He knew everything familiar to him would disappear when he signed up for the experimental treatment. He would outlive his friends, his family, and everything dear to him, but he’d be immortal. Perhaps, not immortal, but he’d live many centuries, and he did.

His physical aging process slowed significantly at sixty-five, the age he reached when he initially underwent the treatment. They doctors told him he’d look and feel like a sixty-five year old for at least two more centuries, after which time the aging process would speed up. Although they weren’t certain how fast the process would accelerate at that point. A large body of knowledge wasn’t available about the effects of the procedure. In the beginning they were shooting in the dark.

Aging is a slow process so life didn’t really change noticeably for Stacy. As the years passed, the initial attention he received from the press had long disappeared, and as the procedure became more, or less commonplace, life for Stacy became quite ordinary.

It was on his two hundredth birthday when Stacy learned the painful news that the government, in order to reduce its debt, was curtailing funding for the segment of the population they referred to as the Voluntary Living. He had some savings, but they would run out before too long, and the new laws forbid anyone over one hundred from working. The economic drain on the system by the Voluntary Living had stressed the economy beyond its limit; so much so, the younger population had initiated a tax revolt. With his monthly stipend ending and his family long gone Stacey would have no choice but to move into the public housing the government set up to support the remaining population of the Voluntary Living. That’s where he met Cassandra.

***********

He was a lean man with sandy hair and thin, pouty lips. When Stacy sat down on the couch in the common area of Voluntary Living Public Housing Center Number 214, Cassandra approached him with eyes that looked like they’d seen all the horrors of the world.

“You’d haven’t much longer wil’t to go befor’ ya start getting ugly. How old are ya?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Before the acceleration beings. You’re over two hundred aren’t ya?” The woman said tugging on her woolen hat.

“Just turned two hundred,” Stacy sighed. His eyes caught her hat, and as he looked over the room he noticed a significant amount of the residents wore hats. He made a mental note of the curious phenomenon.

“Well you’ll start heading south soon. Soon you’ll look worse than me.”

“What’s your name, miss? I’m Stacy.”

“Cassandra. They should have just killed us off, the young ones,” she said pointing her finger at Stacey, “but their precious consciences couldn’t handle it. Not like they know us, like we’re relations, but in the abstract they feel a certain kinship towards us. Not enough to stop a bloody tax revolt, but when money gets scarce it’s dog eat dog, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t have had the procedure if I had a son or a daughter. I couldn’t have beared to outlive them, in an abstract sense, of course.”

“Looks like they’re about to set the dinner trays up. It’s swill, but with all them food riots lately, at least we get something.”

“Something to be grateful for, I suppose, though it looks like there isn’t much to hope for behind these walls.”

“Well, not much to look forward to is there, Stacy? ‘Cecpt getting uglier,” she said with a cackle, “and even worse than that, feeling weaker. Ah, life’s not for the living.”

“Not for the voluntary living, at least,” Stacy mumbled.

”I could help you, Stacy. It’s too late for me, but I could help ya,” She whispered into his ear. He sensed a kind of anxiousness, an over-eagerness about her. As if she were a nurse in a children’s ward, her eyes all buggy and needy.

“I’m not even feeling hungry. Think I’ll skip tonight’s feast.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Stacy.”

“Tomorrow.” Stacy sighed and climbed from the couch. As he left the dinge of the common room he glanced at Cassandra sitting on the couch, glassy-eyed, twisting her hair in her fingers. How odd the woman seemed. How could she help him? What kind of help could that crazy old woman possibly have to offer? But getting on the line for the shower before it got too long was the most pressing issue at the moment. If he didn’t get there soon he’d have to wait till morning, another perk of life in 214.

The large dormitory where Stacy slept housed five hundred residents of Public Center 214. The total population of the center ranged from fifteen to twenty thousand on any given day. As he stepped out of the shower, a clump of hair fell from his head and he knew it had begun; the rapid acceleration Cassandra mentioned. A strange coincidence they had just discussed it, maybe not, maybe that’s all there was to discuss in Public Center 214. He reached for his robe and it seemed significantly heavier, like it had fallen into the shower, but it was bone dry. Another sign, he was certain, his inevitable decline had begun. Too tired to cry and too old to be surprised he pulled up his robe.

At the windows you could spot seagulls flapping their wings, as Center 214 was right off the ocean. The salty air permeated the common room. As Stacy entered the area the next afternoon, Cassandra was sitting with a friend, he assumed.

“Say Stacy, this is Phil!” she called, as she pointed to the man sitting beside her. The man looked younger than Stacy. He guessed he hadn’t yet reached the unenviable stage. Come to think of it, most of the residents appeared to be younger than Stacy, a fact that suddenly hit him with a strange tingle.

“Hello Phil,” Stacy smiled at the man as he sat down.

“Good to meet you. You’re new here aren’t ya?”

“Yes, I’m a mere freshman in these hallowed halls, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “Well, you’ll find it’s an interesting place. I’ve got to scoot now, laundry to do.” He tipped his hat. “See you later, Stacy, Cassandra.” He grinned glancing at Cassandra like they shared some distant secret.

“See you later, dearie,” she waved and then she whispered to Stacy. “I helped him; doesn’t he look good, now? Over three hundred,” a peculiar gleam crossed her eyes, ”I could help you too.”

“Really. How so, Cassandra?”

“A doctor I know. All it costs is a small sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice, of course, but I don’t have anything to offer, Cassandra my funds are running low.”

“Oh no it won’t cost you money, dearie. It’s not that kind of sacrifice, just something quite ordinary.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll let him explain it to ya. Would you like to meet him? I can arrange it, but you mustn’t tell a soul.”

Stacy paused; he’d have nothing to lose. The “doctor” was likely a figment of her thorny imagination, so he told her “Go ahead arrange it.”

Late that night, Stacy sat on his cot in the dormitory unable to sleep from the pain that had been mounting all afternoon. It seemed the nightmare was steadily increasing. His legs swelled, another clump of sandy hair had fallen from his head, and his teeth began to ache like the dickens. As he stared at the ceiling praying for relief, a tall man wearing a gray suit approached.

He thought, ‘No it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be Cassandra’s “doctor.”’

Then the man put his arms around Stacy’s shoulder and he whispered, “Cassandra told me about you. Follow me please.”

Stacy didn’t answer, but he stood and they walked through the rows of narrow cots out into the hall. The only light: a sweep of bare light bulbs. As they passed the door the man murmured into Stacy’s ear, “Down the stairs at the end of the hall. We’ve not far to go. I’m doctor Tearney.” So there was a doctor; Cassandra wasn’t totally off her beam. Stacy’s curiosity increased, as did the pain with each step he took.

The steel steps led to a small room in the basement. As they entered, Dr. Tearney flipped the light switch. They were in a standard doctors office: X-ray sensory wall, metal desk and an examination pod with the screen drawn. Stacy sat across the desk. The doctor appeared to be an ordinary sort; black hair, a clef on his chin, he surmised about forty-five years old.

“I can give you something for the pain you’re feeling, but it will be just a temporary fix.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I don’t understand…”

“They didn’t know much about the effects of the procedure when they began administrating it back then, and to be perfectly blunt, Stacy, I’ve never understood the point. Yes, living century after century is inspiring, but considering the consequences, not just the monetary expense, but seeing the world familiar to you fade and the boredom… After a while, I imagine, things get very dull.”

“I haven’t found that to be the case, Doctor. When there’s a will to live things don’t get dull. Of course, now being inside this hellish place and with my condition worsening, not to mention the sorry state of the world… but you didn’t bring me here to discuss the philosophy of immortality?”

“No, I didn’t. I can help you. I can administer a procedure that would put it off for another two hundred years. See, I’m doing research, I hope to prefect the procedure but it will take time and funding, and with the grants all gone now, I’ve had to resort to other methods to secure tissue for my research.”

“Tissue? Ah this is getting interesting, Doctor, please continue.” Stacy snidely grinned in anticipation of the curious shoe he knew was about to drop.

“I suppose Cassandra’s mentioned something about a sacrifice?”

“Spit it out, Doctor.”

“An ear.”

“An ear?” Stacy thought he was going to fall off his chair.

“Just one. I take one from each patient to provide the tissue necessary for my research. Now listen, you’ll still be able to hear perfectly well. There will be no effect upon your health whatsoever, and you’ll be providing a service to boot. Think of it as investment in the future.”

“Oh I see, Doctor you’re with Forbes.”

“Forbes?”

“Never mind…” Then it suddenly hit Stacy; the hats all the hats. He felt a sickening feeling grow in his stomach. Doctor Tearney noticed it immediately as it broadened across Stacey’s face.

“The bathroom is that way,” he pointed and Stacy stumbled to the room barely making it to the toilet seat before he vomited. What kind of madhouse did he stumble into? He wondered as he cautiously stepped back into the office.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but you’ll have to get your tissue from some other poor soul,” he cried, feeling his fear and revulsion turn to anger, “I really should report you to the authorities. I should speak out about what’s going on in this asylum!”

“I warn you, Stacy don’t say a word, you could put me and a lot of critical research in jeopardy, not to mention your own hide.”

“Are you threatening me, Doctor?

“You’re not thinking objectively. I know it seems bizarre, but no harm is done and if I can perfect the procedure many will benefit including you, Stacy.”

“I lived a long time, I’ve seen a lot, maybe enough. Maybe it’s time for me to fade away, like my will to live is, but I won’t let you disfigure me, that’s for sure.”

“Why don’t you think about it, Stacy? In the meanwhile, let me give you something to help you with your pain. You know you’ve just begun the process; you’re going to deteriorate quite rapidly soon. You won’t like what you see in the mirror.”

And Doctor Tearney was right. Before Stacy went to bed, in the mirror in the bathroom, he could see the decay on his face widen. The wrinkles spreading, his skin begin to crust, the brown blotches swirling into one on his forehead like ugly clouds foreshadowing the unimaginable collapse to follow. Staring in the mirror he wondered if he’d made the right decision like the doctor said, no harm would come to anyone; no harm no foul, but deliberately ripping off his own flesh. He couldn’t do it. When he returned to his cot, he fell asleep quickly because of the medication Dr. Tearney provided. He relished the quick trip to slumber and then the dream came. He was walking down the hall and they began to remove their hats one after the other, head after disfigured head appeared in a terrifying chorus, cackling, laughing and pointing like mad men. His heart began to pound before he woke in a cold sweat. It was nightmare come true. He lay awake till the morning staring across the room at the rows of cots and rows of hats.

The salty air still pervaded the room. He would find Cassandra. He didn’t have to look far. As he entered the common room for breakfast she tugged on his arm. “Oh, Stacy you’re looking something awful this morning”

“I’ve hardly slept.”

“It isn’t just that, Stacy your face, your hands, look at ‘em shaking.”

“I’m an old man, my hands will shake.”

“You don’t have to be, Stacy,” she cried reaching for his hands.

“I’ve seen enough. I’m leaving this world with what’s left of my body intact, go away!” He shouted.

Cassandra laughed and she said, “We’ll see Stacy. You had a choice.” Stacy shook his head as he marched away and grabbed a breakfast tray.

There was no use talking to the old woman. After his breakfast on his way back to the dormitory he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. A pain like he’d never felt before. He collapsed on the floor by the entrance to the dorm. When he woke, he was in the infirmary. The metallic white chilled room. He wasn’t surprised to find himself there.

He knew his body would start giving way. He wasn’t surprised to see Doctor Tearney standing over him either. “Change your mind, Stacy?” Tearney said as he held a light to Stacy’s eyes.

“Not a chance doctor.”

”You’ll die soon if you don’t, Stacy and if you don’t die you’ll feel so weak and look so awful you’ll want to die.

“So be it, Doctor,” Stacy coughed. “Thanks for brightening my day.”

“Stacy, this is how it’s going to be. I’ve concluded you’re not in your right frame of mind, and can’t be responsible for making your own medical decisions. I’m putting you under and I’m taking off your ear, and if you say a word, I’ll take your tongue too.”

“No!” Stacy began to shriek, “Get away from me you lunatic!” And with the small amount of strength he could muster, he kicked Tearney in the stomach. Tearney pulled back, almost falling to the floor from surprise, but he stood quickly and reached for a syringe and jabbed it into Stacey’s vein.

Stacy woke in the dorm the next morning feeling energy he hadn’t felt in ages. He reached for his ear and as he suspected bandages covered the side of his head. He froze for a moment. He never believed they’d actually do it, but there it was, his ear was gone. For the first time in his two hundred years he felt helpless and hatred filled his heart he couldn’t control. They turned him into a child, a hideous deformed child. Life would be unbearable, and the sad irony was that meant maybe forever. He spat on the floor, and he walked to the bathroom, but as he looked in the mirror he was overcome. His face looked younger and fresher and he noticed his gait returned to his step. A strange sense of happiness suddenly filled his soul. He’d forgive them; Tearney, Cassandra. It was like the world stood upside down. He ran out to the common room. And he saw Cassandra on the sofa and he cried to her, “Look I’m young again!”

“You are, Stacy, and I’m buying you a hat.”

“I was wrong. It was worth an ear.”

“And look at all the good it will do, helping feed the population”

”Feed the population?”

”We’re what’s on the menu tonight all across the America.”

”What?”

“The ears, we sell ‘em as food. They turn ‘em into soup and things. Who knows, next year maybe finger and toes? Times are hard, Stacy. Dr. Tearney ain’t no regular doctor. The doctor here died years ago. There’s no research, he perfected it ‘e did, no research just feeding. We’re in charge now, hey, look, the breakfast trays are here. Have a bite won’t ‘cha, Stacy?”