Accounts Due

“Mr. Manuel --”
         “Please, call me Eric.”
         “Eric, then. You are aware your account is quite full.”
         Eric nodded, staring across the desk at the stern visage “Call me Timothy, not Tim” practised in the mirror.
         Timothy frowned, absently adjusting his glasses as he stared down at the slim folder on the desk in front of him. “Quite full. Now, I trust we can interest you in some plans? Caskets won’t do, even the pyramidal kind with traps and such. They’re very last century.”
         “But I don’t want to die,” Eric said.
         “Of course you don’t.” Tim folded the folder, tapping it on the desk. “But, statistically, you do. Everyone does. It’s why Insurewecare offers the finest death insurance in the entire city. You just have to name your manner of death, we name the price, and we go from there. We can even get a deal on a licence to be killed.”
         “But I like being alive,” Eric said patiently. “I get to learn new things, experience new wonders --”
         “Of course you do. May I remind you that the inventor of I-mortality has died over 34,821 times as of yesterday, Mr. Manuel. And, due to her exemption status she has no paid a single dime in fees to our parent firm, Acme Discoporation. While we cannot offer you quite that same deal, your substantial savings mean that you can get any possible death, including being catapulted into the sun for a good 2 months of oblivion! Plus, you can return to life with a fabulous tan for only a minimal surcharge.”
         “But I like being alive. I’ve been alive for over three hundred years now.”
         “Ah! How did you die last time, hmm?”
         “An accident: a falling tree.”
         “Capital! We can arrange any form of accident you like.” Timothy rubbed his hands together.
         “But it was a real accident.”
         “Oh.” Timothy clasped his hands together in front of him, to prevent himself from drumming the desk. “We also offer therapy, Mr. Manuel.”
         “I don’t need therapy!” Eric took a deep breath. “We’re all immortal, Timothy.” he said, emphasizing the name a little. “What is wrong with actually embracing that and not wanting to die?”
         “The ennui,” Timothy said, looking a little impatient now despite the amount of money Eric had in their accounts.
         “I have friends, hobbies, things to learn: I’m trying to learn every language every spoken, you know.”
         “How wonderful for you. A pity it doesn’t include the languages of the dead, then?”
         Eric sighed, standing. “There’s something very wrong here, you know. With this world we’ve made.”
         “Perhaps,” Timothy said, standing as well. “But without death, life has no meaning.”
         “We all heal! We all come back! It’s just - just cheap thrills, and nothing more.” Eric glared at him. “Can’t you see that?”
         “Of course I can.” Timothy gave him a wintry smile. “We do in depth test studies of the market you know. People need spectacle. They need glamour, and excitement, and passion. After a few centuries, they find little of it in their lives. Even with memory wipes, we find. They need -- we need -- death to give our lives any meaning at all.”
         “We became gods too soon,” Eric said softly.
         “Perhaps.” Timothy waited, then said: “The problem with being a one-eyed man in the land of the blind is that there is an inherent fallacy, a flaw in it.”
         Eric stopped in the doorway, turning around. “Oh?”
         “Just because you have an eye, for example, doesn’t mean you see any further than those of us who are blind.”
         Eric was silent for several moments, thinking that over, then just nodded and left.
         He made no appointment.