Do you support euthanasia?

I woke up in the middle of the night to growling bowels.  This was when I learned that growling bowels in the middle of the night is a sign.  A terrible sign.  I got to the bathroom and couldn't decide which end to put over the toilet first.  My head won and my underwear lost.

Wasn't I empty yet?  How could there be more?  The consistency and color changed, but it didn't stop the heaving and churning.  I lost a concept of time, knowing only my traitorous body.  When I finished heaving, I would kneel before the sink and rinse my burning mouth.  Eventually, I couldn't get up high enough to reach the water taps.  I no longer cared about the cleanliness of the bathroom floor, the toilet or myself.  I wanted the agony of my quivering digestive system to end, and I didn't care how.

My head lay on the curved carpet that hugged the front of the toilet.  I made bargains in my head.  Please don't let me throw up again.  Please calm down.  Please don't open me up and flush me out again.  If I hold really, really still, will you stop?

24 hour flu.  One day of my life.  I lay there, shaking my head slowly from side to side, willing my body to obey, but my thoughts were detached, too.  If I had to feel like this all the time, like a cancer patient in treatment, could I make it?  Would I want to?  My frightened, honest voice said I would rather die than feel like this.

307

It was the day after he died that I went for the first time by myself to a live concert.  I had never heard of the bands, nor had I ever gone to a club like this.  I wasn't even sure what kind of music it would be, I just went.  The only assurance I had was that it would be loud and crowded, which was perfect for forgetting.

I didn't remember dressing for it, but I still have the t-shirt, crunchy with sweat and spilled beer and a splash of blood, not mine.  I should have felt out of place, being one of the only females, and the only one not in the band who was over forty.  The guy at the door asked if I was looking for somebody.  It was nice he was willing to let me in to find my kids, but I have no kids.  "No.  Just one admission, please."  I must have had some look on my face because he didn't say any more, but his eyes lingered.  The floor was sticky and it smelled like spilled beer and piss even before people started spilling and pissing.  When the first band took the stage, I fought my way into the middle and jumped with the crowd, letting the driving bass and thumping drums and screaming vocals take me.  That first night, the day after he died, I screamed and cried in the crowd, pushing and shoving against the bodies of the young.

264

Jarod's hands ached as did his knees, but the need to finish was greater than the pain.  The fat piece of chalk slipped from his fingers again and again and he finally gripped it with both hands, knees digging into the stone floor as he leaned forward to complete the diagram.  Jarod finally sank to his right hip, the last sigil in place, and stretched his legs out carefully, avoiding smudging the drawing.  A greater ache began in his stomach when he thought of the night to come; the night where he would perform the high magic needed to complete the spell.  It made his already tired body and mind sink into an agony of weary dread.  Anticipating pain and knowing there was no way to avoid it and, even more than that, willingly inflicting it upon oneself was worse than the act itself.

174

Halfway in to my first year of being forty.  My knee and shoulder have developed a random ache.  A portion of my vision in my left eye is obscured by a dark dot that skitters around like a bug on the water.  My upper back gets a kink in it unless I set my pillow carefully before I go to sleep.  When I push on my skin, I can see what it will look like when I'm ninety.  I have an age spot; no, wait, I have two age spots.  Wispy hairs circle my face and stick up from my part.  My joints have always been knobby, though.  I still sit on the floor.  I still sleep too long.  I still do stupid things, but not quite as often.  I recognize wisdom, even if I don't always have it.

122

She felt her jaw being stroked. She was in pain, but the gentle touch pulled her away from the agony of the bullet in her belly. She felt her hair pushed back from her face and was grateful, but unable to say so. Who... the thought was crushed by her insides hiccuping, cramping and squeezing. Someone grabbed her hand and she squeezed it against the pain. She realized, in a detached way, that she could hear voices and, distantly, a siren. Where had she been? What had just happened? Who was now speaking to her in deep, soothing tones? Why couldn't she understand him?

119

"Get out of the trunk." The girl unfolded painfully, her knees and hands bruised from kicking, her fingers bleeding from trying to disconnect one of the tail lights. She squinted against the light, eyes watering. At least, she thought, I left some DNA for them to identify me. She tried not to sob.