Dying On My Own Terms

Gilles

5 AM, it had intensified into a throbbing headache and a bone-deep chill that no blanket could cure. My back t

sing my meager cash income, losing my freedom, losing the fragile sense of independence I had just begun to build. And

head swam when I stood too quickly. I dressed in the same faded t-shirt, ignoring the pers

just made my teeth chatter. My old sedan, usually a symbol of freedom, felt like a coffin this morn

and warm dough a surprising comfort. He glanced at me, his kind eyes narrow

racticed smile, the one I used to keep the nurses happ

. He just handed me an apron and gestured towards the cash register. "Morning rush i

er now. The familiarity of the task was a strange anch

caffeine and carbs. I moved with robotic efficiency, my hands trembling slightly as I poured coffee, bag

vision swam. I felt sweat running down my back, stinging the infe

once, his voice sharp with concer

e. I need to work." The fear, cold and sha

to the cart. "Can I get a everything bagel, toasted,

y vision blurred, the bagel morphing into a fuzzy, indistinct shape. The c

e my breath. The world tilted. The smell of coffee, u

sh of red, perhaps a scarf she was wearing, or maybe the blood from my wound, bloomed in my