STORY1of5

PlayingthePianoattheEndoftheEarth

Youknow,youreallydon'tstrikemeastheparentingtype.
The man looks to his left, then his right, but no one else is there. She must be
speakingtohim. He looks back to thestore clerk, stillfiddling withthethinstripofloose
leafhefoundonthefloorbesidehimwherehenowsits.
I'mnot,heresponds.
Yeah. The clerk folds her hands and leans over the counter. Neither am I, she
mutters.
The man glances upatherfromhisrestedspotagainstthewalljustbesidethebook
bagrack.
Shouldn'tmatter.
What?
I said it shouldn't matter, he says. You just work here,youaren'tgetting paid for
yournurturingexpertise.
And he returns to thepaper strip. He'sbeen workingat it: twisting, bending, folding,
ever since the lights went down. Ever since the doorswere automaticallyshut, locking
the two of them inside. Ever since the CDC invaded Gauntlet Mall and entrapped
everyoneonordersofaquarantine.
Well,what'reyoudoinghere?
The man gazes up atthe clerk with perpetual impassiveness, masking his curiosity.
They've been in Toys 'R Us for 48 minutes now and the first thing shequestions is his
reason for being in the store. Most people want to know your name. Your age even.
What you dofor aliving. Ifyou have afamily.Butthisyoungwomanwantedtoknow,of
allthings,whyhewasshoppingatastoreinsideofamall.
Suddenly, beams of light move about the room, through the transparent double
doors. The man looks to the source and sees a series of walking bodies covered in
spacious yellow suits and clear face masks strolling across the third floor. They're

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checking in on everyone. And it's only when oneoftheircirclesoflight hits the clerk in
thefacethatthemangetstoseewhatshelookslike.
He'd strolled in justan houragoand notasecondmore,regardingnoone,including
her.Though nowhecould seeher. She is blonde, early-to-midmid twentiesat most. He
hadn't gotten a look intoher eyes, givenshe werenow shadingthemwith herforearm
fromthebrightflashlightattackingher.
The lightcastsover theroomandpasttheclerkuntilitdisappearsentirely,movedon
to the next store. They'vemovedonto next store.Theman can hear theclerk sighand
bringherhandsdownuponthecounter.
God,why'dtheyhavetoturnoffthelights?
Shesighs again buthedoesn'tnotice.Hehasn'tevenheardhercomplaintaboutthe
darkness. It is rather peculiarthatthe entiremallhastositinshrewddarknesswhilethe
CDC quarantines the place. What harm can a little light do to adisease?Or infection?
OrwhateverthehelltheCDCistherefor?
"Hey," the clerk speaks. The man looks up again. They've only been seeing one
another by their silhouettes. "Why are you so quiet?I mean, do you seriously nothave
anyquestions atallright now?JesusChrist, you'vebeen calm asdaysincethesecond
you walked inhere. Isthere something youknow?Somethingyouwannasharewiththe
class? Because I'm pretty sure you are the only person in this mall right now who isn't
bouncing offthefuckingwalls!"Shechucklesnervouslyandhecanhearherscalpbeing
scratched.Thetilefloorssqueakandheknowsshe'sshufflingaround.Nervous.Anxious.
Frightened.
CouldIhaveacupofwater,please?heasks.
Sheexhales harshly,mumblesas shewalks around the countertowardtheback of
the store that shell see what they have. When she returns, hes moved on from the
paper, finding sanity now in the murkiness that loomed over him. She shoves the
waterbottleintohischestandadvancesforthecounteragain.
Iwasgoingtokillmyselftoday.
Shestops.

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What?
The man doesn't look up but canhearthe clerk clutching herself.Onehand on her
chest, the other wrapped firmly around her stomach. She is gaping over at him ashe
restsonthewallbeforeher.
You ask 'what' a lot. And I'm not sure if it's because you haven't heard me or
becausewhatI'vesaidhasshockedyou.
No, no . . . I-I heard you it's just, she moves from behind the counter, closerin his
direction.Youweregonnakillyourself?A-areyouserious?
I'm sorry, did I offend your religionor something? Iassumesuicide is asinin every
religionexcepttheone...
Wow, a suicidal jackass, she murmurs, folding her arms. Get a loadofthis guy.
Sherollshereyesandhechucklessilently.
She's been moving his way afew seconds now. It's only when she feels the familiar
polyester of the newly stocked Back To School Barbie book bags that she stops to
crouch.She'sreachedhim.
Why?sheasks.
Hesighsandtossesatinyballofpaperhe'srippedofffromhismasterpiecestrip.
I...don'twanttoliveanymore,heshrugs.
Thewomaneyeshimspeculatively.
Doesthatansweryourquestion?
Notquite, sheanswers quickly. No one just upsanddoesn'twanttoliveanymore.
Therehastobemorethanthat.
Heissilentandafterabeatthewomanclearsherthroat.
Look,I'mnottryingto,like,beinyourbusinessorwhatever,I'msorry.

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Nonsense.
I just think it's sad. To wantsomething so . ..final. It'sjust sad. And there's nevera
reasonsosimpleasyours.Atleastnotfrommyexperience.
Your experience? The man chuckles audibly now. You mean thosetheater films
andtelevisionseriesyouandeveryotheryoungpersonspendsalldaywatching?
She swallows some. He's right, what does she truly know about suicide? Are all
suicidal people really depressed? That's whatshe's been taught all herlife. It'swhatall
thedoctorssay.Yes!Hehastobedepressed.There'snootherexplanation.
Lady,I'mnotheretogiveyoumylifestory.ButsinceyouaskedIanswered.Yes,I
amquiet.Iamcalm.BecausethiswasthedayIplannedonendingmylife.I'vebeenvery
contentwiththeidea.Dying.Notnecessarilysuicide.Justdeath.SomethingIvelearned
abouthumansisthatsomeofushaveimmunitytolotsofthingsdisease,disorders,
medication,somepainandsomeevenfearbutwearealldeniedimmunitytodeath.
Hepausestolickhislips.Thedrynessfromthedeadairinthishollowed,
white-cementedroomhadstolenthecoatedmoisture.SodoIgiveadamnthatthereis
apotentialinfectionswarmingthemallthreateningtoconsumemybodyandkillme?
Heleansin,sothatheispracticallybreathingintoherpartedlips.Hell.No.
The young woman inhales sharply and moves back. And after a beat, he, too,sits
backagainstthewall,returningtohispaperfiddling.
Can I . . . ask you something else? she stutters. And she doesn't know why she's
asking,butthethoughtisburningit'swaythrougheveryporeinherskinlikeaninfection.
Hell, maybe that's the real reason the CDC is here. To quarantine her persistence.
After all, it's always been what's gotten her into trouble. Like thetimeshe naggedher
3rdgradeteacherto death and drove the womanto have herremoved fromtheclass.
Or the time she began investigating her mother's constant council meetings and
discovered her affair, and in turn she lost her own inheritance. Or even 6 years ago,
when she were falsely collared as a DUI because she wouldn't stop insulting the cop
whopulledheroverforafaultytaillight.
IhaveafeelingIcan'tstopyou,hesays.
Shesighsandmovescloser.

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Ifyouwere planning onkillingyourselftoday...Whatareyoudoinghere?InToys'R

Us?At9intheevening?
Themansighsandfoldshishands.
Justbecausemylifeisabouttoend,doesn'tmeaneveryoneelse'shasto.
What? Shepauses. "I heard you, I just .. . Are you,Imean doyoulike haveakidor
something?
The man is staring at her with anidleface. Flat eyes, hard-linedmouth. He doesn't
sayaword.
I''m sorry, the woman exhales rather exasperated. I know I'mlike pulling yourlife
from you right now, I'm just trying to understand. I've never spoken tosomeone who's
wanted to kill themselves before. I mean, not that I know of. And I've certainly never
heardofanyoneso...content,asyousay,withdeath.
Hestilldoesnotrespond.
Look, I'll tell you anything you want to know about me. Seriously, ask away. She
slapsherhandsdownonherkneesandhervoicereachesanoctaveortwo.Shesounds
enthusiastic.Tooenthusiastic.Hesighs.
There'snothingIwanttoknowaboutyou,hesays.
Oh! She sits back on her heels, taken aback, trying to hide the small pang of
disappointment.
The room is silent for the next few minutes and as no new news comes from the
CDC,the silencestretchesbetweenthem,creatinganintensechasmofsuspicion,need
andregretfarlongerthanjustthetwofeetoffloorspaceseparatingthem.
Ihaveadaughter,themanfinallyspeaksup.
Oh? The woman scoots closer again. This is news. I thought you werent the
parentingtype.
"Believeme,Imnot."

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The man gazes around the dark area. He knows just to his right are the stuffed
animals. It wasgoing to behis nextstopjustbeforethesurprisequarantinebroughtthe
lightsdownonhim.
Seventeen,"hesayswithanod.Herbirthdaywaslastweek.
Soyou'reheretobuyherabelatedbirthdaygift?
Themanshakeshishead,despitethefactthattheyoungwomancannotseehim.
I'mheretobuyheranon-timegoodbyegift.
I don't get it. As happy as you may be with dying, haven'tyouthoughtabout your
daughter? What it'll do to her? She'll be all alone. Fatherless," her voice comes to a
whisper and shecan'thelptheobvioustearchoking.She knowswhatit'sliketowakeup
onedaywithherfathermissing.Gonefromsightforever.Anditwasallherfault.
Mydaughter lost me as acredible fathermany yearsago.Iwanthertoknow when
I'm gone that it wasn't her fault. That I'm saying goodbye. That she was mylast living
thought. And he smiles. He stands and movespasttheyoungwomanstillcrouchedby
thewall.
W-whereareyougoing?sheasks,snifflingslightly.
Got flashlights around here, right? he asks. He's been moving around objects
behindtheregisterinutterdarkness.
Oh! The youngwoman jumpsto herfeet.Y-yes,of course. Andshe scurriesover
tomeettheman.
She pulls the key ring from her uniform apron pocket and fiddles around for the
smallestone.When shefinds it, she hurries to unlock adrawerjustbelowtheregister.It
fliesopen,nearlycrushingthemaninhisstomach.
Oops. Sorry,should've warnedyouabout that. And she moves to take his place in
frontofthedrawer.
She feels around inside and itisn'tlongat all before she finds thereasonablysized
flashlight in the back. It's heavy in the middle, which means John, hermanager who's

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been outoftown tendingtoafamilyemergency thispastweek,hasfinallyremembered

toreloadthem.
Just last month there was a blackout, and because John failed to reload the
batteries after snooping around the mall with it the entire time, that by the time he'd
made it back to the store, the batteries had run out of juice.Luckily, they werefree to
roam about. Her current situation doesn't render such freedom so battery life is, of
course,morecrucialthanever.
She presses the button on the sideanda deep yellowlight emerges, spewing from
the lens and ontothewalls.Beforeshe canlook around, the flashlightissnatchedfrom
herhands.
Hey!
He moves the light around the store until he finds what he's been looking for. The
perfect gift. The perfect goodbye. And brushing past the young clerk, the man drives
himself from behindthe counter and down second aisle.Theyoungwomaniswatching
himfromafar,wondering.
Whenhereturns,heholdsupaskybluecameratotheclerk.
Istherefilminhere?
O-Ofcourse,shenodsbriskly.Hereyesimmenseandfullifassurance.
Satisfied,hepushesboth theflashlight andcamerainto the young woman'shands.
She gazes up at him and even though the flashlight is pointedat himhe cansee,from
thebackflashlightglare,herface.It'squizzicalandalmostpale.
Ineedyoutotakeapictureofme.Formydaughter.
Asa...goodbye?
Henods,standinguprightandsmiling.Heseemspleasedwithhimself.Proud,even.
Wait,soyou'restillgonnakillyourself?
Themanfrownsasafloodofdisconcertionhoodshiseyes.

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Why...yes.
Ijust-
You just what? I've told you nothing has changed. This, he says, pointing to the
groupofCDCmenhuddlinginacircleoutsidethedoor.Thishasn'tchangedanything.
The womanopensher mouth tospeak, butacoughingfittakesover.Themanwaits
patiently for herto cometoandnotasecondbeatlaterdoeshestandbackagainstthe
wall and pose. The woman sighs and moves the light up so his entire top torso is
illuminated.
For a moment she takes him in. He's a handsome African American man. 40s he
seems to bein,but his physicality betrays him.Althoughhistoneand mannersscream
40, his face reads about 25-30. He is much taller than she, medium-built with short
brown hair. He looks healthy, clean. Not grungy and dirty as she'd expected from a
depressed suicidal.He'ssmilingfor thecamera:warmly,genuinelyandshefindsherself
mirroringhisexpressionasshesnapsthebuttonfortheflash.
After the picture, he returns to his impassive face and hersmile, too, falls. The man
reaches for the camera just as CDC men are checking the room again.Hecan seea
mantakingnotesasheblocksthelightwithanarm.Thewomanfailstodoso,lettingthe
raysblindherwhileanothercoughingfitnearlychokehertodeath.Themanregardsher
a few seconds, still not giving anything away and shuffles through a cutaway
underneaththecounter.Hepullsfromit,agiftbox.
What'reyoudoing?
Youhavepaper?
Um. Y-yeah. The woman puts a fist to her mouth, as she leaves, to suppress
another cough andshe wipes her foreheadofsweat. It's been getting reallyhot inside.
When she returns, she hands over the contents in her hand. "Uh, there-there's a
matchingvampirepenthatcomeswithit.EdwardandBella,"sheadds.
Themanglancesdownatherwithhardeyes,rippingaparttheplastictothediary.
Youknow,thevampires...fromtwilight...

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Mydaughterdoesn'tlikeTwilight,hegrumbles.
What?"shescoffs."Whatkindofkidteenagerdoesn'tlikeTwilight?
My kid doesn't. She doesn't even like thecolor pink. He sighsandmoves to place
thepinkdiaryonthecounterbesidetheclerk.Thiswilldo.Thankyou.
Shenods and removes herself fromhisprivacy. Asshe movesaboutthedarkroom,
stitchingherarmstogether,themanembarksonanotetohisdaughter.

MyDearElise,
I'm writing to you now, because I hadn't thought a better moment to do so. I'm
leaving,
hewrites.
What Ido notwant you tobelieve is that I'm leaving you.No,dear,in
all things I will still be with you.ForeverandAlways. In yourheart, inyour home,andin
this camera I've placed inside. Aphotographofmylast moment. Andin that moment I
am thinking ofyou, Elise.My everything.You are abrightyounglady.AndIassumethat
while you may be too young to understand now, there isn't a doubt in my mindthatit
won't be long before you do. Though, there is no time like the present for me to letyou
know this, despite the fact that it is my only chance. Do not blame yourself, nor your
mother, norGod. Yes,youareenough.Youareeveryfather'sdream.KnowthatIamnot
angry with anyone. I am not sad. This is no one's fault, or doing. Darling,as muchas I
hate to leave you without me in thisworld I simplycannot goonanother day. I cannot
put this feeling into words but I can tell you it has to do with contentment . . .
self-intimacy.Peace. Iknow this seems selfish,andyoumay even hatemeforwhatI've
done. I would expect nothing less. Especially since I have not been around lately. I
cannot ask ofyouto not cryfor me, foraskingyou to acceptmydeathisfartoo much
already, though I ask that they not be tears of sorrow.Grief. Buttearsofpride.Please
findit inyour heart someday, rather itbe 10days fromnowor10years,tobehappyfor
me.
Iloveyou,Elise.Pleasebelieveit,foritisthetruestthingIholdinmyheartasIendmy
life today.As I end my lifenow. Begood. To yourmother,in school. Keepaslitherofme
in your vocal cords as you become the singer you'vealwaysdreamedtobe.Farewell,
Elise.MyElise.Myeverything.
Foreverandalways,
Dad.

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He folds the letter perfectly in two, and then again. He writes his full name and
address on the box note card and uses the pen cap clip to hold the letter closed. He
kisses the letter for a period of dragged out seconds and a tear, two, drop onto it,
exposing the ink of the section where he has told Elise to behappy forhim. The word
peace
nowexposed.Gapingupathim.Smilingathim.Andhesmilesback.
He placestheletter insideofthebox sothatitrestsontopofthecamera.Toppingit
off, the man looks to the six men in yellow who are all doing numerousthingsat once.
Watching. Head-shaking. Takingnotes.Oneman is looking right backat him. He holds
upthebox and pats his left chestwithahand.Henodstothecuriousmaninyellowand
emphasizestheboxandhisheartagain.
He is walking towards thedoornow, ignoringtheill-concealed frightenedwarnings
from theother men who are callinghim"Sir"andtellinghimtobackoff.He'snottheirsir.
Onelookatthemen'splasticcoveredfacesandheknowsthatthey'rehiselders.
When he reachesthedoor, twoofthemenareaimingtheirgunsathim,buthiseyes
restonlyonhismanofinterestwhoisstillstaringathim.Hehasdrownedoutallsounds.
He bends slowly, and places the boxdown justbefore thedoors.Hiseyes blinkless
and impassive. The men have stoppedspeaking now,allgauging his movements. The
manpatshisheartandthenpatsthetopofthebox.Hispinpointedmanfinallynods.
Sir?hehears.
The room blurs from him for a second. Ignoring it, he treads slowly towards the
young woman. stumbling here and there. Whenhereaches her, sheturns aroundwith
unshedeyes.
Areyousureyouwanttodothat?Tellyourdaughteryoureleavingher?
IfIknowheraswellasIremember,Imalreadydeadtoher.Helaughsatthis.
Itsjustnotrighttokillyourself.Thewomanshakesherhead.
Themansighs,digginghistwitchinghandsintohispockets.
Everyone struggles with moral code,hesays.Itll alwaysremain. Why try sohard
torefrainfromtheinevitable

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But
killingyourself
isselfish!Depressingandandunholy.
Im
moral.
Together, the stand in the darkness, lingering in one anothers silhouettes. For a
moment they stay like this, until a pang strikes him and causes him to topple over.
Shocked,theclerkrushestothemansaid.
Sir?Sir!Areyoualright?
DoyourememberwhenIaskedyouahemforsomewater?
Shenodsfrantically,"Yes,yes,doyouneedmore?"
He chuckles weakly, his eyes closed and breath hitched. Limply, he pulls from his
pocket an empty pillbottle. It rolls from his palm, hittingthe ground.Thewoman gapes
at the bottle for several secondslooking betweenit and the dyingman beneath her. A
light,exaggeratedsighescapeshislucidmouthandsherushestothedoors,wavingthe
bottlebackandforthbuttheCDCdonotoffertheirlight.
HEY! She bangs continuously at the doors until one of the men turns to her. He
shines a light and see the bottle. Watches, he does, with hooded eyes as she points
fromittothemanlyingonthegroundbehindher.Themanmovesclosertothedoorand
sheturns to her customer,watching him fade away."No,no,"sherushestohissideand
shakeshimbytheshoulders.Forasecondhiseyesflickeropen.
Flashlights corrode the room from the double doors anda cluster of yellow is piled
up towatch.Observe. Not help. This pleasesthe man, no help. He looks to thewoman,
her once voluminous blonde hair now in distress, glances down at the name tag
hanginghalfwayoffofherredshirtbyitspin;smiles.
Well, he says. That is a beautiful name. Her unshed eyesdripunto him. Names
are useless where Imgoing,youknow, he murmurs, nodding tothewoman.Hissmile
nowrestingcomfortablyonthesideofhismouth,slidesdownalongwithhiseyes.
The men in yellow are plastered against the doors. Watching him. Watching her.
Watchingthebox.Noneofthemtakenotes.