The Answer

She held the tiny pill between her index finger and her thumb. It was pale blue, oval-shaped, and had a groove in the middle. So innocent and harmless in appearance, it could have been nothing more than allergy medication. She tried to read the writing on the pill, but her hand was shaking too much. Strangely, her mind was calm. It was as though somebody had shut off the connection between her brain and her quivering hand.

Was this it? Was this tiny pill the answer to all her wishes? Isn’t this what she had always wanted – a way to end it all without pain? She had always been afraid of pain. But they said this pill would put her in a peaceful slumber and slowly shut down all her organs without causing any kind of suffering. She had no idea that such a solution even existed. And now she was holding it in her hand. And yet – something seemed to be stopping her.

It felt like there was unfinished business. She had handwritten a note that contained the password to her laptop and the folder to be opened. In the folder, she had written a will of sorts - a word document with a list of her possessions and whom she wanted each of them to go to. The folder also contained a list of documents with personal goodbye messages to each of her friends and family members, and the e-mail IDs of the people they had to be mailed to. She thought to herself – suicide in the digital age. It made her smile – there was something morbidly humorous about it.

So everything was in order. What seemed incomplete then? Was it her life? Perhaps she was not ready to die. But she had already given this a lot of thought. The one tiny flame that was pushing her forward had also been extinguished. Since then, she had come to the conclusion that she was not ready to continue living either. She had known this for over six months now.

She placed the pill on her palm and stared at it, as though it had the answer written on it.

There were people who needed her. Surely she couldn’t put them through this. She had figured she was being a disappointment to everybody anyway, so this was the best time, if any. Would anybody really miss her? Would they just shed a few perfunctory tears at her funeral, or would it actually be hard to push her memory away when they needed to get back to their lives?

Surely the people who loved her would be sorely affected by the loss. But she was going to be free – she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt.

But she didn’t want to die with the guilt either.

She closed her fingers over the pill, confused.