We tell ourselves that we have a fundamental human right to comfort. To security. That polite service at a McDonalds and cheap gas for our cars are basic human needs. That business class airfare and fresh fruit in winter and this damn iPhone I’m writing on are things we cannot live without. And all the while, we let the true fundamental human rights be exploited and destroyed to support our privilege. We let migrant farmers starve to death while growing our food. We let the homeless freeze steps away from our artificially warmed rooms. We let children across the world go hungry while we throw away a third of the food we produce. We let ecosystems and species be destroyed in our quest for a growing market and cheap gas for our fancy cars. Mindless privilege at the expense of others is not a human right.

And at the end of it all, will it be worth it? Will any of it? All the people I hurt so I could live a quiet, sheltered life that I don’t deserve? Because sometimes, I think about the next world. The one my father believes in. The one where the last will be first and the first will be last. Because when we are last, what mercy will we be shown? We have shown none. When we’re the ones begging for mercy, for food, for a roof over our heads, when we’re the ones who are forced to watch as others celebrate while we are left in the cold - what will we do then? Will we cry? Will we plead, knowing our prayers will never be answered - never be answered because they go against the grain of capitalism and the good old Western free market? Maybe the words will sound different when they are coming from our mouths.

For a moment, Jet forgot how to breathe. Then the guilt started flooding over her, guilt and fear and beneath it all, the constant current of anger. Goddammit, she thought. I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t have to be here! She dug her nails into her purse. Dimly, she noted how her lime nail polish had flaked against the black leather. She noted it the way she noted the brightness of the overhead lights, the soft music, the faint breeze from the window. It was all there, but none of it seemed real to her somehow. It was like her senses had been dulled. Well, she thought, nothing left to do. No way to delay now. She was here. She reached out and grasped the door handle, pulling it open before her courage failed her. She opened the door so suddenly, she surprised herself. Her nerves were as tight as screws. From across the room, two figures glanced up in surprise, looking to see who had slammed their way into the ward. Her stepfather, on seeing her, shot her a glare with no real malice, and bent back over the bed as if she didn’t exist. Her stepbrother, Alex, gave her a smile, though it was laced with puzzlement - and a little pity, too. He stepped forward, taking her hands in his. “Jet,” he said. “I thought ... you weren’t going to make it.” She was sure that hadn’t been what he intended to say. “Is she ... “ Jet felt her voice trailing away, but Alex seemed to understand the implied question. “She’s not awake. Jet, I’m sorry, but ... Doctor Ernst doesn’t think she’ll regain consciousness.” Jet tried not to flinch. Her nails dug a little deeper into her purse. She could feel her breathing getting shallower, the way it used to back in high school. She tried to remember the breathing exercises she had done with her therapist the week before, but it didn’t help. She wasn’t an adult, with a job and an education and her own apartment. She was that scared little freshman again, the one who had no solace at school and none at home save that she found in a medicine cabinet. God, she thought scornfully, that’s the last thing I need. Start taking Mom’s meds again. That’ll really convince her I’m an adult. Jet held out a hand, trembling without realizing it. She was freezing, freezing from the inside out. Alex took her hand, and they stepped forward. One step. Then another. And the she was there, standing above her mother’s hospital bed. She was there. She was free, and employed, unencumbered, unafraid. She was alive and her mother was dying. Thank God. The thought came into her mind fully formed, before she could stop it. No, thought Jet furiously, that’s not me. That’s not who I am anymore, it’s not. I love you, Mom, please. Please, that’s not me. Jet managed a single, scraping breath - and then she burst into tears.