JustEnd App - Khalifa Saber

In the dim glow of his cluttered home office, Alex sat hunched over his laptop, the screen casting an eerie pallor on his face. A half-empty bottle of whisky sat next to a stack of papers—a mishmash of half-baked notes on the Health Minister’s fraudulent PPE dealings. The words on the screen were jumbled, refusing to string themselves into a coherent narrative. Scrolling through his social media feed was easier, less demanding—a comfortable dive into the everyday banalities that distract from life’s pressing absurdities.

“Cat video. Political rant. Food photo. Another bloody cat video,” Alex muttered to himself, scrolling with a sense of detachment. His phone buzzed; a notification from an unknown app appeared. “JustEnd: Take control of your final chapter. Learn more.” Intrigued and feeling the weight of his procrastination like a leaden blanket, he tapped it open.

The interface was sleek, minimalist. “A life-ending kit designed for the 21st century,” the landing page proclaimed. The siren song of convenience whispered through every line of code. Tap to learn more. Swipe to meet your destiny. A digital reaper dressed in ones and zeroes, awaiting a nod to swing its scythe.

Something about the app struck Alex as eerily seductive. A quick fix, a final answer to the existential riddles that plagued his sleepless nights. It was repugnant yet compelling, much like the cheap whisky that occasionally served as his muse and tormentor.

Shaking his head, he swiped the app away and turned his attention back to the half-written article on his laptop. Yet, the spectre of that digital Pandora’s box lingered in the back of his mind, whispering insidious questions. What would it be like to hold the strings to one’s own exit? To dictate the terms of one’s grand finale with a swipe and a tap?

In the solitude of his dimly lit room, Alex leaned back into his worn-out armchair, the weight of the world pressing heavily on his shoulders. The idea of the JustEnd kit, even if he hadn’t taken the step to order it, was like an insidious whisper, a siren call. He found himself toying with the concept, rolling it around in his mind, exploring its every facet.

To exist or not to exist. Such a simple question on the surface, yet carrying within it an unfathomable depth. He pondered the essence of life, the fragile thread that keeps one tethered to this world. Was it merely a choice? A conscious decision to wake up each morning, put one foot in front of the other, and continue on?

Shakespeare’s age-old soliloquy echoed through the recesses of his mind, “To be, or not to be.” Alex wondered about the weight those words carried when first penned, and how, centuries later, they still resonated with a raw, timeless pain. He imagined the bard wrestling with the same questions, the same existential angst. The dichotomy of life and death, presence and absence, being and non-being.

In the stillness, he reflected on his own existence. Each heartbeat, each breath, an affirmation of life. Yet, with every rise and fall of his chest, the temptation of the void lingered. Was life just an amalgamation of decisions and happenstances? Or was there a deeper, more profound reason behind the ebb and flow of existence?

He envisioned the JustEnd kit as a ticket to the unknown, a doorway to a world beyond comprehension. Not that he was ready to step through, but the mere knowledge of its existence was enough to send tremors through his very soul. To possess the power to end one’s own story, to choose the final chapter and last words—was it liberation or the ultimate cage?

In these quiet moments, Alex grappled with his own mortality, the fragility of human existence, and the interplay of fate and free will. As the night deepened, he resolved to explore the subject further, not through the purchase of a kit, but by delving into the intricate tapestry of life itself, seeking answers in its myriad threads and knots. After all, to question one’s place in the universe, to confront the abyss and seek meaning, was perhaps the most human act of all.

Alex tapped away at his keyboard, pulling up a trove of articles, debates, and video clips discussing the newly amended law. This was a society on the brink of change, wrestling with its own conscience. The headlines blared in neon:

“Right to Euthanise: Autonomy or Atrocity?”
“End-of-Life Decision: A Progressive Step or a Slippery Slope?”
“Life’s Last Choice: Breaking Down the New Euthanasia Law”

It was an inundation of opinions, and every individual had a take—lawmakers justifying the move under the guise of personal freedom, ethicists wringing their hands over potential misuse, and families torn apart by the gravity of such a choice.

Alex read that the law wasn’t just a carte blanche. There were processes, counselling, mandatory waiting periods. It was designed to be thorough, rigorous, and prevent impulsive decisions. Still, he mused, no legislation could truly prepare a soul for such a monumental choice.

The SnailRabbit App

Pushing his thoughts aside, Alex took a deep breath and unlocked his phone. The SnailRabbit app’s logo—a snail with rabbit ears—bounced merrily as he tapped on it. Marketed as the fastest or the slowest delivery service depending on your mood, SnailRabbit was a phenomenon, ensuring you got what you wanted, how you wanted it.

Navigating to the health section, he found the JustEnd kit. The description was clinical, detached: “For those making the ultimate choice, ensuring peace, tranquillity, and dignity.” The reviews were polarized—some praising its painless method, while others were outright condemnations from people who’d lost loved ones.

He hesitated only for a moment before hitting ‘order.’ A menu popped up: “Preferred Delivery Method?” with two options—Snail (2-3 days) or Rabbit (within 24 hours). Below them, the rabbit had a cute add-on: “Add a fluff-ball to your order! Our rabbits are not just fast; they’re cuddly!”

Choosing the rabbit, and with a half-hearted chuckle, adding the fluff-ball option, Alex completed the order. As the confirmation blinked on his screen, he felt a strange mixture of dread and anticipation. He was merely a journalist caught in the throes of a story, wasn’t he? But the line between the observer and the participant had blurred, and now he was waiting for a cuddly rabbit with the weight of the world in its paws.

The sky had taken on the tints of twilight, painting the world in hues of lavender and rose. Alex’s doorbell chimed, breaking his chain of thoughts. Approaching the door cautiously, he opened it to find Tim.

Tim wore a small blue vest adorned with the SnailRabbit logo, a pouch strapped across his body. His large, dark eyes regarded Alex with what seemed like a mixture of curiosity and understanding.

“Hello, I’m Tim! Your friendly SnailRabbit courier.”

Alex crouched down, extending a hand. Tim pulled out a package from his pouch and held it out to Alex. It was the matte black box of the JustEnd kit.

For a moment, the gravity of the situation felt juxtaposed with the surrealness of a rabbit delivering it. Alex managed a smile, whispering a “Thank you, Tim.” The rabbit gave a small nod, its ears twitching in acknowledgment.

Tim then surprised Alex further. From another compartment in his pouch, he pulled out a tiny leaflet that simply read, “Choices are hard. Remember, there’s always time to think.” It was an unexpected gesture, one that hinted at a deeper programming within these courier creatures. Perhaps they weren’t just built to deliver but to offer a semblance of comfort in their own unique way.

With his package in hand and the leaflet’s message echoing in his mind, Alex watched as Tim gave one last nod, turned around, and hopped away, disappearing into the hues of the setting sun.

*
JustEnd Kit Manual

Introduction:
The JustEnd kit is designed with utmost precision, empathy, and sensitivity. This comprehensive guide will walk you through its components and their proper utilisation. Please ensure you thoroughly understand the contents and procedures before commencing.

Box Overview:
The kit is contained within an austere, matte black box, emphasising the gravity of its purpose. Upon opening, you will notice:

QR Code: Directs you to an encrypted, step-by-step video tutorial.
Sealed Envelope: Contains this printed instruction manual.

Kit Components and Description:

Anaesthetising Patch: Transdermal patch that ensures painless sedation.
Time-Release Capsules: Induces cessation of vital functions painlessly.
Biodegradable Mouth Guard: Facilitates proper dissolution of capsules.
Disposable IV Line: Alternative to capsules; liquid cessation agent.
Heart Monitor Clip: Confirms cessation of cardiac activity.
Final Message Recorder: For recording final sentiments.
Identity Verification System: Ensures correct, authorised usage.
Instruction Manual: Comprehensive guide on the process.
Comfort Blanket: Provides physical warmth and solace.

Usage Procedure:

Verification: Utilise the Identity Verification System. Place finger on scanner and enter the unique passcode provided during purchase.
Tutorial Access: Scan the QR Code and watch the tutorial. Familiarity reduces potential missteps.
Patch Application: Affix the Anaesthetising Patch to the inner wrist. Firm pressure for 10 seconds ensures secure placement.
Capsule Ingestion: Post 10-minute patch application, ingest the capsules and position the mouth guard.
Monitoring & Recording: Attach the Heart Monitor Clip to the fingertip. Use the Final Message Recorder, if desired.
Comfort Phase: Envelop yourself with the Comfort Blanket and await the onset of the patch.
Confirmation: The Heart Monitor, linked to the JustEnd app, will signal the medical team upon cessation of cardiac activity. The recorder dispatches the final message.

Important Notes:

Ensure a calm environment free of disturbances during the process.
Engage in a thoughtful reflection before commencing; this is an irrevocable decision.
The JustEnd kit prioritises your autonomy, dignity, and comfort in the process.

Thank you for placing your trust in JustEnd. Your serenity and dignity are our utmost priority.

In the dim glow of an old pub, where the hum of muted conversations merged with the aroma of aged wood and spilled ale, Alex sat across from Toby, nursing a glass of red wine. The two had been friends since their journalism school days, sharing triumphs, failures, and everything in between. This night, however, had an air of urgency about it.

“Have you heard of this, Toby?” Alex began, his fingers nervously tapping the edge of his wine glass. “This JustEnd app?”

Toby, leaning back in his chair, a wry smile playing on his lips, responded, “Ah, the modern solution to ancient existential woes. Yeah, I’ve heard whispers. Why?”

Alex hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s… it’s been haunting me, mate. Day and night. It’s like this digital spectre that won’t let me be.”

Toby’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? It’s just an app, Alex.”

“Just an app?” Alex retorted, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I’ve been reading up on it—reviews, debates from academics, even the public outcries. It’s far from just an app.”

Toby leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “Go on.”

“I found these testimonials,” Alex continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as if sharing a dark secret. “People’s last messages, farewell notes—all sent via the app’s built-in recorder. Each one is a… a cry from the void, a melancholy echo from the beyond. They’re trapped in this digital realm, and I can’t shake the feeling of them being restless spirits, trapped in the ones and zeroes.”

Toby took a long sip of his drink, processing what he’d heard. “Sounds eerie,” he admitted. “But you’ve covered darker stories before. Why is this getting to you?”

Alex’s eyes darted around the room, as if expecting to find one of those digital souls watching him. “It’s the immediacy of it, Toby. The knowledge that with just a tap or a swipe, you’re holding the power to end it all. To dictate your final chapter.”

Toby ran a hand through his hair. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s an illusion of control. A false sense of power.”

Alex shook his head. “Is it? Or is it the ultimate form of empowerment? The power to choose, to decide how and when.”

Toby’s eyes darkened. “Or a coward’s way out? Running from life’s battles?”

Alex’s gaze was unwavering. “Isn’t it a personal choice, though? Who are we to judge?”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them.

“Did you…” Toby began hesitantly, “Did you get one of these kits?”

Alex swallowed hard. “For research purposes. I thought maybe it would help me understand, give me some insights for the story I’m working on.”

Toby’s gaze was sharp. “And?”

“And… I haven’t used it,” Alex admitted, looking away. “But having it, knowing it’s there… It’s a constant temptation. A whisper in the back of my mind.”

Toby’s voice was soft but firm. “You need to get rid of it, Alex. That thing is dangerous—not just physically but mentally. It’s toying with your mind.”

Alex looked defeated. “I know, Toby. I know.”

The two friends sat in the semi-darkness of the pub, lost in their own thoughts. The gravity of the JustEnd app and its implications hung heavily between them. But in that shared silence was also a silent pact—a commitment to watch out for one another in a world where the lines between reality and digital were increasingly blurred.

After a while, Toby broke the silence. “You’re not alone in this, mate. Whatever you’re going through, whatever demons you’re battling, I’m here. We’ll get through this together.”

Alex met Toby’s gaze, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thanks, mate. That means the world.”

The illusion of control can be a powerful elixir, especially in a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable. For Alex, the JustEnd kit becomes not just a means to an end, but a symbol of the autonomy he’s been craving. It sits there, in its unassuming black box, offering the ultimate choice—a choice that nobody can make for him, and one that cannot be undone.

The more Alex delves into the intricacies of the kit, the more he feels like a spectator to his own life, watching himself from a distance. It’s almost an academic exercise: how far can he push this envelope before pulling back? After all, he tells himself, research demands thoroughness.

Unbuttoning his shirt sleeve, he took out the anaesthetising patch. The cold plastic met his skin, sending shivers running down his spine. “Like a trip,” he mumbled, “like those wild nights in the ’80s, searching for meaning at the bottom of a bottle or in the arms of a stranger.” As the tingling began, a rush of memories flooded in—those raw, passionate nights, the poetry of life in its purest, most unfiltered form. Everything felt more real back then.

As he applies the anaesthetising patch and feels the initial tingling sensation, a surreal calm washes over him. The capsules lie before him on the table, like a riddle to be solved or a challenge to be met. The heart monitor waits to bear witness to his final decision.

Yet as he contemplates ingesting the capsules, a thought nags at him. Is control really about the power to end one’s life, or is it the ability to navigate its complexities, to choose to keep fighting, keep living, despite the odds?

As the clock ticks and the sedative from the patch begins to seep into his system, Alex is gripped by a moment of startling clarity. Control isn’t just about steering life to a convenient end; it’s about managing the messy, difficult, and often beautiful chaos that makes up the human experience.

class MatteBlackBox:
def init(self):
self.contents = [‘patches’, ‘capsules’, ‘heart_monitor’]
self.user_emotion_weight = “disproportionate_to_size”
self.decisions = “pending”

class UserAlex:
def init(self):
self.status = “contemplative”
self.room_light = “dim”
self.choice = “undefined”

def ponder_choice(self):
    if self.choice in ["autonomy", "escape"]:
        return "binary_choice_made"
    else:
        return "complex_decision_pending"

class JustEndApp:
def init(self):
self.box = MatteBlackBox()
self.user = UserAlex()

def facilitate_interaction(self):
    # Detect box arrival and log emotion
    if self.box.user_emotion_weight == "disproportionate_to_size":
        print("Event: Box arrival detected. Potential high stakes decisions pending.")

    # Monitor user status
    if self.user.status == "contemplative" and self.user.room_light == "dim":
        print("Observation: User in deep introspection.")

    # Await user choice and facilitate accordingly
    user_decision = self.user.ponder_choice()
    if user_decision == "binary_choice_made":
        return "User has made a choice."
    else:
        return "Awaiting user decision."

app = JustEndApp()
app.facilitate_interaction()*

*
The black box sat in the dim light of the room, the matte surface drinking up the dull haze from the afternoon sun. Alex gazed at it for what felt like an eternity, its very existence taunting him, a beacon of finality amidst a life of indecision. It wasn’t much in its appearance—simple, understated—but he knew the weight of the choices it held. And Christ, choices were what he’d been running from his whole damned life.

This wasn’t just any ordinary box. This was a promise, a proposition, a damned ticket to the ultimate escape. If life had been a bar, this was the last call and he was debating whether to take one last shot or stumble out into the cold night. An escape from the raw deal the world had dealt him, where the cards were stacked and every bet was a bad one. Here was a way out of the game.

The weight of every regret, every missed opportunity, the women he loved and lost, the jobs that didn’t want him, the dreams that went up in smoke—they all seemed to converge in that box. He felt the crushing weight of his life bearing down on him, the failures and the heartbreaks, every damn one of them. They say the sum of a man’s life can be measured by his choices, but what do you do when every choice seems wrong?

The capsules, three of them, sat on his worn-out table, next to an old ashtray filled with cigarette butts. They looked almost innocent, like candies he used to buy from Mrs. Parker’s store as a kid, but he knew better. These weren’t candies; these were the culmination of his life’s symphony. The final note. The crescendo. They seemed to mock him, daring him to take the plunge.

His heart raced, and he glanced at the monitor. It stared back, cold, unfeeling, ready to document the final act. It felt odd, placing so much faith in a gadget. Yet there it was, a piece of tech to seal his fate.

Drinking a warm beer, its bitter taste cutting through his thoughts, he pondered the concept of control. What a fickle beast that was. He had spent years wrestling with it, trying to tame it, to make it dance to his tunes. But control had always eluded him, slipping away just when he thought he had it. Now, with this box, control was within reach, or so it seemed.

But was it really control? Was this final act the ultimate assertion of his will, or was it a surrender? A way of saying he had been beaten, that he couldn’t handle the wild, unpredictable ride of life? Every drink, every scar, every poem he’d ever written—they were all testimonies to his battles, his struggles, his victories and defeats. Wasn’t that control? The ability to take life’s punches and get back up?

A wave of drowsiness washed over him. The room started to blur, and the weight of his eyelids felt almost unbearable. He thought of his mother, her last days, the way she held onto life with a fierceness that both scared and awed him. She had known pain, real pain, but she never gave in. Wasn’t that control too? The power to decide to keep going, to keep living, to face another day no matter how bleak?

Time seemed to slow down, and he felt detached, like he was floating above, watching himself. The room, the box, the capsules—they all seemed distant, like props in a play he no longer wanted a part in.

Then clarity, like a punch to the gut. The real measure of a man, he realized, wasn’t in how he ended his story, but in how he lived it. Every mistake, every heartbreak, every goddamned hurdle was a testament to his spirit. His will to fight, to love, to write, to feel—it was all part of the beautiful, messy tapestry of life. And he wasn’t ready to give that up.

The room came into sharp focus. With newfound determination, he took off the patch, watching as its adhesive left a mark on his skin—a reminder of the choice he’d almost made. A choice he was glad he hadn’t. There was more to write, more to feel, more to live. The game wasn’t over, not yet.

Finally, with a sudden, sharp intake of breath, he swept the box off his table, scattering its grim contents across the room. It felt like breaking a spell, like waking up from a dream steeped in shadow and doubt.

In the quiet aftermath, Alex turned his gaze towards his neglected laptop. Words started to flow, not about the Health Minister’s deceit, but about his own journey into the abyss and back. As his fingers danced over the keys, he felt an unfamiliar sensation—a new lease on life granted by his very brush with its antithesis.

The JustEnd kit had promised to give him control over his ending, but what it gave him instead was a renewed appreciation for the messy, chaotic, beautiful struggle that was life. And in that moment, Alex realized that control wasn’t just the power to dictate how his story would end, but also the courage to turn the page and let it continue.

So he wrote, for the first time in what felt like eons, with a genuine passion, capturing every nuance, every emotional peak and valley of his eerie dalliance with the JustEnd kit. When he finally hit ‘publish’, it was not as an ending, but as a promise of more chapters yet unwritten in the book of his life.