The email containing the formal inquiry arrived on the second ominous Tuesday of October, just when everyone had gotten over the Monday hangover. Anna's posture straightened as soon as she saw the little annoying notice box in the bottom corner of the screen, the subject & the sender's name sent chills down her tense spine. The letter was sharp & brutal: The Department of Humanitarian Aids had lodged an independent inquiry to formally investigate the contributors to Victoria A.'s existence. You would think the Board had better things to do than look into anomalies like Victoria A. But no, they liked a perfect plot; every outlier was scrutinised and in this case, legally investigated. The Department did not tolerate misconduct and slackness in carrying out standard operations. They expected a detailed audit. The case was clear: Victoria A. had every possible -and impossible- reason to eliminate herself but she was very much alive, clinging to her mediocre unsatisfactory existence against all odds. Anna closed the attachment with a frustrated exhale: "She's likely too thick to grasp. That's the trouble with this kind. They don't know any better." It was finally 4:30. She started packing her bag, extremely annoyed that she had seen the report at all. You can't set standards for these people. They defy all reason. Victoria was supposed to be the classic case; A sad overachiever with average abilities bound to fail or float just under the expectation line. She is overweight, underpaid, too old for her position, surrounded by younger, smarter, less qualified, better paid colleagues who regularly get promoted above her. Her life is divided between her meaningless job and her quiet marriage. She has absolutely no hobbies, takes no leisure activity seriously enough to make anything significant out of it, does not enjoy any activities - full stop, has no siblings, parents are too far and too bored to visit, no friends except the few smart, slim, successful acquaintances who hang around the coffee machine or stay for the Friday beer just long enough to fill her with self-loathing. They are there to consolidate what might be unclear. That's the first rule of kindness; you see a less fortunate fellow human, you realise they are hopeless, you do everything in your power to help them take the plunge: to eliminate themselves. It's inhumane not to. You can't see a wounded bird and shrugg and walk away. Like it or not, you are part of the society and it's your civic duty to help those less fortunate end it painlessly. And Anne knew as well as the Board that Victoria A. had all the help she needed. She was just an ungrateful anomaly! The company received a very generous fund annually that accommodated all the costs: All employees recognised as underachievers or deserving would get regular counselling to reach deep down into the guts of their mediocrity, their pathetic existence was laid bare in front of them and week after week the therapist held their shaky hands as they navigated the many instances of their underachievement, childhood to present, no stone left unturned. They received helpline phone calls at odd hours making sure they knew they were supported, watched over, that it was OK. They were granted 3 days of paid leave leading up to their planned departure. They were sure to be invited into all the events where a selected flourishing few were recognised and praised. They had mentors helping them set annual goals which they were sure to achieve only 25%, leaving them with the undeniable realties of their inefficiency. Anna straightened her neck as she repeated for an imaginary audience on the backseat: The truth is bitter but this is not a society of lies. If you are not succeeding in anything else you can at least acheive your elimination. But Victoria A. had failed even this final task. She just existed. Anna slammed the door of her car and walked down the gravel driveway to her medium sized mansion. The warm lights of the lounge were programmed to turn on 5 minutes before her arrival just so she would walk into a living room, not a dark dead space. She dropped her purse by the dining table and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. She was not responsible for this. They could not blame her. They had done everything in the books. No one had crossed a line. It was a very ordinary case. But then every now and then you ended up with an oddball. The studies could still not pinpoint the causes. That's what an anomaly was and it should have been forgotten except it was her luck and now the Department had lodged an inquiry to formally ask why the hell the protocols had not worked. But how was she supposed to know? If only she could understand what Victoria saw in this half-existence, what did she think the fuss was all about? Was she afraid to die? Did she actually think it was better to live? She stared out the kitchen window at the black backyard. What was all the fuss about? Sometimes, times just like this, with the slightest push in the right direction even she could see herself fitting the curve and following the protocol. She would think -for a split second- to not stop at the red lights, to triple that antidepressant, to swerve into the guard rails off the harbour bridge. She was not there yet but if the time came, she'd want to have an assisted exit. Just a session or two, nothing about the childhood bullshit, mainly focused on the most recent decade, her underachievements as the line manager, her marriage, her children, her waistline, her utter and absolute inability to climb the corporate ladder. That would do. She wouldn't make a fuss. There was absolutely no fuss to make.
She climbed the spiral staircase to the meditation room.
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