THE CALL
Laura Owens had completely forgotten about the deal she signed with Healthline Insurances
Inc. until she received their call on a Tuesday afternoon. It was important that it was
Tuesday: Tuesdays were her work days. So were other days, on occasion, but especially
Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, she would lock herself in her home office, forego the company of
the world outside, and get working on her novel. Isolation was a must: no friends, no family,
no technology allowed. It had to be her and her battered notebook for twelve consecutive
hours. That was how she worked. That was how her novels were written.
You can imagine, then, the annoyance she must have felt when the landline shrieked
at her from where it stood in the living room. Ignoring it was no use; it was insatiable and
insistent. The phone demanded Laura’s attention. The ringing breached walls, doors, books
and various other objects to make itself at home in her ears. The sound knew no end. Laura
did not dare to unplug the device—the fear of breaking it and having to talk to more people
outweighed the disdain she had for her current predicament—but she did not stop herself
from imagining all the ways in which she could torture the person making the call with the
cord of her landline either. After the seventh ring, it became evident: there was nothing to
do but to answer the goddamned call. Dragging her feet across the hardwood floors and
desperately hoping whoever needed to speak to her so badly would give up on the way,
Laura took a deep breath before yanking the headset with all the force she had. Did they not
know she worked on Tuesdays?
The voice that met Laura upon her lifting of the phone belonged to a young woman.
High-pitched, cheery, nervous. She recited, from what Laura could tell, a script written by
some poor PR person to prevent the receiver from hanging up on the call a second into the
conversation. How ironic, Laura thought: if not for her first novel’s success, she would have been colleagues with that scriptwriter, spending her days twisting words and phrases to
ensure corporate America gets what it wants Even now, she was not free from the ways of
thinking her past life had instilled in her. Her eyes would always be drawn to billboards in her
urban explorations. She would hum tunes of ads when feeding her cat. She would copy-edit
menus to better fit the desires of an imaginary customer. Old habits really died hard. Her
train of thought was interrupted by the woman’s voice, asking whether she was still there.
Laura took a deep breath:
“Yes, sorry, your voice got cut off there. How may I help you?”
“Oh gosh, no worries! Let me just re-introduce myself from the start, haha!”
The voice giggled like a schoolgirl. Laura’s irritation at the call doubled.
“My name is Stephanie, I work at Healthline Insurances as an outreach consultant.
We have your number down as belonging to a Laura Owens; if that is you, may you confirm
your mother’s maiden name?”
“That would be me. It’s, uh, Gonzales.”
“Great! Laura, it is very nice to meet you. I’m sure you’re very busy, so I’ll try to keep
this short, haha! I’m just calling you to let you know that, due to our recent changes in
policy—I’m sure you know the whole mess with the Congress right now—we unfortunately
won’t be able to continue keeping you off the waitlist for the depopulation initiative.
However, this shouldn’t worry you at all! Healthline prioritizes customer comfort above all.
So, we’ve taken the liberty to select some packages that may aid you with the transition
process! Please let me know if you’re interested in hearing them!”
Laura’s blood ran cold. Stephanie’s voice was nauseating. Sure, she knew that using
insurance against the depopulation program—the “international initiative countering global
overpopulation via ‘liquidation,’” or at least, that was how the PSA that ran ten years ago had phrased it was currently in hot water, but she never predicted it would get this far. She
never realized she would be in danger. She had gotten the insurance some five years ago as a
result of her girlfriend’s pestering, and she had accused her of being overly paranoid all
throughout the process. The topic still came up in arguments. Laura wondered how she
would take all this. Her hands were shaking.
“Right, um, sure. I’d like to know my options.”
“Great! Let me pull my sheet up,” the voice responded, drawing out the last syllable.
“It says on your file that you are a vegan! Oh my god, so am I! Well, occasionally. Mostly
pescetarian, actually. I can live without red meat, but shrimp is absolutely where I draw the
line, haha! Especially in stews. And sometimes I will have yogurt too. I guess I’m a bad
vegan.”
Laura did not care for Stephanie’s dietary preferences. Before she could interrupt,
though, the voice seemed to remember the purpose of the call.
“Anyway, between that and your regular donations to the Animal Rights Fund, it
looks like you’re a big environmentalist. We really, really, appreciate that. So, our first option
is a burial that honors your life in the same, environmentally-conscious way—even after you
won’t be here with us. What I’m talking about is the Green Package: it comes at the cost of a
thousand and fifty dollars, plus tax, and it allows Healthline to forego all plastic packaging
that would be sent to you during the liquidation process. Plus, if you prefer to be buried, the
kit we will send you at the last stage will not have any chemicals, nor pesticide: that way,
when your form becomes one with the earth, it will not harm the worms and the various
roots that will make your body their new home!”
Laura couldn’t believe the conversation she was having. Worms? Plastic? Here she
was, expecting her insurance company to do their goddamned jobs and ensure their client a high-paying one at that—continues to live, and Stephanie, with her sickeningly
sweet voice and overly personable demeanor was talking about how her corpse had the
option to not be poisonous for the insects planning to eat her.
“I’m sorry,” Laura responded, “when we were talking about packages, I thought, you
know, lawyer support, appealing the decision, all that. Do you not have anything of that
sort?”
“Oh, right.” The voice faltered a bit before sounding cheery again. “I completely
sympathize, Laura. I know that learning you’re on the waitlist for being liquidated is
complicated. It must feel like a lot.” There was a moment of silence. “Unfortunately, though,
we are not authorized to provide an appeal. Not unless you’re the president or something,
haha!”
Laura found it increasingly hard to laugh. “Right. Um, it’s just—this is just horrible
timing, actually. I’m in the middle of working on my novel. I’m also getting married soon, and
we’ve already paid the venue, you know? The invitations have been sent. And I don’t know
where to house my cat. My girlfriend—fiancée—she likes him, but my cat is blind and I don’t
think she’d be up for the job. I would rather not die with such a full to-do list.”
“Oh gosh, I really am sorry. It really is unfortunate that the timing is so awkward, but
there are so many people after you on the list, and the system wouldn’t let us get to them
before your liquidation is complete. I’ll tell you what, though,” Stephanie’s voice became
jovial once again, “in recognition of your predicament, I’ll put you on this package for half
the price. It’s called a Romeo and Juliet Package—though I guess it will be the Juliet and
Juliet Package for your case—”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“And it allows your partner to accompany you throughout this journey.”
“You want me to kill my wife-to-be?”
“No! She is on the list already. What we provide with Healthline is the allowance for
companionship. We offer, with the package, a honeymoon-like outing to your five-star hotel
of choice for a long weekend, as well as a complimentary dinner just before you take the
final step to liquidate. Instead of going through with this by yourself, why not have your
beloved share those precious moments?”
“I’m not doing that!”
“O-kay! No need to get aggressive, haha!” Panic took hold of Stephanie’s voice. “It
was just a suggestion.” After a few seconds and some keyboard clicks, she began again:
“while those two are what our system has highlighted as the most desirable packages for
you, I just want to let you know of our other options, just to cover as much surface area as
possible. For your novel, if it is not finished by the time you transform, Healthline will be
happy to supply you with a creative writing AI that, from what you have written, evaluates
and completes the work. This allows you to…”
Stephanie’s voice no longer reached Laura’s ears. She had stopped listening. Eyes on
the framed photograph of her household just before her first book signing day, Laura
thought of all the ways in which she could tell her girlfriend the news. She sat down. Her
book would go unfinished. Maybe, maybe she could buy some time if the bureaucratic
process was challenging enough, but even then, she hardly saw the point of continuing
when all she had worked on was bound to be taken away from her sooner or later. She did
not want to die. She did not want to die, and yet, she did not feel the type of terror that
made a person act. She had no plans of running away. The appeal process—if she could even
get to that point—would be draining. Suicide just seemed banal. No, what she felt was a
damning acceptance. She would go through with it, just like everyone. Like anyone. It wasn’t
so bad with her mother. Perhaps it would not be so bad with her. She closed her eyes.
“Just—just make me good worm food. I don’t want any other package.”
“Oh! Alrighty! I’m glad our system was able to place your most desired option at the
very top, haha! I will start the process now, as soon as I get off the call. You should have an
e-mail in your inbox with a more detailed rundown of the contents. You have four days to
cancel it and be refunded for the full price if that is something you may wish to do. And with
all that out of the way, thank you for your cooperation with Healthline Insurances
Incorporated! We will do our best to keep you engaged throughout your liquidation process.
Have a nice day!”
Stephanie continued to type on her keyboard. Laura felt a tear run down her cheek.
“Oh, and, Laura?” Stephanie’s voice seemed smaller now, like she was doing
something she was not supposed to.
“Yes?”
“Um, I really liked Dusk. It was my favorite book of the year last year. I think you’re
really talented.”
“Oh.” Laura took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
The line went silent.
