Time to Think

Mary sits on her big overstuffed armchair. It is time to think. She had been instructed at the mandatory session on thinking habits.

Mary is getting on in life. There is a slackness about her features that comes through a lack of thought, and a stretched quality that is a result of the fatigue that has followed her around all her years. But Mary is younger than she looks. Only fifty-four. She still has another year left before termination.

An image of Charlie surfaces. She remembers shaking his hand as he left for camp. All the children are taken from their parents at ten. There is a soft whining coming from the back of her throat, a sound like “Charlie. Charlie.” Soft and broken.

Mary jerks awake. The instructor had said this might happen. “Memories and attachments rise as you drift of.”

The mandatory session was to help think through her current situation. She could continue to be a drain on the state and her fellow citizens, or she could volunteer for early termination, supporting the wellbeing and balance of the new world order.

Mary feels something wet run down her cheek. She touches it and looks at her finger. Water. She shrugs and wipes her finger dry on her top. She rubs her eyes and stares off into space. She yawns and stretches, and slouches lower into her big overstuffed armchair.

Her instructor had said this might happen. “Some people can’t bring themselves to re-enact the habit of thinking. Don’t worry about it.” He had said, in his calm and patient manner. “If you are unable to, the state will step in and instruct voluntary termination on your behalf.”

Mary is grateful to the state. She has attained a true attitude of gratitude.