When Dennis was sixteen, he crept out to the barn one night and found the captive bolt pistol they used to euthanise the cattle. He pressed it to his forehead, breathed in deeply, and let his finger flutter against the trigger.
He didn't kill himself that night, but he wrestled with the thought for long after. When it returns to him, he reminds himself that he isn't a livestock animal whose dead body can be fashioned into food or material. His dead body will be an inconvenience. He'll be miserable while he lives but—through silent labour and selfless support—at least he will be useful.












