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"The consequences of her death were as pointless as her choice to die. Please excuse my cynicism, but I am neither deeply concerned with our tragic loss, as some may put it, nor am I in any way sorry for her. My statement will not be changed." As I leave the microphone and the crown gasps, I stop my mind from wandering the depth of my despair looking for nonexistent answers to the following questions:

- Why did Rosi decide to die?

- Why was her death different from all the other "Sues"

- Am I even a part of this story?

]The first two questions will stop bothering me quite soon, I am sure of it. I am not the type to feel enduring pain. The main annoyance comes from the third question because it keeps dragging me back into the events of the past several months. Distraction, despite being highly accessible these days, is not an option for me anymore. I am beginning to realize I have no choice but to delve into the story. So here it goes. I hope my shrink will be happy to know I for once listened to his advice. 


I never particularly enjoyed the visits to my great grandmother. She was a troubled woman, to grumpy for her age and chose to help grudges against ALL her offsprings. On the other hand, she must have accumulated quite a few reasons for her attitude in her 300 years of age. Yet she insisted on routinely visit everyone who carried a substantial part of her DNA. She even owned a small calendar where she corresponded her hair color to the person she was visiting. Great-grandma was a crystal clear example of 160+ boredom (otherwise called post sweet sixteen blues - PSSB). She told me that all entertainment was bound to come to boredom eventually, especially when there is no more time pressure for accomplishments - we have all the time on the world, procrastination is a sin only for the mortals. Needless to say, I had equally no interest in spending time with her, instead of wandering old neighborhoods with Rosi and mapping them in a strangely gratifying activity. I knew that great-grandma was family, but Rosi was fun. And nothing beats fun when the prospect is a persisting midlife crisis. After all, we live in the Zenons Paradox, always cutting life by the middle and never reaching the end. -Maybe that is what Rosi was thinking? Let's not go there quite yet.-

As I said, Rosi was fun. She was also cute. My friends disapproved of my fondness with her because settling down for one before 84 years spent together seemed absurd. Marriage was irreversible. I have read in some books that in the old days, divorce was not only legal but widespread. I guess with the phrase "Till death do as part" becoming a relic, commitment became scarier and divorces became inevitable. It did not make sense legally. There were debates about canceling the marriage, but the legislator's wife was not happy. In the wild attempt to appease his significant other, the legislator canceled the divorce. He was several days too late thought - she had signed the papers and left him with a sad half of his savings. He was saving to launch a space shuttle in her name. Instead, he became the first "Sue".

After capitalism rediscovered the concept of euthanasia, suicide became a posh and prestigious business. Only the best could afford it, the rest of us were doomed to live. Not that we minded, on the contrary, we enjoyed it very much finally free from the anxiety of time pressure that used to follow our ancestors around. We were no more misguided "ticking biological clocks" or "retirement funds". And time...Time just lost its meaning for a little while there, before clock manufacturers and birthday organizers started the whole "Don't lose time" campaign. People bought into the pun so time stayed for a while longer. With the anxiety gone came the fall of established patterns of thought. The borders between heaven and hell melted until one day hell burnt the heaven down, leaving us with only this godforsaken world. And we diligently stuck to it. The only cloud on the clear sky of our existence was a tinge of regret that we will never get to cross the finish line.

But none of the pleasantries of the eternal life changed the fact that Rosi was a spoiled brat. Not with the money of course, but with freedom. She got to pick her own dinner, the books she read, whether she lives or not. Her parents were some kind of retro scholars who kicked her out of the house as soon as she turned 18. They must have been insane, or some lowkey rebels against family values. I have never met them. Rosi has met my parents though, they did not like her. No surprise there. Her monologue on contemporary liberalism was amusing, unlike the way she articulated it, inserting old-school jargon into every second phrase. That evening I kept grinning at her until I  burst out laughing. It was impossible not to, realizing that my parents were to live with their artificial morals for a very long time now, possibly never changing. NEVER.  Rosi taught me to be a rebel. But I guess I never became as good of a rebel as her. -Maybe her leave was a rebellion?-


I nursed the thought to head straight home, but that never happened. Instead, I wandered the streets of town for the big portion of the night. Only the central ones though, I was too afraid of the outskirts. She never was. I like to believe I was actually afraid of the thoughts of her rather than underage bullies - more romantic connotarion this way. 

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