A few weeks later, the Community had its yearly Ceremony. Mark attended more out of an inability to decide what else to do than anything else. He was feeling decidedly listless, with overtones of depression and hints of despair. Anna wasn't there, and it was his fault. Yes, it was the Community's fault, but that didn't excuse him. He'd made her depressed and miserable enough to go to them, to let them- no! He couldn't think about that.
He clapped mechanically at the end of each portion of the Ceremony, the sharp echoes of the applause fading into a dull monotone as they entered his brain. He looked up at the bright blue sky and wondered why he thought that he deserved to experience it, why he couldn't just die. The answer, of course, was Anna. She wouldn't have wanted it. As much as he hated to admit it, it was the truth.
Suddenly, his neighbor was nudging him on the shoulder. Shaking himself, he gave the man an inquiring glance.
"They're calling you," whispered the stranger. Nodding absentmindedly, Mark ascended the stage, walking through a fog of silent confusion at his behavior. Fortunately, he was long past giving a damn.
The Council of Elders ("pretentious name," some remnant of the old Mark whispered) awaited him. Having utterly missed the context, he assumed that they were going to announce his "Release," as they called it. He couldn't have cared less. If anything, he was glad of the opportunity to die without responsibility for the act.
As a result, he was nothing short of flabbergasted when a young woman handed him a tiny baby. "Her name is Marcia," she whispered.
He nodded slowly, remembering their application. It had been weeks ago, and the events since then had made him forget. When he had thought about it, he'd dismissed it, assuming that they'd have cancelled the request after they killed his wife.
"Thank you," he whispered with a gratitude which, much to his surprise, he felt. He gently carried the squirming bundle back to his seat. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to cry. She was so perfect, so beautiful, that he couldn't seem to stop smiling at her.
The Ceremony continued. He didn't pay attention to a single word of it. He just stared at his lap, rocking the small life that had been entrusted to him. As he watched, she opened her eyes and yawned. She reached out a fleshy hand, fingers almost round from their short length and profusion of fat. He held out his finger for her to hold and a tear ran down his cheek.
"Hi-ya, Marcie," he whispered. "I'm your daddy."