skin matched the color of her uniform. She
wore the insignia of a geriatrics supervisor.

He let a little smile flicker across his face. "Why, it's ... it's
wonderful. I never expected it at all. It's been so long, you know. So
very long."

How could he get rid of her? If he tried anything with her watching, she
would stop him. And then he'd never get another chance.

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Symmes. Synthetic foods do get tiresome
after a while, don't they?"

The idea came with suddenness and he responded to it quickly.

"But where are my pink pills? I always take them at lunch."

"You won't need them if you're eating real food."

He whipped his voice into petulance. "Yes, I will! I don't care if it is
real food--I want my pills!"

"I'll get them for you later. Go ahead and eat first."

"I can't eat until I take my pink pills! You ought to know that! I won't
touch a thing until I get them! You've ruined my birthday party."

The whims of the aging are without logic, so she went to get the pills,
leaving Oliver Symmes and the gleaming, sharp knife together,
unattended.

* * * * *

Where should he start? The heart? No, that would be too quick, too easy
to repair. Then where?

He remembered his studies of the middle Japanese culture and the methods
of suicide practiced at that time. The intestines! So many of them to
cut and slash at, so much damage that might be done before death set in!
Maybe even the lungs! But he must hurry.

Picking up the knife, he pointed it at his appendix. For a moment he
hesitated, and his eyes observed again the little feast laid out before
him. He thought briefly about pausing for just a while to taste the
little steak, to nibble briefly at the delectable-looking cake. He hated
to leave it untouched. It had been such a long time....

The sudden memory of time, and how much of it he had spent hoping for
this moment, snapped his attention back to the knife. Steeling his grip
on it, he pressed it in hard.

His eyes bulged with the excruciating pain as he wrenched the knife from
right to left, twisting it wildly as he went, blindly slashing at his
vital organs with the hope that once and for all he could stop the long
and eternal waiting.

His mouth filled with the taste of blood. He spat it out through
clenched teeth. It gushed down his chin, staining the cleanness of his
robe. His lips parted to scream.

And then his eyes closed.