by Mona Gallagher

Created on: October 24, 2008

Today, I found part of an old newspaper that was dated March 16, 2025. I attempted to catch up on the news while my parents slept peacefully. My flashlight kept flickering off, and at last, with a deep sigh, I gave up. Tomorrow, they'd share the old news while I scouted for food.

I sat in the dark looking out of the window. Dad's gentle snoring didn't bother while I kept watch. In fact, it was reassuring. Mom lay close at his side and I looked at them for a long moment then covered them with the newspaper. This was their first good nights sleep in a more than a week.

They're tired. They're too old to be living like this and it's my fault that we move from place to place living in the shadows as though we were thieves, keeping out of sight, and dodging the state police.
They would have turned themselves in by now, if not for me.

We've been running away for eight months now. I've moved them to a safe place every week or two just to keep them alive, but I know this is not living, and in the pitch black of midnight the relentless dark reaches deep into my soul and asks once again, "what if?"

I rest my head on my arms for a minute and try to focus but my mind is foggy and my eyes are weighted down with anvils.

Sometimes I think I'm going mad.
Sometimes...I caress my pistol and think dark thoughts.

I close my eyes. Life is a horrendous bargain when you live on the run. We should have seen it coming but we slept through the "change" he promised. Everyone had known before the 21st century rolled around that 77 million baby boomers would retire leaving a scant working population to carry the economic load for the nation.

Without the wage earners and taxpayers, our country was poor and desolate. When the global tax was established, the American dream died. I think we all died inside.

"Euthanasia is the way to fix the problem," our leaders said. Health care costs were too much of a burden and the elders would pay.
Desperate times fueled the smoldering fire for disposing of the elderly, the handicapped, and the accident victims who were deemed to have no possibility of quality of life.

Three years ago, it was put into law. When citizens reached the age of 65 they were to report to the government processing facility in Utah where they would spend their last days being finger printed, their worldly goods confiscated, and their names stricken from the North American regional directory.
Immediately after, they would go to the government room.

All was quiet.

I sensed his presence before

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