Jared Venus was going to kill himself. He had known this for some time. The knowledge was a twisted comfort against the disease that threatened to do it first.
No. Whatever else, Jared was in charge of his death.
Lots of people use guns. Or knives, slid from wrist to elbow. Unimaginative.
Jared wanted to fly.
Standing at the edge of the canyon, he was ready. It was either this or cancer.
“Sir,” said a girl nearby. “Are you going to answer that?”
“Hm?” Jared looked at his phone. The Clinic.
“Jared?” Wind muffled the voice. “There’s been a mix-up…”