Week 16: There's Only One Bed
Dec. 1st, 2025 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inkstainedfingertipsMarvin closed the door behind him and stared at the narrow, twin-sized bed—the only piece of furniture in the room. The entire space was aggressively white. The fluorescent lights gleamed off the white paneled walls and white tiled floor, making Marvin feel like his retinas were melting. With a sigh, he perched on the edge of the narrow bed, instantly noting how stiff and uncomfortable the thin mattress was.
Everything in the room made him feel uneasy. The environment was completely alien. Sterile. It made his skin prickle and raised the hair on the back of his neck. He pulled the photograph of Emily out of his shirt pocket and stared into her warm, mocha-colored eyes, a wan smile touching his lips. He missed her. And though he reached out with his heart and emotions, he couldn’t feel her.
Ever since she’d passed, he had been able to feel her warmth. Her the echo of her laughter or see her smile in his mind’s eye. But in that glaringly white chamber, he felt… nothing. There was no trace of his beloved to be found. She was waiting for him on the other side, that much he believed with all his heart. But she wasn’t there with him. It left his heart feeling cold and empty.
“I’ll be with you again soon, Em.”
The door opened with a pneumatic hiss and a stout, matronly woman stepped in. Her iron-gray hair was up in a bun as tight and severe as her pinched face. She wore slacks and a blouse so glaringly white, it made the room around him look dull. Her blood red lips curled upward in the pale imitation of a smile. It was ghastly. He tucked the picture of his beloved back in his pocket as if protecting her from the cold, reptilian gaze of the woman before him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Watkins,” she said. “How are we today?”
“This bed isn’t very comfortable.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re going to be using it all that long, are we?”
Her laughter was as horrifying as her smile and her continued use of the word “we,” grated on Marvin’s nerves. There was no we here. It was only him. He twirled the gold band around on his finger, trying to tamp down his irritation, reminding himself that she was there to help him. And anyway, he wouldn’t have to deal with her smug condescension for long.
“I suppose that’s true,” Marvin said. “So, can we get on with this?”
Her smile this time, looked malicious. “Got somewhere else you need to be?”
Marvin stared at her with a deadpan expression.
“Sorry, just a little humor to lighten the mood,” she said then looked at the tablet in her hand. “Okay, then, let me… oh, dear.”
“What is it?” Marvin asked.
“Well, your form is filled out with black ink when it clearly states all official documents must be filled out in blue ink.”
“You’re kidding me.”
She grimaced. “I’m afraid I’m not,” she said. “The Bureau of Self-Deletion does not kid, Mr. Watkins. We are deathly serious.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a little more humor to lighten the mood?”
She cocked her head then guffawed, her loud braying reminding Marvin of a donkey. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. That’s very good, Mr. Watkins. I’m going to have to steal that.”
“You can have it for free if you just push my paperwork through so I can get on with it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Choosing to end one’s existence is a very serious procedure and our protocols are very clear—”
“So, I have to fill out all fifty-five pages of this form again—”
“In blue ink.”
“In blue ink.”
Marvin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered darkly to himself as he slipped off the table, still alive, and exited the room without another word.
* * * * *
A week later, Marvin found himself in the same blindingly white room, perched on the edge of the same, narrow, lumpy bed. The door opened and the same woman walked in. The door closed behind her as she gave him an aggressively chipper smile.
“And how are we today, Mr. Watkins?”
“We are ready to get on with this.”
That aggressively chipper smile still on her face, the woman looked over her tablet. And as she did, the corners of her mouth turned downward.
“Oh, dear.”
Marvin sighed. “What now?”
“Well, on page thirty-seven, when asked for the reason you have decided to self-delete, you checked the box for ‘other’ but failed to include what that ‘other’ thing was.”
Marvin felt his face grow red as he balled his hands into fists.
“My wife died. I have no friends. I have no family. I hate my job. I hate this world. And I hate you. I literally have nothing to live for, and I don’t want to be here anymore. That's your other.”
The woman tapped the surface of her tablet, her face pinched. Marvin forced his hands open and laid them flat on his thighs as he tried to bring his blood pressure down. The last thing he wanted was to have a stroke before he deleted himself.
“What?” he asked with forced patience.
“Well, you seem very emotionally agitated.”
“Because I am.”
“Well, our protocols are very clear on that point,” she said. “Clients cannot be allowed to self-delete when they are emotionally agitated as they are often unable to make a rational and judicious choice like this if their mind is not clear and emotion-free.”
“I was perfectly calm when I filled out your forms. Again.”
“But you aren’t now. What if you regret your decision?”
“How am I going to regret my decision? I’ll be dead.”
“We simply cannot afford to run the risk. Not in this litigious society we live in,” she said. “Why don’t you go home, have a think about it, then we’ll make an appointment for you when you are of sound mind and emotionally stable.”
Feeling more defeated than he’d ever felt in his entire miserable existence, Marvin slipped off the table and still alive, walked out of the Bureau of Self-Deletion.
Again.
* * * * *
“And how are we doing today, Mr. Watkins?”
“I am wonderful, thank you for asking,” Marvin replied with forced jocularity. “Say, that is a lovely shade of lipstick you’re wearing. And your hair looks absolutely fantastic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better bun.”
The woman eyed him closely. Marvin shrank back and giggled to himself. The woman pulled out a penlight and flashed it into his eyes.
“Mr. Watkins, have you taken drugs?”
“I took a Xanax before—”
“Oh dear.”
“What now?”
“Well, our protocols dictate that a client may not self-delete if they are under the influence of drugs or alcohol—”
“I took a Xanax to keep myself from being emotionally agitated—”
“Which I feel like you’re becoming again.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Mr. Watkins, are you sure you truly want to self-delete?” she asked. “You seem to be in a circular pattern of self-sabotage, what with the wrong colored ink, the agitation, the drugs—”
“I’m positive I want to do this.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“I do!”
“Tell you what, why don’t you go home, have a think on it, and when you’re absolutely, positively certain this is what you want, come on back and we’ll get you started.”
“I’m absolutely, positively certain this is what I want.”
Her smile was patient. “Come back when you’re not under the influence, Mr. Watkins.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
Marvin slipped off the table and walked out of the building. Still alive.
Again.
* * * * *
A week later, Marvin stood in the center of the room, hip leaning against the single bed in the irritatingly white room, arms folded over his chest as he waited for her to come in. After an interminably long wait, she finally did.
“And how are we today, Mr. Watkins?”
“We are doing just fine,” he replied evenly. “I have not taken any drugs, I have filled out my forms in the correct colored ink, and I am completely calm and rational.”
“That’s very good to hear.”
“I’m of sound mind and have perfect emotional clarity,” he said. “And I am ready to begin the self-deletion procedure.”
“Very well,” she said.
As she worked on her tablet, finalizing the plans and putting the procedure into motion, Marvin thought, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. He climbed onto the hard, lumpy mattress and laid back, waiting for her to bring in the machines that would being the self-deletion procedure. A mechanical arm lowered from a panel in the ceiling and scanned him from head to toe. It was happening.
Finally.
And for the first time in a very long while, Marvin allowed himself a smile.
He touched his pocket where he had the photo of Emily and closed his eyes, silently telling her he would be with her soon. The thought brough Marvin comfort but he reached out with his emotions again and still could not feel her with him. He’d wanted her to be there with him as he made the transition. But he comforted himself with the knowledge that he would see her again soon.
“Oh dear.”
Marvin opened his eyes and sat up. “What. Now?”
“Well, according to the bioscan we just ran, you had coffee before coming in today?”
“I stopped at the coffee house Emily and I used to frequent, yes.”
“Well, it very clearly states on page forty-seven of the paperwork you filled out that you are prohibited from ingesting stimulants prior to your appointment, given their mood and mind altering properties,” she clucked.
“What?”
“I’m very sorry, but it is all right there in black and white, Mr. Watkins.”
“Lady, look, I’m—”
“I’m very sorry, but our protocols are clear on this matter. We cannot proceed with the self-deletion procedure until you are free of stimulants,” she said. “Why don’t you forgo the coffee, drugs, and anything else that might alter your mood, and we can make an appointment—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Marvin slid off the table, muttering darkly to himself. Without another word or backward glance, he walked out of the Bureau of Self-Deletion.
Still.
Alive.
How hard was it to delete yourself?
* * * * *
After a morning spent visiting all the coffee houses and cafes he and Emily used to frequent, Marvin settled back in the bed they used to share. As their favorite music played, he let his hand stray to the side of her bed and felt it warm. Marvin smiled. He closed his eyes and didn’t even have to stretch out with his emotions. Emily was with him. He could see her smile. Could hear her laughter. Could feel the softness of her long, golden locks.
She was with him. Yes, this felt right. Very right.
He sat up and uncapped the bottle of pills then poured them into his mouth and swallowed them down behind a glass of the very expensive scotch Emily had gotten him for their anniversary some years back. Scotch he’d been saving for a special occasion. This seemed like that occasion.
With a wry chuckle, he drained the glass and lay back on the pillows he’d sprayed with her favorite perfume, wrapped in her favorite comforter. Enveloped by her warmth and scent, Marvin closed his eyes and drifted away on the currents of her memory, descending through the darkness of the layers of maddening bureaucracy and into her warm, waiting embrace.
He knew self-deletion was illegal, but what were they going to do? Arrest him?
Everything in the room made him feel uneasy. The environment was completely alien. Sterile. It made his skin prickle and raised the hair on the back of his neck. He pulled the photograph of Emily out of his shirt pocket and stared into her warm, mocha-colored eyes, a wan smile touching his lips. He missed her. And though he reached out with his heart and emotions, he couldn’t feel her.
Ever since she’d passed, he had been able to feel her warmth. Her the echo of her laughter or see her smile in his mind’s eye. But in that glaringly white chamber, he felt… nothing. There was no trace of his beloved to be found. She was waiting for him on the other side, that much he believed with all his heart. But she wasn’t there with him. It left his heart feeling cold and empty.
“I’ll be with you again soon, Em.”
The door opened with a pneumatic hiss and a stout, matronly woman stepped in. Her iron-gray hair was up in a bun as tight and severe as her pinched face. She wore slacks and a blouse so glaringly white, it made the room around him look dull. Her blood red lips curled upward in the pale imitation of a smile. It was ghastly. He tucked the picture of his beloved back in his pocket as if protecting her from the cold, reptilian gaze of the woman before him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Watkins,” she said. “How are we today?”
“This bed isn’t very comfortable.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re going to be using it all that long, are we?”
Her laughter was as horrifying as her smile and her continued use of the word “we,” grated on Marvin’s nerves. There was no we here. It was only him. He twirled the gold band around on his finger, trying to tamp down his irritation, reminding himself that she was there to help him. And anyway, he wouldn’t have to deal with her smug condescension for long.
“I suppose that’s true,” Marvin said. “So, can we get on with this?”
Her smile this time, looked malicious. “Got somewhere else you need to be?”
Marvin stared at her with a deadpan expression.
“Sorry, just a little humor to lighten the mood,” she said then looked at the tablet in her hand. “Okay, then, let me… oh, dear.”
“What is it?” Marvin asked.
“Well, your form is filled out with black ink when it clearly states all official documents must be filled out in blue ink.”
“You’re kidding me.”
She grimaced. “I’m afraid I’m not,” she said. “The Bureau of Self-Deletion does not kid, Mr. Watkins. We are deathly serious.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a little more humor to lighten the mood?”
She cocked her head then guffawed, her loud braying reminding Marvin of a donkey. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. That’s very good, Mr. Watkins. I’m going to have to steal that.”
“You can have it for free if you just push my paperwork through so I can get on with it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Choosing to end one’s existence is a very serious procedure and our protocols are very clear—”
“So, I have to fill out all fifty-five pages of this form again—”
“In blue ink.”
“In blue ink.”
Marvin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered darkly to himself as he slipped off the table, still alive, and exited the room without another word.
A week later, Marvin found himself in the same blindingly white room, perched on the edge of the same, narrow, lumpy bed. The door opened and the same woman walked in. The door closed behind her as she gave him an aggressively chipper smile.
“And how are we today, Mr. Watkins?”
“We are ready to get on with this.”
That aggressively chipper smile still on her face, the woman looked over her tablet. And as she did, the corners of her mouth turned downward.
“Oh, dear.”
Marvin sighed. “What now?”
“Well, on page thirty-seven, when asked for the reason you have decided to self-delete, you checked the box for ‘other’ but failed to include what that ‘other’ thing was.”
Marvin felt his face grow red as he balled his hands into fists.
“My wife died. I have no friends. I have no family. I hate my job. I hate this world. And I hate you. I literally have nothing to live for, and I don’t want to be here anymore. That's your other.”
The woman tapped the surface of her tablet, her face pinched. Marvin forced his hands open and laid them flat on his thighs as he tried to bring his blood pressure down. The last thing he wanted was to have a stroke before he deleted himself.
“What?” he asked with forced patience.
“Well, you seem very emotionally agitated.”
“Because I am.”
“Well, our protocols are very clear on that point,” she said. “Clients cannot be allowed to self-delete when they are emotionally agitated as they are often unable to make a rational and judicious choice like this if their mind is not clear and emotion-free.”
“I was perfectly calm when I filled out your forms. Again.”
“But you aren’t now. What if you regret your decision?”
“How am I going to regret my decision? I’ll be dead.”
“We simply cannot afford to run the risk. Not in this litigious society we live in,” she said. “Why don’t you go home, have a think about it, then we’ll make an appointment for you when you are of sound mind and emotionally stable.”
Feeling more defeated than he’d ever felt in his entire miserable existence, Marvin slipped off the table and still alive, walked out of the Bureau of Self-Deletion.
Again.
“And how are we doing today, Mr. Watkins?”
“I am wonderful, thank you for asking,” Marvin replied with forced jocularity. “Say, that is a lovely shade of lipstick you’re wearing. And your hair looks absolutely fantastic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better bun.”
The woman eyed him closely. Marvin shrank back and giggled to himself. The woman pulled out a penlight and flashed it into his eyes.
“Mr. Watkins, have you taken drugs?”
“I took a Xanax before—”
“Oh dear.”
“What now?”
“Well, our protocols dictate that a client may not self-delete if they are under the influence of drugs or alcohol—”
“I took a Xanax to keep myself from being emotionally agitated—”
“Which I feel like you’re becoming again.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Mr. Watkins, are you sure you truly want to self-delete?” she asked. “You seem to be in a circular pattern of self-sabotage, what with the wrong colored ink, the agitation, the drugs—”
“I’m positive I want to do this.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“I do!”
“Tell you what, why don’t you go home, have a think on it, and when you’re absolutely, positively certain this is what you want, come on back and we’ll get you started.”
“I’m absolutely, positively certain this is what I want.”
Her smile was patient. “Come back when you’re not under the influence, Mr. Watkins.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
Marvin slipped off the table and walked out of the building. Still alive.
Again.
A week later, Marvin stood in the center of the room, hip leaning against the single bed in the irritatingly white room, arms folded over his chest as he waited for her to come in. After an interminably long wait, she finally did.
“And how are we today, Mr. Watkins?”
“We are doing just fine,” he replied evenly. “I have not taken any drugs, I have filled out my forms in the correct colored ink, and I am completely calm and rational.”
“That’s very good to hear.”
“I’m of sound mind and have perfect emotional clarity,” he said. “And I am ready to begin the self-deletion procedure.”
“Very well,” she said.
As she worked on her tablet, finalizing the plans and putting the procedure into motion, Marvin thought, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. He climbed onto the hard, lumpy mattress and laid back, waiting for her to bring in the machines that would being the self-deletion procedure. A mechanical arm lowered from a panel in the ceiling and scanned him from head to toe. It was happening.
Finally.
And for the first time in a very long while, Marvin allowed himself a smile.
He touched his pocket where he had the photo of Emily and closed his eyes, silently telling her he would be with her soon. The thought brough Marvin comfort but he reached out with his emotions again and still could not feel her with him. He’d wanted her to be there with him as he made the transition. But he comforted himself with the knowledge that he would see her again soon.
“Oh dear.”
Marvin opened his eyes and sat up. “What. Now?”
“Well, according to the bioscan we just ran, you had coffee before coming in today?”
“I stopped at the coffee house Emily and I used to frequent, yes.”
“Well, it very clearly states on page forty-seven of the paperwork you filled out that you are prohibited from ingesting stimulants prior to your appointment, given their mood and mind altering properties,” she clucked.
“What?”
“I’m very sorry, but it is all right there in black and white, Mr. Watkins.”
“Lady, look, I’m—”
“I’m very sorry, but our protocols are clear on this matter. We cannot proceed with the self-deletion procedure until you are free of stimulants,” she said. “Why don’t you forgo the coffee, drugs, and anything else that might alter your mood, and we can make an appointment—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Marvin slid off the table, muttering darkly to himself. Without another word or backward glance, he walked out of the Bureau of Self-Deletion.
Still.
Alive.
How hard was it to delete yourself?
After a morning spent visiting all the coffee houses and cafes he and Emily used to frequent, Marvin settled back in the bed they used to share. As their favorite music played, he let his hand stray to the side of her bed and felt it warm. Marvin smiled. He closed his eyes and didn’t even have to stretch out with his emotions. Emily was with him. He could see her smile. Could hear her laughter. Could feel the softness of her long, golden locks.
She was with him. Yes, this felt right. Very right.
He sat up and uncapped the bottle of pills then poured them into his mouth and swallowed them down behind a glass of the very expensive scotch Emily had gotten him for their anniversary some years back. Scotch he’d been saving for a special occasion. This seemed like that occasion.
With a wry chuckle, he drained the glass and lay back on the pillows he’d sprayed with her favorite perfume, wrapped in her favorite comforter. Enveloped by her warmth and scent, Marvin closed his eyes and drifted away on the currents of her memory, descending through the darkness of the layers of maddening bureaucracy and into her warm, waiting embrace.
He knew self-deletion was illegal, but what were they going to do? Arrest him?