System lag

The letter arrived unexpectedly, resting on the table as if it had been there all along. Upon reading it twice and thrice, the contents revealed a transfer to Mount Oba, the date of which was enclosed. The letter was folded into a crane, a gesture the writer had always thought they weren't skilled at, but their hands seemed to remember things their mind wished not to.

The window overlooked the railway lines, and below, Tokyo moved forward without hesitation. Drones flew by, while turnstiles admitted and denied individuals. A public announcement echoed, reminding them of Balance being Care. The writer, now eighty-three, recalled the practice of Ubasuteyama, where elderly were sent to the mountain when times were tough.

This was once seen as cruel but clever. Now, it's merely administrative. The writer's oestradiol tablets ceased arriving years ago, and their reflection showed a softened face and a faint swelling in their chest. Despite these changes, the writer believed they were still the same person. The first letter with their chosen name blacked out caused great distress, feeling like they were being mocked.

They filed an appeal, and though an official update was promised, it never arrived. They were labeled Low Utility, High Cost, and carried a small pink triangle beside their file, indicating legacy gender-affirming care. The transfer day arrived, and the writer boarded the bus, attempting to smile despite the system's lag.