[ WP ] Killing another human now allows you to exchange your remaining lifespan the victim 's . Young people live in fear while the elderly plan their attacks .

I could n't take it anymore. I just could n't bear it. Why, why did she have to leave me? We'd been so good together. 64 years together. We had four kids, ten grandkids, at least four great-grandkids, I think. I could n't remember anymore if there was another one or two on the way and who was pregnant now. Well, I could if I stopped to think about it, but it was n't really all that important. 
 
 So many good years. And now life sucked and suicide was a sin. My balls were bigger than my fists and even if I'd had a thigh gap, which I had n't had for years, I'd still have something squishing into my thighs if I stood up straight with my feet together. It had been hard for her too. She'd tried to stay thin. She'd started going to Curves and had over 1,500 visits. She'd even lost a few inches off her waist, but there still was n't really going to be anyone who'd call her thin. 
 
 And then after the last couple years when her hair had started falling out. She'd increasingly gone with wigs whenever she went out until finally she just said, `` To hell with it all'' and started rocking a minimalist old-person Trump-style haircut. You know the one, where each hair is 20 inches long but the whole hairstyle is only four inches long because each hair is wound around and around like some sort of kinky afro for people with straight hair, but with 96 % of the hair removed. 
 
 And then she died and left me. And what else did I have left to live for? And suicide was a sin. And what else could I do? I was about to die too, but I could n't take it like this. I was n't going to linger on in pain and growing ever more forgetful and mentally incompetent, I was going to end it. God would understand. I was in so much pain, life was so unbearable that surely he would understand. It was ok, it was fine, I was n't going to be around much longer anyway. 
 
 So I raised the gun to my head and pulled the trigger. An intense pain slammed into me and I gasped as I fell forward onto the couch. I managed to stumble to my feet, vomiting blood all over my chest as the magic bullet which had apparently ricocheted off something did its work and ended me. Until I heard the screaming coming from next door. 
 
 These thin wall partitions! How could anyone call them a wall at all? I could clearly see through the bullet hole into the next house and I watched in horror as my liver spots faded and all my wrinkles went away. 
 
 What in the world was I supposed to do now? How was I supposed to end it all if I'd become young again? There's no way God would understand if I committed suicide now and I knew she was n't in hell. I did n't want to spend another 87 years just waiting to see her again! 
 
 > There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist. 
 
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