Plastic Paradise
by Daniel Guy There’s a luxury hotel few people know about, and it is situated on a small island two hundred miles out in the Indian Ocean. It is a place where people go to die. Imagine a luxury resort, with a fabulous restaurant and tastefully furnished wooden chalets, tucked among the trees, lining a beautiful white sanded beach. You go to Paradise Island on the understanding you will not be leaving. You take all your cash with you. You stay till the money is spent, so either you find your own way of dying, or they do it for you. This is made very clear. When you arrive you sign an agreement to say that you will ‘check yourself out’ as the management euphemistically put it, or trained staff employed by the hotel will be obliged to assist you. Guests are assured that the process would be quick and painless, but few hang around long enough to verify this. Whatever guests decide to do, Paradise Island is a place where they are sure to enjoy their final days. The resort...