Dorothy Klein is gone    by SJ Butler 

 

The pod is new – “state of the art” as the old used to say.  

‘No cleaning-up; zero mess; self-sanitising. All personal items i.e. photographs, wall art; ornaments etc. imagined only – logged away for instant recall.’ 

The being (personal pronouns are now rarely used) in the white sterile jumpsuit acted as if they were selling a dream retirement home in Florida, but in a very unappealing way. It was the trending thing: End of Life Pods (ELP). Gone were the days when the family had to de-clutter a crumbling bungalow and fight over property rights as they sought to sell. With an ELP plan the business side of things is complete before the person dies. All they have to do is move in and well, die. 

‘Now, I know you can’t see the bed as such, but I assure it is there – it just takes time getting used to it, as does using the toilet – you basically see nothing.’ 

‘So, young lady: it’s a DP.’ Dorothy was a no-nonsense boomer who still opted to use language in the out-dated, frowned upon way. ‘Plainly speaking, a Death Pod!’ 

‘Well, we can’t really say that kind of thing anymore. Some people may be offended.’ 

‘Just say triggered – I know you want to,’ she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. 

At ninety-two years old, Dorothy understood the nuances of the new inoffensive, world order and overall welcomed a society that thought before it acted. Everyone was much nicer nowadays. With all the negative ‘isms’  being eradicated in a nationwide re-education programme, positive social practices had at last a solid foundation, with a text book on Inclusion & Toleration becoming the staple of all American households, but that said the new generation were still a little flaky and even more sensitive than the Gen Zs were. 

It was her grandson Erik’s idea, who like most had condensed his own existence into wrist-chip-technology which controlled every aspect of his life from selective iris colour, alternative voice intonation, multi-body-communication, transference to a different location TL (to name but a few) and pretty much anything that could be improved or copied. 

‘The pod is like a vessel – a launch-pad to the next world,’ he’d said, clicking his fingers as the ELP advertisement flashed before her. 

‘Like, we come from nothing, we leave with nothing,’ she said, swatting it away as if an annoying gnat. ‘I get it – less fuss – just a clickity, click!’ she laughed, reaching over and tapping his wrist which lit up at the foreign touch. 

The day she moved in, as advised she opted for Flotation & Familiarisation in which her old bedroom back home in Detroit formed a backdrop. With this combination, aches and pains disappeared in a weightless gravity bubble as you felt you were living your best days in homely surroundings. A counsellor had informed her that there was a readjustment session she could attend, but that it wasn’t compulsory. Dorothy joked she’d lived in worse places and had once stayed in a two-room squat in Greenwich Village, hanging out with crazy bohemians.  

‘No poop!’ was her only response to the evaluation questionnaire when asked about the best facility the pod had to offer.  

As the days passed, she found herself increasingly inclined to just space out in the F&F combo, re-playing old films and listening to Metallica and Nirvana. She’d even taken up smoking weed again (though of course it wasn’t real). 

‘Mom seems happy,’ Sarah had said, waving to her mother who gave her a lazy peace sign. ‘Though stoned most of the time.’ 

‘She still hasn’t read the manual,’ said Erik, choosing to use a theatrical Shakespearean voice and change his eye colour to pink. 

‘Do you have to keep doing that? Just leave the chip alone – for once!’ 

She was stressed, still not convinced that the pod was the best option, she wondered whether her son had been too zealous in his insistence that the ELP was the best solution for all. 

Dorothy had read the manual. She had no choice as it was persistently there every waking moment, bobbing in front of her in a sensory air box. Had even digested the part only available to occupants (the small print at the end). In fact, she read it twice – so it must have been significant. 

‘Why not try out the rain forest or the flying with the birds experience – it’s all part of the package,’ suggested Sarah squeezing her mother’s hand as she lay on a recliner outside of the pod. 

‘You just can’t wait to get me back in – can you?’ Dorothy snapped. 

She was bored and although pain free when inside, was beginning to feel trapped and well, a prisoner (another idea the Justice Department was looking into). Staring back inside the ELP was in Dorothy’s eyes a terrifying spectacle – like being in the viewing gallery for the electric chair (which was strangely still in use) – or as if witnessing your own slow death in a fish tank. 

‘Mom – it’s better than the life you had: no more falls; doctor call outs; pain free. You’re completely safe here and totally self-contained.’ Sad that she said the last part, Sarah wished she could have swallowed the words. After all, it was simply that: containment. The package had promised a lot of things at a reasonable price, but that’s all it was. And it perhaps suited the family more than the individual.  

‘Just stuff me back in - get me my weed and mega blast me with Death Metal – full throttle,’ rasped her mother. ‘Oh, and don’t look so sad,’ continued Dorothy noting her daughter’s change of expression, ‘it’s just the way it is – life is difficult – choices and decisions mean very little when you get to my age – I get the whole thing, really, I do – more than you think.’ 

Her mother had made it easier for her to leave, saying that she was just having a moment and then reassuring her that she was right and was at least safe in the sanctity of the pod. Mendacity saving the day, Dorothy gave her best smile, waved and made another peace sign as the microgravity started and she began to float upwards. Wiping a tear Sarah headed for the exit and the world of the living outside. ‘Sorry mum,’ she whispered, crossing herself, then quickly making for the light which came with a swish of a sliding door. 

It had been an easy decision. The only available to occupants part of the brochure had been worth another read. The small print ironically the only bit of power she had left. The rights of the elderly bill had quietly slipped unnoticed under the radar and had included a section on ELPs and what was known as the Zero Prerogative – the right to go back to nothing which was also part of the leave with nothing ethos of the company. 

There were no goodbyes, she’d gone for Zero plus which was in effect a quiet exit - a signed declaration of her intent and the termination of contract and life in one swipe of a keypad.  

No hesitation, Dorothy tapped the icon before her which was weirdly a clump of birthday balloons. Instantly swathed in a white woollen blanket she began the trip back. Flying through the windmills of her mind into the flickering film-reel of a well-lived-life, she reached the time of her birth and then the warm safety of her mother’s womb where she rested and waited in the silence. Back to where it all began just a faint murmur of a heartbeat; a glimmer of life - here she stayed, until the light went out.  

 

A cluster of 92 birthday balloons floats high above the earth, bursting ceremoniously one at a time into the ether.  

Dorothy Klein is gone!