[WP] On your 100th birthday, you realize there is nothing more to do in life that interests you. You decide to be euthanized peacefully. As your life comes to an end, you drift off only to wake up in a hospital bed again. Doctors tell you that you're 20 years old and have been in a Coma for a year.

It died. It died and I can't even remember when. That little bit of curiosity in me that just wanted to treat life as though I'm looking through the eyes of a ten year old. When did it go? How many days did I let idly slip by? It feels like my years have amounted to days. Somewhere I lost my purpose and trekked to purgatory.

The paper is in my hands, my eyes locked to the numbers, as if they're about to change any minute now. What was I trying to achieve all this time? If I was looking for love I never found it. If It was to explore, I never led any expedition. I have made no art, achieved no wealth. The only thing that's plentiful are my regrets.

There are worse ways to do it I suppose. She does come well recommended after all. I just wish they didn't have to make the annotation in the paper. It just feels so... demeaning. Just imagining the words "euthanized" in my obituary is enough to cause hesitation, although it's not as if anyone will see it. The ones I've loved said goodbye years ago, in one way or another. It's just me now. Ever since Buster has gone I can just feel myself sinking. My body grows weaker every day and the weight plunges me further and faster than I've ever gone. In the past my ears barely popped before I hit the bottom, but it's just so clear now that the day that I surface will never come. There's no one left to loosen the weight after you've been crushed by the day.

When the receiving end picks up it's not a receptionist, it's not even a person. It's completely automated. What person in the right mind would take that job anyway? The automated service tells me that a specialist will be available for a house visit between the hours of 2 and 4 p.m. I can't even run my last errand.

A voice from the doorway leaves a question lingering in the room, "Sir, are you ready to begin?"

I've been looking at this picture so long I didn't even notice her come in. It's a picture of Buster, one of my favorites actually. How many summers ago was it? I remember trying so hard not to wake him up before I could get my camera. Him lying in the warmth of a freshly mowed lawn, a bone still under one paw. The grass hasn't been green like that in years. A nap sure sounds good though.

"Yes... Yes let's get going."

She starts the drip and I start to drift. I wonder if they, or anyone, is waiting for me. It's been dim for so long but now it's growing darker. The curtains are closing and no one was even watching the show. Certainly nothing to take a bow for.

Just when the void behind my eyelids feels darkest I can sense a beam of light pass over. And over, and over. And I start to feel it. Slowly at first. Then it starts to grow stronger. A sensation I can't quite describe. Perhaps I've felt it before. It's almost painful but yet somehow it doesn't hurt. I want to pull away but I can't. I can feel it fully now, overwhelming me. Unbearable to endure but unable to escape. It's my toes... You'd swear they were made of peanut butter.

/r/WritingPrompts Thread