Sequel to Paul Bergeron

Hazel stood at the kitchen counter pouring their ration of food into bowl, preparing to mix it with water. George sat on the couch with a beer in his hand. Their lives were just as normal as ever. Hazel had been feeling sad about something that had happened weeks ago...but she couldn't remember what. It must not have been that important if she couldn't remember it.

There was a knock at the door. George turned his neck to see who might be stopping by their house this late at night. The weights in his neck made it nearly impossible for him to crane his neck that far. The handicap in his ear started clanging. He couldn't recall why he was looking at their front door.

Hazel slowly walked into the front entry to their home. She opened the door and peered her head out to see who was waiting. It was one of the HG men. "Hello, can I help you?" Hazel asked quietly.
The HG man looked at her and then, without even asking, came inside.

"We regret to inform you, that your son, Harrison Bergeron has been killed." the HG man said coldly.

"Oh my! That's terrible. What happened?" Hazel exclaimed, tears welled up in her small beady eyes.

George trudged over to stand beside his wife. He was very depressed to learn about his son.

"He escaped from prison. He threatened everything that Diana has worked to achieve for us all, a better life of equality. No one left behind. It was for the greater good. I'm sorry, but I'm sure you understand."

George was about to say something. This didn't sound right to him at all. An earth shattering noise started banging in his ears. The chaos was so terrible it sent him crashing into the concrete floor.

Hazel looked at the HG man. "I understand," she whispered. The man let himself out and Hazel looked down at her husband on the ground. She extended her hand to help him up. With great effort he was standing again.

A feeling of dread took over Hazel. But why? She didn't know. Whatever it was it was very upsetting. She sobbed and continued to make dinner. George lumbered into the kitchen. He pulled the icebox door open and helped himself to another beer. Although he didn't know why, George felt that he was going to need another after he finished the second bottle.

Hazel saw her husband slumped on the couch, the beer dangling from his hand. He wouldn't even notice. He was so intoxicated he wouldn't notice at all. With five beers already in his system, Hazel was right. George could barely make out the ballerinas on the TV screen.

She timidly stepped into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet door was open a crack. All the silver bottles and vials were arranged neatly inside. Her pale, frail fingers grasped one of the muscle relaxers. Hazel didn't want to be alive anymore. She downed more pills than she ever had before. More than the correct dosage. The bottle slipped from her hands. Standing was no longer an option. The feet keeping her up gave out. Her cheek pressed into the cool floor. Everything went dark. Her heart slowed. Memories flooded into her head. Of times with her son. What the world was like before. She would soon be going to somewhere better, she hoped.

All night, Hazel's lifeless body lie on the bathroom floor. George didn't notice. He was passed out on the couch with a beer in hand. The ballerinas on TV continued to dance.