“Excuse me.” After a moment, Tahira cleared her throat. “I’m here to die.”

The receptionist at the front desk fiddled with her computer for a moment. “Well, you have an appointment in… twelve years and six months, but if you want to die right now, I’m sure we can pencil you in.”

“Now would be good, thanks.”

She was told to take a seat. The waiting room had bad coffee and magazines describing different method of suicide, but she had time to neither drink nor read. As has been true throughout human history, the reaper was very accommodating.

He lead her back to a small office in the rear of the building. A bureaucrat’s office, with filing cabinets, an old computer, a tape recorder, and a ceiling fan that only squeaked a little bit. They went through the pleasantries, scanning her face, scanning her ID, checking her DNA, unambiguously confirming who she was, and verifying in legal terms that yes she really did want to die.

“Very well,” said the reaper, pressing the red switch on his recorder. “Beginning interview, case #8776234-98-AK-234, subject is Tahira Aliel who has requested early termination. Due to the advanced date of her termination, her replacement is not yet assigned. So let’s begin there. Tahira, do you have any preference on who replaces you?”

“I’d um…” Tahira fiddled with her hands. “Can she look like me?”

“Of course. Do you want her to look exactly like you? ‘Clone’ isn't technically accurate, but we can make her nearly identical.”

“Um. Not quite. I always felt… short. It bothered me sometimes. More than it should. I think she’d have a…” Tahira struggled for the words, “happier life if she was taller. Maybe two inches taller?”

“Just like you, but two inches taller. Anything else physical you’d like to change? Weight, build, figure, athleticism, anything?”

“No.”

“Great. Then let’s move on to essential life experiences. As you know, when she joins society, she will be twenty-two years of age. It takes roughly eight years worth of memories to teach her the basics -- walking, language, courtesy, etc -- which leaves you with a maximum of fourteen years of memories to pick. Where do you want to begin?”

After a long silence, Tahira said, “College.”

“All of college?”

“No. No. Just… the classes. I liked studying history, but I didn’t… well. I liked my friends. But they weren’t good for me.” Tahira licked her lips. “Can you make up some friends? People who encouraged her?”

“Sure. Anything more specific than that?”

“My friends in college were selfish. Clever, fun to be around, charming people, but… selfish. It changed me as a person.” She looked down at her lap, twisting her hands. “Make her friends just really good people. Like… um. Yeah. Is that specific enough?”

“We can work with it.” Her reaper showed no response to her emotional distress, his hands folded, his face blank. “We have an archive of memories from other people, and they’re keyword searchable. ‘Good person’ and ‘Inspiring’ are subjective, but she’ll get memories of friends that are tagged with those keywords at least.”

“Okay. That works. Um… let’s talk about my parents next.” She lifted her head to stare at him. “Because, I don’t want her to have any of that. None of it. And actually, I have a specific request. I have a friend named Leo, and his family, they were just… so nice. Could I have his memories?”

“Different gender, they’ll have to be heavily artificially edited.”

“That’s fine.”

It went on like that for some time, until she’d picked fourteen years worth of memories, highlighting what in her life was worth preserving, and what wasn't. She said she didn’t care how she went, as long as it was painless.

So they took her out behind the processing annex, and shot her in the back of the head.



Several months later, two technicians opened a hatch on the side of a glass tank. A great deal of sticky fluid poured out onto a grate on the floor, and then upon that grate fell an unconscious woman.

She was a lot like Tahira. Younger, of course, and two inches taller. She regained consciousness quickly, and with the help of the two technicians, stumbled to her feet.

“Where am I?” she asked. Then she saw the tank, the grate, her naked body. “Oh fuck, am I new?”

“Indeed,” said the technician, “welcome to life.”

They scheduled her appointment with the reaper before she left.