[ WP ] Humanity has achieved immortality . Due to resource concerns everyone must submit to a council their chosen manner of death at 150 . The more amusing the death the longer the council lets you live .

`` And done,'' I say to myself as I period the final sentence on my letter to the board. This was not my first attempt to finalize my chosen death method, I had probably written this same letter dozens of times by now, but each time I had second thoughts, and kept asking myself, `` Could it be funnier?'' I started to draft the letter when I was 147, and most people send theirs in by 149, but I had been unable to do so... until now. 
 
 I turn 150 on the morrow, so I really ca n't turn back again, for each citizen that has not turned in a method by their 150th birthday is summoned before the council like all the rest, but is killed immediately in the cruelest manner possible. There are only rumors about how they kill the `` letter no-shows'' as a trained executioner does it in a private room with nobody else around. `` Graphic content,'' the council says. I may not know what the `` letter no-show'' death method is, but I know that I do not want it. 
 
 Before I begin to second-guess myself, I tuck the letter into an envelope and seal it. I then place it into the mail portal and send it right in to the council. 
 
 ( What? You've never heard of a mail portal? It's kinda like a fax machine, only it's with paper letters. It's like instant mail that utilizes the object transportation technology that engineers mastered in the 50th century. ) 
 
 ( time passes: now nighttime ) 
 
 I lie awake in bed, the pillow hot against my cheek. I am unable to sleep, unsure of the fate that will become of me. What if the letter did n't arrive? What if they kill me instantly? I keep questioning and worrying, even though it is unreasonable, as the mail portal has never failed. I am more worried about how long they will let me live. Humans used to only live for like 70 years before immortality, but even though I got to live for 150, I'm still not ready to die. 
 
 I want to live for as long as possible, they let some people live for another 150 years. That's what I want to do. 
 
 ( time passes: now the next morning ) 
 
 I awake to a rap on my door. Groggily, I get up and trudge downstairs to answer it, still in my pajamas. Then it hits me. 
 
 Today's the day. Today's my 150th birthday. 
 
 Realizing who is at the door, I run upstairs and change into something decent. Around five minutes later, I open the door and see exactly what I expected: a councilman at the door, ready to bring me before the group that will decide my fate. 
 
 ( time passes: now at the hearing ) 
 
 The council is looking over my file and whispering in hushed tones. I know that the only thing of importance to them in my file is the letter that I submitted yesterday. 
 
 After about 15 minutes of muttering amongst themselves, one councilwoman gets up and leaves the room. 5 minutes later she returns with someone in dark robes and a mask made of sysphate. 
 
 ( You also do n't know what sysphate is? It's the metal of the future that scientists manufactured by mixing and reinforcing metals of the past. It is one of the strongest substances known to man. ) 
 
 This man is an executioner. But why? How? I thought that I would at least get a few years, my method was good. Then it hits me! 
 
 The executioner is only for `` letter no-shows''. 
 
 `` Thomas Mellark,'' the head councilman addresses me from the front of the room as the councilwoman takes her seat. He opens up my file and shows me the content. There is not only one letter as I expected, but dozens. `` You are being granted immediate death by the'cruel method' as you submitted more than one letter, which is prohibited.'' He slams his gavel on the sysphate in front of him, and I know that my fate is sealed. 
 
 This is impossible, I disposed of all of my second-guessed, previous drafts. What can I say though? The evidence is all up there. 
 
 ( time passes: now in a waiting room ) 
 
 `` Thomas Mellark,'' the receptionist addresses me from the front of the room. `` The executioner is ready for you now.'' 
 
 I walk towards the door in the front of the room, still unsure of how this fate came to be. 
 
 I notice that the air is cold in the room next to the waiting room. 
 
 The executioner is waiting for me, wielding a ( n ) [ censored ]!
