This Is How You Die: Stories of the Inscrutable, Infallible, Inescapable Machine of Death

by Неизвестный

  Can the CODT really work on stuffed animals?

  This is a work of fiction. For purposes of this story, assume that Jimmy’s dinosaurs had testable blood. Please do not attempt to test an actual stuffed animal.

  Is it true that the lower the age of mandatory CODT, the more youths are detained by Homeland Security?

  While there have been increases of detained individuals in the past when the age of mandatory testing was lowered, we feel certain that six years old is young enough that the number will finally drop off again. In the unlikely event that detentions increase again, rest assured that the Department of Homeland Security will do everything possible to protect its citizens’ rights, up to and including lowering the age of mandatory testing to four.

  We hope this guide has been helpful for you and your family. Thank you for taking the next step in protecting our nation!

  * * *

  Story by John and Bill Chernega

  Story illustrations by Bill Chernega

  Cover illustration by Dana Wulfekotte

  MADE INTO DELICIOUS CHEESEBURGER

  IT’S MY FAVORITE PATCH. There’s no way Cindy could know. It’s irrational to blame her. She’s new, just trying to make her way on an unfamiliar farm. I should be welcoming. Magnanimous. Set a good example. But all I want to do is saunter up and tip that stupid heifer on her ass.

  No. Okay. Calm down. Don’t be a bully. There’s plenty of grass here in the shade. The grass on the hill isn’t any better or worse.

  Oh shit, Beth is giving me the eye. Fuck. I forgot she likes the shade in the afternoon. See, Cindy? See the shit you’ve caused? And now the farmer is beckoning me back into the barn anyway. Could this day get any worse?

  * * *

  Story by Sarah Pavis

  Illustration by Becky Dreistadt

  YOUR CHOICE

  1

  YOU WILL NOT LOOK BACK on this time in your life with fond memories. In fact, this might be the lowest you’ve ever been. Your partner of ten years has left you and you haven’t seen your son, Henry, in a month. You wonder if he misses you as much as you miss him. For a while you missed your ex too, but that wore off after the whole protracted custody battle debacle.

  So here you are, in your crumbling apartment, eating reheated grocery-store pizza, watching American Idol, and thinking how much the show suffers without Simon Cowell, even though you can’t stand the guy.

  This wasn’t where you intended to be at this stage of your life. You should be spending time with your kid, sleeping at night with your spouse beside you, out with your friends on a Saturday perhaps, or taking the kid to a movie. You should have a house, a backyard where you can host parties and throw a ball with Henry. You should have a big-screen TV and an exercise room in your basement with plenty of space for the kid to play with all his toys.

  Your eyes drift over to the small dining table next to the cramped kitchen, where a Transformer toy sits forlornly in its box. You bought it for Henry after the divorce but you’ve not seen him since. Now it is a symbol of your defeat.

  This isn’t any way to live.

  So you asked the Machine of Death and you kind of wish you hadn’t.

  See, the plan was, rather than trying to take your own life in ways that might just land you in the hospital having your stomach pumped or removing a spike from your ass, you would finally pluck up the courage to let the machine test your blood and let you know exactly how you will do the deed. Okay, so there’s no telling how many times you’ll have to try, but at least then you would know which method to use, right?

  Wrong.

  Here’s what the piece of paper said: “YOUR CHOICE.”

  What the fuck does that mean? Your choice? Nothing about your life is your choice anymore. Do the powers that be think you choose to live in this crappy apartment, eating cardboard pizza, watching disposable TV? Do you choose not to spend time with your son? Did you decide your ex should find a new lover and yet somehow manage to pin all the blame for the marriage breakdown on you? Is it your choice that your bank balance was cut in half and what’s left is constantly drained by greedy lawyers and vicious alimony payments? This is no way to live. You’re in a hole, there’s no way out, and not even the Machine of Death can tell you how to end it.

  So what do you do?

  Please choose an option below and then jump to the section indicated.

  If you want to try jumping from your twenty-story balcony, go to 2.

  If you would rather step in front of a bus, go to 3.

  If you feel there is still hope, go to 9.

  2

  You walk out onto the balcony, a glass of wine in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. You look over the edge and your vision swims at the huge drop. You let go of the pizza slice and watch it descend, getting smaller and smaller until it explodes onto the sidewalk far below, looking much like you think the contents of your head will if you decide to follow it.

  You knock back the remainder of your wine, place the glass carefully on the outdoor table, and then climb up onto the railing that is meant to keep you from pitching off the balcony. You are perched precariously on top now, swaying slightly in the wind. There’s nothing between you and the open air, and the sight of the ground so far away is enough to make you feel sick.

  Do you really think you can do this?

  If you want to jump, go to 5.

  If you would rather climb back onto the balcony, go to 6.

  3

  You drain your glass, grab your keys, and leave the apartment. The fading wallpaper and worn carpet of the corridor beyond exacerbate your depression; the flickering fluorescent tube near the elevators helps even less.

  Eventually the elevator arrives and you step inside, joining a teenager with so many piercings it’s a wonder nobody takes him to one of those cash-for-gold kiosks and has him melted down.

  You get out in the lobby and leave the building.

  This is a really crappy part of town. You used to live in a nice house in the burbs. Nothing superfancy, but you had space and you had safety. This is all you can afford now.

  You stand at the edge of the sidewalk. The number 67 to Chinatown is coming this way. Hopefully it will get up enough speed before it reaches you or you’re going to be spending the night in the hospital instead of the morgue. You clutch the piece of paper in your pocket that tells you it’s your choice how you want to die, or at least that’s how you interpret it.

  Here comes the bus.

  If you step out in front of it, go to 4.

  If you let the bus pass by, go to 6.

  4

  The bus is close. The driver isn’t looking at you. At this time of the evening there isn’t too much traffic to get in the way. You hope it’s going fast enough to do the job cleanly.

  You close your eyes…

  And step out.

  A hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you back.

  The bus whizzes past your nose, its horn blaring loudly. You step back, embarrassed at all the faces of the passengers pressed up against the glass, wanting to get a good look at the idiot who nearly got hit.

  You turn around to find your best friend, Robin, staring at you like you have a frog for a head.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Robin demands.

  “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t concentrating,” you reply.

  “I hope you weren’t doing what I think you were doing.”

  “What? Trying to off myself? No, of course not.”

  Robin doesn’t look convinced. “Glad to hear it.”

  “You came to see me?” you ask.

  “Yeah, I was just about to buzz your door and I saw you out here. Looks like I was right to be worried about you. Do you want to grab a coffee and talk?”

  If you want to get a coffee, go to 7.

  If you would rather say no, go to 8.

  5

  So here you are, twenty stories up, balanced precariously on the balcony’s guardrail. You cling to the wall
, having a hard time looking down.

  Best to get it over with. You raise one foot off the rail and swing it out into space. You tell yourself that there will be a rush of momentum and then you’ll know nothing more. You’ll hit the ground so hard you won’t have time to feel any pain.

  Slowly, very slowly, you shift your weight away from the building…

  The phone rings inside the apartment. The sudden sound nearly makes you pitch over the edge before you’re ready to, and you scramble back to the wall.

  You hear the beep followed by Alex’s voice. You can’t make out the message.

  Thoughts of suicide have dissipated now. You step down off the railing carefully, back onto the balcony, and go inside.

  You’re not sure if you want to hear Alex’s voice right now.

  If you listen to the message, go to 10.

  If you delete the message, go to 13.

  6

  Killing yourself in public isn’t the answer, at least not in a way that will leave you spread over a wide area of concrete in such a way that each onlooker will never, ever be able to erase that image from their mind.

  You go back inside your apartment to think. This is what your life has come down to: how best to finish yourself without traumatizing a bunch of innocent bystanders. The classic way is to slit your wrists in the bathtub. But that might take a while. Will it hurt for long? Too long?

  Maybe you don’t have the courage to end it after all.

  If you’re done trying to off yourself, go to 9.

  If you want to keep trying to end it all, go to 14.

  7

  “Listen, I’ve been where you are,” Robin says, taking a sip of coffee. “It’s tough. Divorce sucks. And I know you got screwed in court.”

  “I still don’t know what happened. Alex’s lawyer was brutal. Kept asking me questions about inappropriate behavior with my son. I was blindsided, upset, speechless. I’ve never felt so powerless. So much bullshit that fucker fired at me, I started questioning what had really happened.”

  “How is the appeal going?”

  “Slowly. The best I can hope for is access to Henry for maybe a few hours a month under supervision. The judge thinks I’m a damn child abuser! I wish I could do it all over, keep my head together, convince the judge it was all lies.”

  Robin sighed. “Alex knew how to hurt you.”

  “I guess that’s what really cuts me up. How could anyone be so cold? It wasn’t me who had an affair! I’m not the villain!”

  “I know, but what’s done is done. You have to rebuild your life, show the world you’re a responsible citizen, and earn the right to see your son. They can’t keep him away from you forever.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “And what you were going to do out there, not a great idea for proving you’re the perfect parent, okay?”

  You smile and nod. “Okay.”

  “I gotta get going. Will you be all right?”

  “I guess so. Thanks, Robin.”

  You say good-bye and head back to your apartment.

  There’s a message on your machine.

  Go to 10.

  8

  You tell Robin thanks but no. It’s late and you should go back to your apartment. You’ll be fine after you get some sleep. Robin doesn’t seem convinced but respects your wishes.

  When you get in, there’s a message waiting on your machine.

  Go to 10.

  9

  You still feel lousy and defeated, but for now thoughts of offing yourself have receded. You carry a lot of anger and frustration, but suicide isn’t going to help. Besides, what sort of message is that going to send to Henry? Do you want to teach your son that when life buries you in shit, the only way out is to kill yourself? That would be a sucky lesson for him to learn. No matter what lies Alex has told him, deep down Henry still loves you and your death would be devastating for him.

  You feel like taking a shower, so you do.

  While you’re in the bathroom, the phone rings and you hear Alex leave a message. When you come out, you wonder if you want to listen to it or not.

  If you want to hear the message, go to 10.

  If you just want to erase it, go to 13.

  10

  You press the button and listen to the message.

  “Hey, it’s Alex. Look, we’re catching a plane tomorrow and I need to talk to you first. Can you meet me at the Starbucks in Liberty Plaza at ten? Bye.”

  Catching a plane? Where is Alex going? More to the point, where is Henry being taken? Why not just tell you what you need to know on the phone?

  If you think Alex has had a change of heart and may let you have access to your son, go to 11.

  If you think it’s more likely that Henry will be taken far away and you will never see him again, go to 12.

  11

  You go to bed that night with your spirits lifted slightly. Perhaps Alex is thinking of letting you see Henry. Even a few hours a week is worth living for, and fighting for. He is six years old and the most special person in your life. You wish you had told him that a little more often. Does he miss you? Maybe not as much as you hope. No doubt Alex has told him a bunch of lies about you, trying to convince him that he doesn’t need you in his life. Maybe Henry really does miss you, and he’s been hassling Alex for weeks.

  You fall into a fitful sleep and in the morning wake to a new day with fresh expectations and a shred of hope in your heart.

  You even find yourself whistling a little as you prepare your breakfast. You take your time eating, in no hurry.

  It’s nine thirty a.m. now, time to head out the door.

  You make it to Starbucks early and Alex is already there, seated at a table in the corner, drinking the usual latte.

  You order a coffee and sit down opposite, eyeing your ex suspiciously.

  You get a wary half smile in return.

  “You got my message?”

  Well, obviously you got the message or else you wouldn’t be here! Never mind, let it go. You’re being pedantic just like always.

  “Where are you flying to?”

  “We’re going to see Sam’s parents in Italy for two weeks.” Sam is the new lover, better looking, younger, and wealthier than you. No doubt better in bed too.

  “Italy. Nice.” How casual Alex is about having so much spare cash lying around that they can just go to Europe whenever they feel like it. Must be nice.

  “After that, I don’t know. We might go to Vancouver to see my parents. Sam can work remotely, so as long as we’re back before school starts, we can go wherever we like.”

  “How is Henry doing?”

  “He’s doing great! He adores Sam, which is a relief. I was worried they might not get along.”

  This you didn’t need to hear. Your blood starts to boil, but you remember why you’re here and calm yourself. You mustn’t lose this glimmer of hope.

  “Can I see Henry?”

  “Not before we go. When we come back, maybe.”

  You can’t help but be suspicious. “Why the change of heart?”

  Alex sighs deeply. “It’s not a total about-face. How you were treated in the trial—it’s never sat right with me. My lawyer is amazing, but he’s a ruthless bastard. I did what I was told and I got the settlement I wanted. But I don’t think you deserve never to see Henry again, and it’s not good for him either.”

  Perhaps there is still a shred of decency in that heart you used to love.

  “If I don’t see my son again,” you say, “I don’t know how I can go on.”

  Alex stares at you sadly for a long while, then stands up and says, “I know. When we come back from the trip, I’ll call you, okay? I’ve got to go or we’ll be late for the flight. It was… good to see you again.”

  A hand pats your shoulder and then you are alone.

  It’s the news you’ve been hoping for.

  How you long to give Henry a big hug before he leaves, though. You could go over to Alex and Sam’s p
lace, but they might think you’re being too pushy and change their minds. But if Alex is willing to talk about access rights again, maybe it would be okay. What to do?

  If you drive to Alex’s house, go to 15.

  If you just go home, go to 21.

  12

  You go to bed that night in a foul mood. You don’t know where the hell Alex is taking your son, but you can bet you’ll probably never see him again. Thanks to that damn court settlement, Alex is under no obligation to tell you where Henry is or let you have any access to him. Poor Henry probably misses you terribly, despite the lies Alex has told him. It’s mental torture and just plain wrong. You’ll meet Alex tomorrow, but you’re not going to take any more bullshit.

  You fall into a fitful sleep and in the morning wake up with murderous thoughts on your mind.

  You have time to eat breakfast, but everything tastes like ashes.

  It’s nine thirty a.m. now, time to head out the door.

  You make it to Starbucks early and Alex is already there, seated at a table in the corner, drinking the usual latte.

  You order a coffee and sit down opposite, eyeing your ex suspiciously.

  You get a wary half smile in return.

  “You got my message?”

  “Of course I got your message. Why else would I be here?” you snap.

  “Don’t be pedantic.”

  “Don’t take my son away!”

  “Take him away?” Alex looks confused. “Oh, the trip.”

  I stare daggers. “Where are you going?”

  “To see Sam’s parents in Italy.”

  Sam is the new lover, better looking, younger, and wealthier than you are. No doubt better in bed too.