High Screams

Maybe they knew what they were doing. They had to know. Is it possible that they simply didn't know? It seems inconceivable the more I think about it but could they have forgotten? They were old, after all.

Perhaps they saw the wafer cones, the cold white filling, the brown stem sticking out looking for all the world like chocolate and they were transported back to a more youthful time when devouring such things was common. Memories of seaside trips? Yes, perhaps.

But I think they knew. I think they'd had enough. For me, I think I'd still prefer pills and alcohol and a bed. I can respect their decision, though, even if in the moments that followed they regretted the choice they'd made. It certainly sounded like they regretted their choice.

At least I can say that I know this for certain: I won't end my days tucking into a young ice cream while its mother looks on; I don't want my final impression on this world to be a bloody smear on the window of a café.
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