Microstory 1813: Niche Market

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I don’t know why my parents chose to live in a neighborhood with so many old people, but it inspired a business opportunity that taught me the skills that I would need later in life. We were rich, so that wasn’t a problem, but I wanted to make my own money without their help, and I didn’t want to do that just by flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but growing up with my lifestyle, it would have looked like I was just trying to rebel. I also needed to do something interesting, so I could put it on my college application. When I said we were rich, I didn’t mean that we were one of the families that ruled the world. My dad couldn’t just write a check to an Ivy League school, and get me into any program. I still had to prove myself, and my academic record was average to slightly above average. One day, I was watering the flowers in my mother’s front garden when I noticed the old lady next door receiving a pizza delivery for the third time this week. She didn’t seem like the type to like that kind of food; not that much anyway. I hadn’t seen any teenagers come and go, so it just looked really weird. I thought about asking her about it, but that could be embarrassing for her, so I just tried to put it out of my mind. A few days later, the delivery boy was back, so I decided to confront him about it. He told me that he didn’t really know, but she made it sound like she couldn’t get her own food because of her mobility issues. When she was having trouble with her hips, she just ordered in, and since she didn’t like Chinese food, pizza was the only choice. The only choice? That was a travesty. Someone ought to do something about that, I figured. I was technically someone.

I had just turned sixteen, and had my own car. I could have easily been a delivery boy, but working for one store would not have solved the problem that this woman was facing. So instead of going to the restaurants, I went straight to the people in the community. With help, I compiled a list of the oldest and least mobile people in my neighborhood. Then I just knocked on their doors, and pitched them my business plan. It was simple. When they needed food—and they didn’t want pizza or Chinese—they could call me with their order. I would drive to the restaurant myself, and bring it back to them. I charged them fifty cents for the service, which was a lot more than the pizza joints were charging for it in 1964, but I was providing them an unprecedented convenience. I could travel to any place in a twenty-mile radius that had a pick-up option. I even later expanded my partner list by convincing sitdown restaurants to make an exception for me. I mostly worked by myself, but my older sister helped me out when her school was on break. If any of this sounds familiar, that’s because this sort of thing happens all the time now. There are a handful of companies that provide the same thing with an application on your phone. It’s so common now, it’s hard to believe that it ever wasn’t. I laugh when people ask me whether I think all those companies stole my idea. No, I wouldn’t say so. I was in such a niche market, and before all that technology. You can’t really say they were much alike. I never would have thought to grow that large. It was just about making a little cash, and giving me an edge for college applications. I shuttered my small business when that actually came to fruition, but that experience gave me insight that my business school classmates didn’t have. I did well, and learned everything I needed to know to start my nationwide flower delivery service.

Microstory 1796: Rounded

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I love round numbers. Truthfully, I probably only held out this long so I could reach my hundredth year. Tomorrow is my birthday, and when that clock strikes zero, I plan to die. Where I live, the new year begins in the middle of the day, so my family is here to celebrate with me. They didn’t have to do that for me, squeeze into my nursing home room. I’m sure the younger ones would rather be at a party, and the older ones are too exhausted to spend this much time out of the house. I appreciate it, but I worry about how awkward it’s going to be when I pass. Only my youngest grandson knows what’s going to happen. He’s only six, but he’s so smart. He doesn’t think I’ll be able to pull it off, so I bet him a hundred dollars. He pointed out that he won’t be able to pay me if I end up being right, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. I don’t need money where I’m going, and I’m going soon, whether it’s at exactly 0:00, or not. He’s going to get a hundred bucks out of this, and it will teach him to focus his attention on safe bets. That’s the kind of lesson I’ve always tried to teach my kids. You don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen in the future if you rig it in your favor. Don’t play it safe, or you won’t get anywhere, but have an ace up your sleeve at all times. Don’t let others stack the deck against you. I’ve been unresponsive for a few hours now, but what my family doesn’t know is that I can still hear everything they’re saying. They’re talking about me, of course, and not even watching the clock. The elders are sharing stories with the youngsters. Man, I had a fun life, and I die here with no regrets. My son is talking about how I taught him how to get the job he wanted by basically not taking no for an answer. He snorts as he laughs. That’s not how it works anymore. Employers don’t like pushy people. Anyway, it worked for him in the 1960s, and he’s where he is now because of it.

They don’t notice when I pass at precisely when I meant to. My grandson positioned himself next to my vitals machine. I told you he was smart. So alarms don’t go off, he sneakily switches the little device on my finger to his own. It just keeps measuring, thinking that he’s me. He places his finger against my neck, waiting for a pulse that never comes. Still he tells no one. He lets them tell their stories, blissfully unaware that I’m gone. His parents think it’s so sweet that he’s holding my hand, but he’s really only doing it to maintain the lie. I taught him well, I tell you. They continue to tell stories for another thirty minutes until the nurse comes back in to confirm what she suspected. Grandson doesn’t apologize. He says he wanted the family to enjoy the beginning of the new year, at least for a little bit. The nurse leaves to begin the process. Meanwhile, my family decides that he’s right, or maybe they don’t want to argue about it. I was old and it was my time. There are some tears, even from those I wouldn’t have thought would produce them on this occasion, or didn’t think they would themselves. They keep going with the stories, though, trying to keep it light for the younglings. They know what’s going on, and the adults want them to feel comfortable with death, rather than being afraid of it. It takes a long time to get my body out of the room. My son’s wife is relieved. This kind of behavior would not have been tolerated on her side of the family. Death is something to be feared and ignored. She felt it was disrespectful for them to stay in here with a dead body. She tried to stay quiet, but everyone felt her disappointment. Me, I’m happy. I’m so happy that they stayed with me after I was gone. I felt so loved in the end.

Microstory 1748: My Future as a Hare

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Everyone in the galaxy has a right to immortality, unless they lose it by committing a severe enough crime, but not all forms of immortality are created equal. We’re all ageless, but how old you look—and feel—when you stop aging, is dependent upon a number of factors. You can be awarded lagomorphic status, as they call it, upon your own merits. Good people lead infinite lives, unless they become bad, in which case their lagomorphicity can be removed from them. Some buy their way into status, often worried that they won’t be worthy of achieving it on their own, or because they’re children whose parents don’t have confidence in them. But again, just because you’ve been accepted into the program, doesn’t mean you’re going to be young and healthy forever. There are three primary classes of lagomorphic immortals. Pikas appear as children, which could mean they were children when they underwent the procedure, or because their age was sufficiently reversed. They may not have been the one to make this choice. The most common of the lagomorphs are Rabbits, who look like adults. The last class are the Hares, which is what I have recently become. They’re not constantly on the brink of death, but they’re not super healthy either. I suppose I should be saying we at this point. I would rather be a Rabbit. Pikas are often not taken seriously, because they look so young, but at least they’re healthy. Hares, like me now, apparently, are riddled with general aging problems, which can’t really be treated. We suffer for eternity. There is one upside in that we’re the ones who run the government. We make decisions about who receives the gift, and what kind. We can even transition people at will. I know what you’re thinking, but no, we can’t later choose to change ourselves into Rabbits or Pikas. That would be a conflict of interest, and a gross abuse of power.

Most of the time, a Hare has become that way because they have spent a lifetime proving themselves to be up to the challenge, and have kept themselves on track. They have usually refused to be turned into Rabbits specifically so they might one day be entrusted with the ongoing prosperity of our culture. Occasionally—and it is incredibly rare, according to everything I have ever heard about Hares—someone will be aged forward so that they become an elder after having only lived a relatively low number of mortal years. Why this happens is a closely guarded secret. It’s happened to me, and I still don’t know whether someone did it on purpose, or if my body reacted to the treatment in a unique way. I don’t know why I’m like this. As I said, I’ve always just wanted to be a normal Rabbit. I have no interest in making decisions, or in wearing a diaper until the end of time. I don’t think all Hares have to do that, but it’s not unheard of, and no thank you. Right now, I’m waiting in The Great Hall for someone to retrieve me, and give me some sort of assignment. I’m sure most people understand the process at this point, but I don’t pay much attention to politics, so I don’t know how the distribution of power works. It’s been two hours. I would complain about them making an old man wait this long, but they’re old too, so they’re probably pretty slow. Finally, the gargantuan doors open, and I just get the feeling that I’m meant to step in. I walk up to the Grand Council, and stand before them patiently. I have never even seen their faces before. Honestly, it’s a huge honor. “Welcome. The sad news is that a member of our council has chosen to die after centuries of service. The bad news is...you were selected to replace her.”