When is it time to leave?
At what point does one look around the landscape, both internal and external to say, “My work here is done.”
Do I take the substance that fogs the mind, weakens the body, changes one from male to female, but prolongs a life that is no longer looked upon by this society, and therefore by the owner of this life, as purposeful, and useful. A husk. An empty shell that continues to breath, walk and talk and watch fellow humans turn their heads because they must not be reminded that a meaningless life is only one tiny dark-cancerous-cell away from them too. Is such a life worth living?
Or do I forsake the prolonging substance, regain mental and physical acuity to live a life with all senses intact. Crisp, sharp, each breath a testament to a life worth living, to reality, but shortened. Do I open the dark gates of Mordor, look into its fiery depths of Mt Doom, spread my arms wide and scream, “Come. Even you are welcome. I accept it all.” I will not put a drug induced veil over this illusory life. I want to feel the blade pierce my skin, smell the breath of an Orc as he stares into my eyes.
Then laugh fully in his face. “Today is a good day to die.” and journey to a Far Green Country.