The Resistance

Generation. They were nothing.
    ‘If you don’t sign, you’re sentencing Peter to an early death. To illness, possibly disability. Is that what you want?’
    ‘No!’ Anna shook her head vehemently. ‘No, that’s not what I want. I . . .’
    ‘You want a family. I understand that, Anna. I’m very proud to have a grandson, particularly one as clever and courageous as Peter. But as I’m sure you know, it’s impossible for the two of you to have children. It’s desperately unfair, but this is the situation we find ourselves in. You have Ben though, don’t you? I’m sure your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to sacrifice Peter, or yourself, for nothing. Would they?’
    Anna wrapped her arms around her stomach and had to force herself not to start rocking again. She thought of her parents, her kind, wonderful parents who had regretted signing the Declaration all their lives, because it had taken her away from them. She thought of Peter, imagined him staying with her out of loyalty, miserable because of her failings, because of the invisible chains linking them together. Then she looked at Richard Pincent. He had Mrs Pincent’s eyes, the same way of staring at her, terrorising her, breaking her down until all she wanted was to please.
    ‘I don’t want Peter to sacrifice himself for me,’ she managed to say. Tears were pricking at her eyes.
    ‘Then you have to sign. Just sign the Declaration and Peter will have all the chances he deserves. Show him that you love him, Anna. Make the sacrifice that you know he’d make for you.’
    Anna sniffed and wiped some stray tears away.
    ‘I can help you, if you want,’ Richard Pincent continued. ‘If you need someone to stand by you as you sign, to give you courage?’
    Anna looked up at him hesitantly, feeling the resistance within her bones fighting with her love for Peter. She couldn’t sign. Couldn’t give up on everything her parents had fought for, and yet she knew she would, knew she had no real choice.
    Slowly, tentatively, aware of every nerve in her body, feeling her legs shaking as they took her weight, Anna slipped off her chair and retrieved her Declaration from the floor. She stood, looking at it for a few moments, feeling a dead weight in her stomach as she scanned the words. Then, swallowing the bile that was rising up the back of her throat, she returned to her seat. Richard Pincent handed her a fountain pen.
    ‘You’re doing this out of love,’ he said, watching beadily as Anna’s trembling hand approached the document. ‘Just think of the long and happy life you’ll lead with Peter. So much time together. So much time . . .’
    Her hand now shaking violently, Anna forced pen to paper, managed to scrawl something approaching her name. Then, dropping the pen and clutching her stomach, she ran from the room, making it to the bathroom just in time before she vomited again and again, her body erupting like an angry volcano. The noise soon woke Ben, whose desperate cries seemed to verbalise her feelings of despair, of having done something so terrible that no words could describe it.
    Then, slowly, she pulled herself upright and splashed water on her face before she went into Ben’s room and, leaning over him in his makeshift cot, she stroked him until his cries abated. Then she carefully made her way downstairs, to apologise to her guest. Her guest had gone, however. Quietly, discreetly, he’d left, closing the door behind him. And with him, Anna noticed immediately, had gone her Declaration.
    Unsteadily, Anna walked towards the bookshelves and she took out a book she hadn’t written in for a long time. Returning to the kitchen, she picked up her pen, a pen far cheaper than the one she’d used to sign her Declaration, and began to write.
    My name is Anna. My name is Anna Covey and I have signed the Declaration. I’m not an Opt Out any more.
    She stared at the words – they looked alien, wrong.
    My name is Anna Covey and I’m going to live for ever. Peter and I are going to take Longevity and live for ever. And it’s OK because we Didn’t Have a Choice. It’s OK, because I did it out of Love. Peter said
    She sighed heavily, trying to remember why it was OK, trying to remember what Peter had said. She felt sick again, felt a sense of ominous dread rising up inside her and she picked up the phone to call Peter, for reassurance, but then she put it down again.
    Instead, moments later, she dialled another number.
    ‘Maria? It’s