17 "Everything is beautiful when you're young and pretty," he thought.

Says:

"Everything is beautiful when you're young and pretty," he thought. His arthritic hands reached into the drawer and shook as they pulled out a revolver.

“To youth,” he said and pulled the trigger.

Black enshrouded him and he closed his eyes. He floated freely in the darkness for a while relaxing before a sharp piercing light hit him. He opened his eyes and found himself in a pure white sterile room; a couch stood alone near the far wall. Muzak played over an unseen intercom system. He sat down on the couch and waited.

Nothing happened. The muzak continued and he kept sitting.

Finally the song came to an end and a voice came on, speaking in a soft, firm voice, similar to flight attendants, “Hello all you out there, and welcome to purgatory. Please remain seated while we process your judgment.”

The man situated himself more comfortably, sinking deeper into the clean white cushions. He kept waiting, growing more and more impatient. He readjusted himself, lying down on the couch. On top of this waiting, even in the after life he was still old. Everything still ached and he still had all his usual pains.

Finally the voice came back on, “Sorry for the wait, our operators are currently all busy with other customers. If you would please hold, someone will be with you soon as possible.”

“I ended it all for this? I was just sick and tired of being old. Now what? I’m old for eternity?” he thought out loud to himself. He hobbled about pacing for a while, but soon grew tired of it and sat back down to let more time pass.

The voice came on again with the same prerecorded message, apologizing for the wait. He groaned and buried his head in the cushions, trying to drown out the painful muzak that followed.