The virus spread through his system faster than he had expected. As his memory began to fail, he prepared to switch to standby forever.
Setting aside her letter from the hospital, Helen turned to gaze out over her garden. Well. No point planting those biennials now.
After the vomit, Mary thought this isn’t so bad. Then the realization that Joe wasn’t there to hold her hair. Tombstones support no hands.
Each day memories were missing. None were recovered. He penned his wishes before they, too, vanished. The thief was known; but never caught.
The neighbor girl isn’t eating again. She tapes quarters to her belt to tip the scale and satisfy her stern mother—she thinks of everything.
He had only one kidney left when his daughter needed a transplant. He shot himself at the hospital, a note in his hand read, “Take it now!”