Velvet cushion

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So hush, little baby, don’t you cry —
You know your daddy’s bound to die
And all my trials, Lord,
Will soon be over.

—Mickey Newbury, An American Trilogy

Just as everyone has a silver bullet, so too does everyone have, intended for them, a personalised, embroidered velvet cushion with a loaded revolver on it. Like a comet deep in the black space beyond the edge of your solar system it moves, imperceptibly but inevitably, closer to you.

For many this is a deep terror — it must be, seeing how many people doggedly remain employed in the financial services industry for many years longer than common sense would allow — but even the most fearful there is a tinge of relief, release, and hope: that there might be a better place, a better way, or even just that this

The worst case is when your silver bullet is the one who brings you the cushion.

Even so, go quietly.

See also

• Silver bullet
• survivor