.
Giles Pederson was heading for his own death chamber, he was 29, he knew his time was near, many of his contemporaries had already gone. He knew no one who had survived. This disease, virus, or whatever it was, was killing people at 30, and his birthday was real soon. He said his goodbyes to his younger friends, he shed tears, they shed tears, he left. He wanted one final road trip, one last journey while he still had the strength. He chose an open top car for his last drive, he wanted to feel the wind in his hair one last time.

He sat in his car, felt the roar of the engine, and took off without looking, if he died, so what. He didn’t though, there was no one around. He got onto the M4 and headed for Newbury, in a village nearby would be where he waved good bye to all of this. Traffic was light as he sailed over Hammersmith on the flyover, he watched in his mirror as London disappeared for the last time, he’d loved the city in the before days, now he was leaving behind the struggle to live, and the struggle to love. He reached the Newbury turn off in under an hour, and pulled in at a service station, still open. I’ll have one last cup of their shitty coffee he thought to himself, wave good bye to all of that too. He sat in a corner, smoked a couple of cigarettes. He felt tired, really tired, the last few weeks he had felt the energy draining from his young body, he knew his time was up. There was plenty of information about the end. He knew enough, he didn‘t want to read any more, he knew he would become more and more tired, that eventually he would find it difficult to move, that he would lose interest in food and just want to sleep, and that eventually he would just not wake up.

He left the service station and walked towards the car, he caught the last rays of the day’s dying sun. How many more sunsets would he see? maybe a week or so, before his last sun rise, his last sun set. He knew with his luck it would probably be overcast on his last day so he stood a while watching the sun slowly sink out of sight.

The sun gone, he got back in the car and drove the last 10 miles of his last road trip. He saw the lights of the house as he drove over the brow of the hill. There was a welcoming committee, he had rung ahead and a group of 3 women stood outside. All of them were in their 50s, they had devoted themselves to making the last days of their residents as comfortable as possible. He didn’t know how they funded it, it was all free to him. He left them what he had, which was basically his car and his clothes. He guessed they got their funding from the new world which retained some sort of guilt about shutting out the young, the immune paying a guilt tax He parked the car and got out, left the keys in the ignition, he had no need for them any more. The three women greeted him, embraced him , kissed him tenderly, he felt at home. This was a good place to die.

He followed them in to the house, there was no unpacking to do, what was the point in packing anything when you were never going to leave? In the living room were seven other young people, a few of them were nearer the end. Two lay in sofas, duvets over them, looking pale and very tired. They managed weak smiles when Giles was introduced to them, the other 4 were nursing cups of tea. He sat on the spare chair and accepted a mug of hot tea from one of the carers, she looked a little like his mother, who was living in a fortified community and contacted him via text. He had texted her that day saying he was on his way, telling her he loved her and that he was throwing away the phone so that she wouldn’t be able to call him. He waited until she texted him back, she said she loved him and hoped he wouldn‘t suffer. She offered to come to the home and be with him at the end. He didn’t text her back, just took out the sim card, and threw the phone out of the window as he drove away from the service station, another chapter ended. He never got the other texts begging to see him for the last time, he had given her number to the carers who would be informing her when he passed away. His mother would stay by her phone for the next week, desperately hoping that he made it through and she saw him again, while also hoping that her baby didn’t suffer.

Giles sat in the living room, nursing his tea, as the carers went through the preparations, they were experienced at this and told him that they knew the signs and could pretty much predict when the time would come. They asked for next of kin information and assured him that they would inform his loved ones as soon as the end came. He still had the opportunity if inviting loved ones to the end, Giles still didn’t want this, he wanted to go through it on his own, apart from the strangers who would now share his last few days in this planet.

There were a series of questions they wanted to ask him.

what music did he want at the end ? Did he want someone to read to him when he became too weak to? Was there a film he wanted to watch at the end? When my final credits are moving up the screen, he thought to himself. Did he want any letters delivered to loved ones? Did he want a religious service? Cremated or buried? Dying was a complicated business, so many things to sort out, maybe the suicide café was a better idea. Well, there was plenty to think about, Giles wanted to spend some time at this and went through the questions one by one.

What song did he want to be the last he heard, how could they be so sure that it would be the last song, maybe they put it on repeat at the end, what if he heard it by chance, before his last moments, would he think it was a sign that the end was coming? At the moment, he wanted “Hurt” by Johnny Cash, a song of regret, he had plenty of those.

He’d like to be read to, it wasn’t something that happened since he was a kid, so he’d go for a classic, a Dickens, his favourite was “A Tale of Two Cities”. What if they didn’t have it ? would he have to make do with what they had ? did they have a massive library? did they loot Waterstones? Then there was a film, he used to live the flicks, what would he like to see again for the last time? Everything was for the last time, he felt sad at this, what did he expect? He didn’t want to watch a movie, again the final credits rolling up the screen was just too sad to deal with. . He’d written his letters, well one letter, to his mother, they could send that. He didn’t care about his bodily remains, he ticked cremation, go out in a blaze of glory, after he had gone out with a whimper. No goods, apart from the car he had stolen, the carers could have that, and the clothes he stood up in. He’d had a lot of possessions once, a flat in the Docklands full of them, he’d left that flat 3 weeks before , full of junk, Religious service, fuck him or her, what deity would let all this happen, what deity allowed all sorts of shit to happen in the world, fuck him and her. Giles completed the form and handed it in, they didn’t read it immediately, I guess it’s one of those things you read out of sight of the client. They showed him to his room, he had a look but didn’t stay there, he had nothing to unpack. He suddenly realised he had no change of clothes, he didn‘t want to go out in smelly clothes, he asked them if they had spare clothes, they smiled, we have a lot of spare clothes, and showed him another room where they had stored them. He picked out a few pairs of jeans, some tee-shirts, pants and socks, he didn‘t need many warm clothes, he doubted that he‘s be going out much. There was a garden if he wanted to hang out there, plus he had the option of dying in the summer house, or with the others at a passing away picnic, a death picnic. What would he have as his last meal, would his last morsel of food be a scotch egg? He was getting tired of deciding everything, he just wanted it over, maybe he should driven off the Hammersmith flyover.

Giles sat in the living room, he wanted to have some last conversations but the other occupants were watching a re-run of deal or no deal, maybe it was the last show they would see, he hoped someone won the £250,000, he’d rather die having seen that than see someone go off with a penny.

Giles passed his days watching TV and reading, as his strength ebbed away, he lay in the couch, there were spare couches now as 2 of his welcoming committee had passed away, he had joined them in their rooms, listening to their last songs, They all sang along to them watching the last breaths of the passer. He knew his time was coming, he didn’t need to prepare, that was all done for him. One day he just couldn’t rise and he knew it was maybe his day, it was sunny. He asked to be wheeled outside, and he lay in his bed, looking up at a blue sky. Around him were his last family, he was holding on to the hands of strangers. As he grew weaker he started to think about his life, as he grew weary, he remembered good things, his childhood, the love of his mother, passing his driving test, his first kiss (which came before the successful driving test but there is no order to these things) the first time he had sex, the embarrassment, the speed at which it was over, the hasty rush to get out afterwards, or was she kicking him out? He remembered passionate arguments in pubs, on message boards, he remembered the fights he’d had, he remembered getting the living shit kicked out of him when he was too pissed to defend himself. He laughed, and enjoyed the sound of others laughing too, this death thing should be enjoyed he thought, the Irish had the best of ideas, the wake, here he was having a wake before he died. He asked for his favourite drink, and someone poured him a large Jack Daniels and held it to his lips. He sipped at it, enjoying the fire.

“I think it’s nearly time” one of the carers said, and kissed him on the forehead, he smiled weakly, and heard Johnny Cash’s voice as he closed his eyes for the last time. It was over.