More notes. No response.
You searched for another argument, for another reason why your life was more beautiful, more poignant, more meaningful than the rest. The argument didn't come. You'd lived a selfish life. One of no importance to others. You looked over to the father version of you. His eyes were pleading, not for himself, but for his family.
"Kill me," the homeless one said. "Or erase me. Discontinue me. Whatever you want to call it. I volunteer."
"That's not how it works, sir," the Selector said.
"You don't get it. I've been waiting to die for a long time now. Surprised I made it this far, really. Just let me die feeling good. Give me a fix and let me OD. These others can keep going."...
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