The letter came with the official stamp on the front. The Federal Department of Options.
This department had come about due to the crisis caused by climate change.
There had developed a problem with food supply due to the continuing drought in so many countries across the globe. Starvation was happening everywhere. Only certain pockets of the earth were receiving sufficient rain to enable crops to grow and be harvested.
Like all such situations, it was the rich and powerful who seemed to find reason to secure such resources for themselves.
As the misery continued and death a way of life the Department of Options was born. The letter in today’s mail set out the options I had for the future if the present situation continued.
I could move, but I would have to give a sound reason for doing so and staying alive wasn’t one of them.
I could stay and hope for the best.
Or I could book into one of the termination clinics set up to euthanize those who saw death as inevitable and wanted to bring it about before unbearable pain and suffering occurred.
I thought to myself they can’t be a very cheery lot working at the Department of Options, as there was nothing to be cheery about. I imagined a place inhabited by people with the mentality of undertakers, the sort you saw in old Western movies.
I screwed up the letter believing I had the option to do so if I so desired, and I did. Hope wasn’t all gone yet.