The Last Ride

Today is the day I die… it’s time for me to go far, far away forever… I’m not sorry. I have no regrets. I knew this day would come, and I’m ready for it. I chose this path, and now I am at its end. The only thing I truly want at this point is for someone to hear my story…

My name is James Dunn. I am 93 years old. Today is my birthday, August 24th, 2068. The government has decided that I am no longer useful to anyone, so they are sending me on what they call “The Last Ride.” Their new policy has decided that those who are too weak, old, or mentally deficient must be liquidated due to overpopulation. The country I had fought for long ago no longer needs me…

Oh no. Don’t feel bad for me. I’ve lived a good life. One with all the ups and downs you’d expect out of someone my age. I was born in 1975 in a small town about 30 miles outside of Richmond, Virginia. I hear they renamed it Drova. Times really have changed.

I used to go there quite a bit to watch movies and play games with my friends. We had a baseball team there called the Richmond Braves. They were alright, but nothing like the guys out in Atlanta. That was so long ago. I used to play this little game called MLB ’99 with my father years ago. It came out in 1999.

The graphics were great for the time, and I always loved playing video games more than playing the sport. Now you have those games where you put on the goggles and go into these virtual reality worlds, right? Maybe if you had come a few years earlier, they would have a place for me there… maybe it would have saved my life, but it’s far too late now.

I accept that I am no longer useful to anyone, though. People would rather brush me aside and act like I never existed. Maybe it’s for the best. Even if people did find value in me, President Ori III sure as hell doesn’t. I told them I still had stories to tell and lessons to teach.

They said stories are pointless. The stories of the past were all irrelevant, outdated, obsolete. I told them I could write new ones but even then… I was found to be undesirable. I was told that society no longer needed me, and it was my time to go.

I don’t agree with that, nor do I think anyone should ever be considered worthless to society. Unless someone is truly evil, they always have a place in society. The young are the future, the old are meant to guide the young, and those in the middle are there to move the world forward until they grow old and gray like me.

I know you probably were sent here by the government to say a few kind words. That’s the least they could give me. Just a few words. Pretty words were written by some bureaucrats. Words that were probably told to every single person who came to this end. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound bitter. I am just disappointed in this world. A world I helped build, create, and did everything I could to make a better place.

All of my work was thrown away due to a single election that went wrong, and nothing ever went back. They say you vote every 4 years, and the pendulum generally swings in the opposite direction every 8 years or so. People get sick of the current guy making no progress, no movement, the country stays the same.

Some people thought it was good to have changed. To elect someone who could bring hope, change, an easier life, relief to all their ills. But they fail to realize that those who are elected are there for one reason. Power.

Once installed… what were you going to do if they went sour and decided to choose who was obsolete. Who was no longer needed? The man who meant nothing to no one.

A man who is just another number on a paper somewhere or hell, probably a computer file now since I doubt they give us the dignity of paper. We are deleted in an instant… marked obsolete. Marked as no longer necessary or undesirable. We are all put in that ship outside, launched into space, and let go.

They say my death will be painless. The air will leave your lungs, and you will die peacefully, not like drowning where there’s hope. Those who are lucky enough to fall back to Earth burn up in the atmosphere… even if they didn’t send us up there, where would they bury us? There is barely any room left after the wars…

Regardless. Nothing that I really say here matters much to anyone, except for maybe you. I hope what I have to tell you is of some use one way or another. Hopefully, I’m not wasting your time.

Your time is just as valuable as anyone else’s. I just hope what I have to say, my final words, is useful to you. Maybe you can pass it along to someone else. Maybe someone else will find what I have to say useful.

I don’t know where to start, so any point, I guess, is as good as another. I doubt you want to hear me jabber about my childhood. It was just like any others starting in the mid-’70s going through the 80s with all the hair bands and MTV on when I got home from school every day.

I loved watching the new KISS, Iron Maiden, or Twisted Sister videos that came on during that show. What was it called again? Headbanger’s ball? Something like that. It was so damn long ago I doubt you even remember MTV.

It used to stand for Music Television. That lasted about as long as a gnat fart before it became reality TV this, and Teen Mom that. By the time all that was in full swing, I was in the service, and I had no time to watch that kind of garbage. I ended up joining the service when I was 18 years old. Well, I say joined, but it was more like drafted. We didn’t have a conventional draft.

There was no letter at my door or phone call demanding that I show up at the nearest recruiting station. It was a big call where we were all rounded up for a town meeting. The doors were locked, and the lights dimmed.

Everyone was confused and scared. We had no idea what was going on. Then the soldiers told us that all the men had to be on the left and women on the right. They ignored our questions and sent out guardsmen to shove us to each side.

The men were all taken to buses in the back, and we had no idea what happened to the women after that. Well, not for a long time anyway. They were eventually rounded up and sent off to the war factories. They tried to turn the economy into the same thing they had during WW2. It didn’t work out as well, but it was close enough, I suppose.

The women made bombs, bullets, guns, tanks, everything we could use against the Soviet invasion of China. The Soviets, on their last legs, decided they wanted to try and take over all of Asia, specifically China and the Middle East.

The Chinese put up a hell of a fight but ultimately conceded to handing over Tibet. That didn’t last long, though. Tibet wasn’t good enough, and the Soviets, now known as Ramothians, decided the rest of China belonged to them too. I was out of the service by then, thank god. That was a real bloodbath. Millions of soldiers died. They never called it World War III, though. If that wasn’t WWIII, then the real one would end the world.

At first, I hated being in the service. I wanted to be a painter or an architect. That’s usually what the artists settle for. If they love sketching and can’t make money for it, they seem to gravitate toward architecture. Not many are good, but it is a better way to monetize it than trying to sell scribblings to people on the internet who think that their work should be paid in “exposure” to their 200 followers on social media.

Apparently, to those people, 200 followers mean they were an influencer. Do you still have those? Twitter and Instagram? Probably not… it’s been so long I’m sure the trends have changed to something a lot different. When I was a kid, there was no concept of being a celebrity unless you already were one.

There were those who were famous and those who wanted to be. There was no in-between. There was no “I have 200 followers; therefore, I am god” back then. Thank god I didn’t grow up in your generation. I grew up long before everyone was “famous” online.

My MOS was 11B. Infantry. My mission was to exterminate Ramothian forces that had invaded the small island of Luma. Luma was a small island nation 90 miles off the coast of Chile.

Most of the people spoke English even though the native language was Lumi. It was a paradise until Ramoth decided to invade as another one of their power moves, thinking that we would just let it go without a fight. I mean, who cared? It was a small island out in the Pacific.

There was nothing of value in Luma. No resources. It was just a pissing contest between Ramoth and us. It wasn’t unusual by any stretch of the imagination for them, though.

Ori vs. Rami were both profoundly egotistical. Their egos were bigger than the countries themselves. The people below them suffered while they made the world into their own personal game of RISK. I was just another pawn in their long game of global chicken. I pray that the world never sees another war like that…

The war was rough. A lot of good men died. Some men that I thought I’d be happy to see blown to bits weren’t. War just feels so random. Like there is no will or way or why for who gets killed and who comes home. I was one of the lucky ones. If you could really call me that.

When I came home, I was berated, spit on, laughed at, run out of restaurants, everything for my service. People called me a baby killer, a rapist, a murderer. I was just following orders. I didn’t kill any babies. I didn’t rape anyone. The only people I killed were those who were trying to kill me. They would have done the same if I gave them a chance.

After the service, I came home and got a job working in a warehouse. Eventually became the foreman and did that for about 10 years before my back gave out. The company shipped overseas not long after I was let go anyway. So, all I really got out of the deal was a bad back. I was ready to move on anyway, though.

I met a girl. Her name was Tanya. She was beautiful. She had long black hair, big green eyes, and was quite thin. She liked to keep her hair short because her father was in the military. Served in World War II. She was a cold woman. Very distant most of the time. She was emotionally unavailable to me. I tried the best I could to break in through her walls, but she never let me in.

I married her like a fool. We were married, had two children Adam and Michael. Adam went on to have their own children Carly and Steven. I haven’t seen any of them in the last 10 years, I guess. Not since I got here anyway. I wrote letters to them, but nothing ever came back.

Michael was the last one that came to see me. He came to break the news to me, thinking I’d hate him forever. Michael was gay… and he brought his boyfriend to meet me in here. It was a bit weird. I didn’t know what to think, really, but I accepted him. I’m sure his mother wouldn’t have. God Rest Her Soul.

Tanya died 8 years ago. She was 65. She hit a patch of black ice, lost control, and slid right into a huge oak tree. I went to the funeral, but the kids and grandkids didn’t show up for some reason. I waited for hours, hoping they would come to pay their respects to their mother and grandmother, but they didn’t.

I never understood why they abandoned us. We did the best we could. I mean, Tanya wasn’t the best mother, but I always felt she meant well. She loved the kids and me in her own way.

After Tanya died, I was put in here after I tripped over my area rug. I hit the beeper, which would have called Michael, but he didn’t answer the phone. The state put me in this “home,” as they call it, and now I’m just waiting for them to get the rocket ready… and for the last ride to begin…

I’m not afraid. What’s there to be afraid of? I’m going to go up into space in a rocket ship, the doors will open, and we will be delivered into the void of space. They say within 30 seconds, we will die, but we will have the experience of being weightless and looking down on Earth for a few seconds before we fade away…

Go now… I need to get some sleep… I’ve wasted enough of your time. Just hope that when you get my age, the government will have compassion… and mercy on your soul. Maybe they’ll make your execution faster than this one… Goodbye.