Feminist Futures by Moya Bailey

Torpor by Catalina Berretta

It took years. It took reaching the edge, wanting to give up, giving up but returning to the task. Out of a sense of what? Duty? Responsibility? Guilt? Was it something that ran in her blood, so she could not escape it? Or maybe it was the insomnia that found her every night since the phone rang. The not knowing that kept her awake as she rested her bones against the hard cottage floor, a thin worn blanket beneath her. The pale wane of the moon and its dancing stars twinkling through the window, winking at her. Somewhere out there, there was someone else on the other side of the phone.

She remembers the day the phone rang.

It rang on a Tuesday at 3 o’clock. The sun had dipped slightly, the scorching heat of noon withering with the laziness of the afternoon. She was sitting in the shade room of the cottage. The sun room was impossible to be in during the day. Even within the shade’s room sealed doors and slow moving fans, sweat would drip down her back. She was counting her food packs. The sealed protein packs were the base food item that could be earned by a day’s work at the Factory. It was a joyless meal, sometimes wet, sometimes like grains of sand in her mouth. A double shift would earn her enough tokens for something more tasty but she could barely make it through one shift as it was. The exhaustion of two shifts welding metal always left her weak in her arms and thighs. If she appeared tired she could be reported to Physical Disability, which was not worth a few minutes of pleasure. Physical Disability meant restricted work hours and even less food. So one shift at a time it was, but her supervisor

liked her work ethic and would sometimes sneak her an extra pack. Those she packed away, beneath the floorboards of the cottage. It was really a housing unit, a concrete two-floor building, with the front room’s window deeming it “the sun room” Despite the locks and the security of the individual housing units, nothing could really keep out the scorching sun when it reached its highest peak.

So anyway, the phone rang.

A cluttering sound that filled up the empty room with jittering anxiety. She stared at it, frozen in place, her mind blank in the face of such an alien sound. It ran again, this time shuddering against the wooden table, inching towards her. The candle that flickered next to it trembled in return, and the shadow cast by the large plastic phone seemed to grow in size. The back of her neck prickled, her hands twitched, suddenly clammy. In the distance, the wind whistled, mocking her state of stillness. The phone rang for a third time and she leapt to it, the chair she’d been resting on clattering rudely, shattering the silence that had befallen the room. Like a newborn deer finding its legs, she fumbled and grabbed the phone with her hands, pressing the receiver to her ear.

Her ear, keen and trained, listened for sound. Yearned for sound.

And sound there was. The steady whirring of the fan. The rare whistling of an afternoon wind caressing the cottage. In the far distance, the grind of machinery from the Factory, clangs echoing from the yard of metal.

And the sound of a voice on the other side.

They called themselves the New Earth. She wasn’t sure what it meant that she was part of the Old Earth, it was the only Earth she’d ever known and she wasn’t sure how a distant planet could also be called Earth. But here they were. The conversations were short at first. It was challenging to try and understand how they spoke and what they were trying to say. Vestiges of English tangled together Mandarin and Hindustani, wrapped up in three thousand years of knowledge she didn’t even know existed. But how things were now on ‘Old’ Earth, language was constantly shapeshifting. She could walk through the rooms of the Factory and hear fifteen different languages in the span of ten minutes. She spoke Spanish perfectly, at the demand of her mother and English, not as well. It had always bothered her, despite no one around her having a perfect accent. Heritage, her mother had insisted. It’s your duty. Spanish is your tongue. But the New Earthers understood her perfectly. They were, after all, originally from Old Earth.

It had been a small expedition, one very few people believed in and one certainly no one thought to fund. At least, until her great-great-great grandmother, Inez came along. A brilliant scientist, married to an equally brilliant but far richer businesswoman. Their paths had crossed way back in 2011, when Inez was in Norway on her research circuit, promoting her book: “Human Hibernation: Inducing Torpor for Space Exploration.” Their fascination for space travel had brought them together and perhaps it was the madness that kept them

together after, as they spent years continuing Inezâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s research. Everyone thought them crazy at least. Even to this day, the great Hyacinth Expedition is viewed as one of the most foolish expeditions. A 200 year space mission, aided by human hibernation. Inez had more than once been hailed as brilliant but more often than note, simply written off as a madwoman.

Veronica feels like one anyway. Talking to someone who was human but not quite, in a distant star, far in the future that existed concurrently with her present. Through a telephone. She should be desperately curious about it. Her mother and grandmother and great grandmother had been. Desperate, obsessive women. But she is more like her father. The knowledge that something that looked like her but not quite existed in a plane of reality that contradicted the very time and place she existed in made her want to curl up in a ball. Made her heart feel like it was going to expand outside of her chest, and gravity would end and sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d be falling through space endlessly. No grip to reality.

Since the beginning, the signal was weak. She imagined them with all their advanced technology, surrounded by beeps and flashing lights. In her head, it was like an episode of Star Trek she remembers watching with her mother when she was very young. Before the Great Crisis. But what she imagined, like her memory of the time before, was fuzzy, a blur of colors in her head. She had no idea what they looked like.

“We are human like you.” They said this every time she asked for details. Matter of fact. Calmly. She’d never heard them swear or raise their voice or change their tone from the calm, logical voice she’d been hearing every day for two months.

They wanted to know about Earth. They carried great stories with them, stories of their ancestor’s origin country. As advanced as they were, their curiosity burned as greatly as hers. She told them, as much as she could, of the burning scorched earth that surrounded her, and the vast majority that was underwater miles from where she was. Of the Great Crisis. She told them of the pillaging, the fighting, the violence. Of governments descending into chaos, the people taking their lives into their own hands, their own great mother Earth turning on them. Of the survival.

How after the Great Crisis, the streets were the graves. Bodies, grotesque in their death, piled up. The government was constantly protested, raided. Resources were scarcer than ever and no one trusted anyone. But there were people with power, and those people still believed in capitalism above all. So they stepped in, billionaires who were drowning in their resources and money and set up Factories. Large modernist buildings surrounded by trailer sized cottages. You could die out there, try to survive with whatever Mother Earth had left behind. Or you could join a Factory, and work and survive. Her mother had always told her, her priority was to survive. Survive for the Hyacinth Expedition. Everything her family had ever done had been for them. So when they reached out, her family– and now just her– would be there, waiting, ready.

“Hello.”

“Good morning, Veronica.”

“Good morning.” It never gets old. Talking to them at least. They’re so formal and pleasant. She wonders if they’d ever show any other emotions.

They would call every week on the dot, on Sundays at 12 AM. This gave her time to sneak away from the Factory long enough to not arise suspicion but also enough of a window to have more than ten minutes to speak.

But she didn’t know what their intentions were. She was not like the women before her, with a relentless drive to seek answers. She was wary. She didn’t trust them. She should’ve but she didn’t. She didn’t even know what they want. Every time she tried to get answers, they would answer vaguely, diplomatic statements.

“We are the New Earth, cousin. We simply want to connect with the Old Earth.”

They called her Cousin. As if they were related. But they never spoke of Inez and her wife. Her questions had been ignored or sidestepped or redirected. Time ran differently there. They insisted the hours ticked by according to the original clock from the Old Earth and yet Inez had long been dead, that she was sure of and she wasn’t even sure if the people on the other

side of the phone were even related to her. From her conversations, she suspected 2000 years had passed on the New Earth.

Maybe that’s why she couldn’t listen to her gut and recognize that there was something untrustworthy and not right about them. 2000 years of discovery and technology and medicine. 2000 years worth of knowledge. She wanted that knowledge. She wanted to know how they were able to be everything she’d imagined a utopia to be like.

From their conversations, she understood there was no global warming despite the New Earth working similarly to the Old Earth. They had bustling cities and factories. They had carried human history with them and built from there. The Industrial Revolution had never taken place in the New Earth yet what was learned from that era existed. There was no Climate Change crisis or even threat of.

“Our Earth is our home. We treat it as such. It would only make sense to employ practices that will allow for its health and longevity.”

They seemed like the perfect, liberal free world. Their social structures and norms did not seem rooted in deep prejudices that manifested as systemic discrimination. They spoke of their norms so nonchalantly, she felt frustrated at times. At how simply they saw the world.

“Sex is a private matter that only concerns the hospital and doctors.” They always stated their reality. Like a fact.

“You can’t tell?”

“Tell?”

“Uh, like guess...based on how they look.”

There’s a moment of silence. She’s stumped them but it’s happened before.

“Sex is a private matter that concerns only specific parties, such as medical professionals. How would one guess a person’s sex? It would be a violation of privacy.”

“So... you have no gender?”

“Antiquated. Illogical.”

Veronica thinks of Michelle, one of her partners at the Factory. Now everyone wore the same shapeless clothes, cut their hair short for hygiene and makeup and accessories were such a thing of the past it’s hard to imagine anyone wasting their time and energy of such frivolities. But once upon a time they existed, and once upon a time the need for survival didn’t outweigh the social constructs that had held everyone in place. And gender mattered. It mattered so much it was on people’s identification cards and laws were in place to ensure people followed their assigned gender. It was getting better though, before the Great Change. People were fighting back, for their freedom and their right, their right to be who they truly

were. Michelle was one of those people. She wonders what Michelle would think of the New Earth and their view on gender. She didn’t miss the days legislators would lobby for the imprisonment of transgender individuals but she wears her shapeless clothes with disdain and talks longingly of the recordings of drag shows she’d found as a child online. There were some things the New Earth didn’t understand. But when she tried to question the way they thought of things, they’d never budge. They weren’t interested in learning new ways of life. They’d found the “right one.”

It had shocked her at first, the matter of fact way in which they spoke about issues she remembers being at the center of controversy. Issues that had led to protests, violence, death, being abandoned by your parents, being shunned by society. They had none of that. But she couldn’t understand why. If they were both human beings, how did they get it “right”?

There were warning signs. Little details that were odd in a different light. Perhaps it took her so long to decipher because so much of what the New Earth was was like a dream. One where humanity finally got it right. But she should’ve known that wasn’t real.

“Oida-L’o and I are waiting to hear back from our compatibility test.”

There was something about Oida-H’m. All New Earthers seemed a little cold to Veronica. She knew logically, on the other side of the phone was someone who looks and acts like she does. Someone human. But there was this abyss between them that she can’t get over. Oida-H’m was younger. They were the biological child, or to be politically correct as she’d learned, product of Oida-M’p.

“What’s a compatibility test?”

“The standard process for a matching.”

“What is matching?”

“How are you matched?”

“Um, you aren’t?”

“How are you matched?” They do that sometimes. When they are unsatisfied with your answer. Or when they can’t understand what you’re saying.

“You just...figure it out? You go on dates and feel each other out. Or at least, that’s what people used to do.”

“You go on...dates?”

“Yeah, like, you go for dinner or a walk in the park.” Or at least, you used to. Now you find warmth wherever you can, in the dark corners of the Factory, or under scratchy blankets in your allotted cottage, hoping to hell no one catches you.

“But how does one human knows whether the other is compatible before matching?”

“Well, there’s attraction. But I guess you just don’t? Isn’t that kind of the point of love? it’s a leap of faith.”

“You define love as a leap of faith. That is an Old Earth definition.”

“Yeah but have you never been in love?”

“Love is a historical artifact. Belonging only to the Humans from the Old Earth It’s beneath the New Earth experience.”

“Huh? How can you not have encountered love? I mean, love goes beyond just romance or matching. Love for family, friends, nature...Earth. Yourself.”

“So much of its pain, it was decided not to include. We can survive and thrive without it.”

“Wait I don’t understand. What do you mean? How is love gone?”

“Love is an emotion, is it not?”

“Yes?”

“Why would we have any use for that? That belongs to the Old Earth.”

“What? You mean you don’t feel? Emotion?”

“We don–” T he line cuts short.

“I’m sorry, Oida-H’m had to step away. We have a Council meeting scheduled so we must cut the conversation short. Goodbye Veronica.” The line goes dead. Veronica stares at the phone in her hand, trying to understand. Emotion belonging to the Old Earth. Love being antiquated. How could emotions be antiquated? Why had Oida-H’m been cut short? They hadn’t mentioned anything of a meeting. It had been so abrupt of an ending. Oida-H’m had said something they shouldn’t have. She lays on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Too exhausted to keep wondering, sleeps claims her.

In the Factories, love was not prohibited. Women were administered shots for birth control and men were strongly encouraged to get vasectomies. All services courtesy of the Factory. Fraternization was discouraged but not prohibited, as long as it did not get in the way of work. She didn’t like Talhe at first, at least for anything other than fraternizing. He’d been persistent in being her friend and the last thing she wanted was friendship or community or trusting anyone else. Because she had to keep her own drive for survival secret. Talhe was silly and a hard worker, who mostly kept his head down but also snuck her extra spoonfuls of jam during food breaks. And eventually she gave in to her desires and the comfort of another body. With time, they spent less time making love and more time talking. And suddenly, he was not just a body, he was someone she loved. She’d made her peace with that. At least

until she got sick and missed a couple days of work which meant working overtime once her health recovered, Which meant missing her scheduled shot. Which meant getting a contraband pregnancy test and taking it in the solitude of her cottage, which sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d worked very hard to gain enough tokens to live alone in. Crouched over the hole on the floor, her â&#x20AC;&#x153;toiletâ&#x20AC;?. Staring at the impossibility before her.

A white stick. A Smiley Face. Mocking her.

She is pregnant.

She throws up. Her throat burns and her eyes burns, as she crouches over the bucket in the corner of the room. She holds herself up, bracing herself against the bucket. Once the nausea passes, she slides down and presses her cheek against the floor, her breath coming out in slow puffs. The world feels so still in that moment. So empty. Just her. Just her and the new life forming inside of her.

The next day, the paranoia that someone will notice is a presence on the back of her neck. She heads to work with her head low, striding in determined to work hard and not cause noise. It smells like asphalt, like it always does. It's nauseating smell that follows her even once she leaves. She reaches the end of her shift feeling sick every time. Even when she collapses onto her bunk bed, the clank of the machinery fighting against the hard earth rings in her ears, she feels the heavy dizziness inside her.

Some days she wishes she had the job of gatherer: . But she appreciates welding, even if it’s a monotonous job that is dangerous enough that she has to stay on high alert. But in general, staying on high alert is a good idea in a Factory.

The Factories. Sprung up around different parts, these were philanthropists’ solution to hunger and thirst and general lack of access to basic survival necessities by the majority of the population. Which at this point, had been halved since the Great Crisis.

She heads past the security checkpoint, letting an automated robot prick her finger to check her identity.

“ASSIGNMENT: KITCHEN. ROOM 00451. 07:00 AM TO 20:00 PM HOURS.” The robot barks at her and then zooms off to check in another worker. She’s rarely assigned to cook, having listed her preference for the hard labour that yields the most tokens. She heads to elevator which takes her to the first basement floor where the kitchen is located.

Doña Estrella is singing again, this time a Mexican Ballad, famous from 1882. If there’s one place where the atmosphere is slightly looser, it’s the kitchen. Doña Estrella is the best cook.

“Cielito Lindo is the pride and joy of Mejico! Ay, cuanto los escuchabamos… .que dulzura de cancion.” Doña proclaims, bustling around the kitchen, humming as she placed mounds of weeds into the grinder. Doña’s singing always brought joy to her heart. It reminded her of being held by her mother, as rare as those times were and when her father was alive. Now, he

had been a good hugger. Her heart clenched both in sadness, missing her father whose body had long decayed in the middle of Arizona’s desert and in joy, of hearing the thrilling sounds of Doña’s rich voice. He’d always dreamt of a better life for themselves, had believed in the Earth. Had left the safety of the Factories. Had been claimed by the dessert.

“Vero, I got you something.” Doña waves her over, snapping her back into the sterile kitchen. ‘Start chopping these.” She signals at a bucket of dark potatoes before slipping her hand into Veronica’s pocket and dropping something light. “Enjoy,” she whispered before stepping back and picking up the song where she left off. Classic Doña, she’d always slip her little blocks of sugar, just because.

The week seems to crawl by. Even as she lies with Talhe in the darkness of her room, watching his chest gently rise and fall, she can’t stop thinking about what Oida-M’p said. They don’t feel? She can’t understand it at all and the days between her and Sunday seem to move a snail’s pace. Talhe shudders next to her and snuggles closer. Ignoring the guilt she feels for hiding the positive pregnancy test, she snuggles in as well. He is snoring very gently now, the lines around his eyes smoothed out. The scar that runs down the side of his face, a casualty from outside life at the Factory, seems softer in the moonlight. Her heart clenches and she knows she loves him. Love is a historical artifact, Oida-M’p had said. Why would they ever let it become a thing of the past? Even here, on this dying Earth, with her aching limbs and tired mind, she knew what she felt was more precious than anything else.

By the time Sunday has rolled around, and a day’s work had been finished and the scorching sun had fallen, she doesn’t wait to greet them before she asked for answers. She needs to understand what was going.

“I want to know.”

“I see….” Oida-M’p seems more cautios today. Like they’re choosing the words more carefully. we believe you are ready to understand something about us. We are like you but not quite.”

“How so?”

“When our ancestors first came to this planet, they’d been traveling for 200 years. This they knew. It was a trajectory they’d planned. Your great-great-great-great grandmother was a pioneer in her field. She knew this journey was worth it. She knew this planet was the new home for the human race–”

“I know that.” Veronica cuts Oida-M’p off. Her tone is cold and she tries to atone herself, speaking softly into the phone. “I know, what do you mean you are different?”

“She made a mistake. Inez.”

She feels herself go cold.

“What do you mean?”

“You have to understand– hibernation was new to them. Humanity never put a human to sleep in space before, let alone for 200 years. The hibernation– physically it worked. But it was their minds that did not hibernate. And they were alone. The first settlers– completely alone within their tanks. It was a method of survival, what they did.”

“Method of survival?”

“The body is an incredible thing. As an act of self-preservation, the amygdala recomposed itself. See, the main issue with physical hibernation but mental activity is the emotion: the boredom, the fear, the anxiety. Indeed, it must’ve been a terribly painful process but by the time Inez and her crew arrived at what became our home, the capability for any type of emotion had been ripped from them, by them.”

She imagines Inez, locked inside a chamber, body strapped down, body asleep. Mind racing. Alone. Alone for two hundred years.

“But their method of survival became the New Way. And the New Way is the right one.”

“But to never feel again–”

“Is power. Look at your earth. You live in pain and poverty, enslaved to money. Enslaved to your survival. Our Earth is green and thriving. We are a community. We live long lives. We help each other.”

No. No, that’s not right. There’s a voice in her that knows it’s not right.

“I’m– I’m sorry, I…” she doesn’t know what to say. What could possibly be said?

“It’s alright. We understand this is a lot of new information for you. If you have any questions for us, we’d be happy to answer.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be happy. You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“It’s a common phrase from Old Earth. I’ve been studying them to increase your level of comfort during our conversations. And no, happiness as an emotion I do not know it. But I also do not know of the pain and solitude and helplessness that you must all feel, in that Old Earth.”

“I’m sorry, I need some time to think.” She doesn’t want to speak with them anymore. She suddenly has a violent urge to smash the phone against the wall or throw it out the window.

“We understand. But before you go Veronica, you must know the purpose of this connection is not simply to communicate, but to one day come together. We can help you. We can fix your Earth.”

“Fix our Earth?”

“Your earth is dying: a pitiful excuse for a race. It’s not your fault however. It’s in your nature, your capability to feel and not act rationally. We are prepared to merge with the Old Earth and teach the New Way.”

She doesn’t even know what to say, staring at the clock ticking in front of her, the absurd way it looks like a face with a nose. The needle moving forward at every second.

“What exactly do you mean by teach?”

“There are many steps to the overall goal but it would require an aspect of surgery, to ensure compliance with the New Way. But if we are to merge–“

“You mean absorb! Merging implies equality, you want to cut away our ability to feel!”

“Veronica, what has the ability to feel brought to mankind? Your Earth is in ruins. Your people have fallen to chaos over and over again. There’s no question it would be the best choice.”

She doesn’t answer. So many thoughts rush through her head, and she understands that they are not offering a choice. The clock keeps ticking.

“We will give you some time to think it over and speak with you next week then. Goodbye Veronica. And please, remember what I said: this is a place of fulfillment. There is none of your suffering here.”

She doesn’t bother saying goodbye, cutting off the call without hesitation. Her head is spinning.

Of course she tells Talhe. When he steps into the sun room, she takes one look at him and it all pours out of her.

The expedition. Her ancestor's obsession with hibernation. The phone. The New Earth. The baby. Once she’s done talking, Talhe sits quietly, staring at her.

“So they want you to join them?”

She huffs, “no, they want to ABSORB us. They want to take us, cut us up and leave us as unfeeling, logical robots!”

“Veronica...what do we have left here? What kind of life are leading, for ourselves, for ou- for our child?”, he pleads with her.

“Then we make a new life. We fight back, we figure out how to fix it! Maybe I don’t know, wewe start a revolution!”

“A revolution? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know–…”, she sits down on the chair, shaking her head. “I just know that what we have is precious. And I spent my whole life waiting for this New Earth. But it’s not for us. We are alive and we feel and that is what we must protect.”

He sighs and sits next to her, placing a hand on her leg.

“What if there’s nothing to protect? What if we can’t fix how things are?”

“So maybe we don’t fix it. Maybe this is it, the end and humanity is doomed and we all die. But what is life without the struggle?”, she argues, insistent.

“Can’t you see this is our way out? Finally. Finally we can leave, we can get ou–” Talhe is raising his voice now, and she stands, crossing the room in a burst of emotion before turning around, eyes intent on his face.

“We cannot give our humanity up.” Her voice rings through the small room. His eyes meet hers and she can tell she’s scared him. She wills herself to breathe, to stop the room from spinning, to stop herself from rushing towards him and shaking the living hell out of him.

“Do you want to live a full life without feeling anything?”

He looks away. Her eyes trace the scar down his face, the way it curves down his chin and disappears into the collar of his shirt.

“I am tired of feeling pain. Aren’t you?” he asks, and his eyes are sad and his mouth turns down into a firm line. The fight goes out of her with a breath. “I am tired of it. I’m tired of the days, and the smell of asphalt and the faceless regime that owns my body and my soul. I am tired of the Factory.”

“Don’t you get it, Talhe?” she kneels next to him, placing a hand on his knee. “This New Earth– it’s another Factory.” He shakes his head looking away, but she places her hand on his cheek, nudging him back until they’ve locked eyes. “But we have the chance. A chance to be free. A chance to feel hope.”

The room is quiet. The sun is bathing the room in a glow of light.

“Ok. I’m willing to fight for that chance.”

The phone in her hand is light. Simple plastic encasing a mess of wires. There’s a cool breeze. She feels a gentle nudge against her lower abdomen. She places her hand where she feels him kicking. On this Earth, there are no birds or trees. There is no God or meaning or plan. There is no answer. But there is her, and her baby and Talhe saving her his mini meat pies and Doña Estrella with her singing and blocks of sugar and sometimes at night, she feels the gentlest breeze caress her bare arms. And even when the grief she feels at the absence of her father freezes her heart, it is thawed by the love he always gave her. She places the phone on the flat ridge of a stone. Now the axe in her hand is heavy. But the swing is easy.

Later she meets Talhe under the moonlight, and she asks him the question that’s been weighing on her mind since she destroyed that phone.

“Talhe.”

“Yeah?”

She looks at him, his profile outlined in the stark moonlight. The back of her neck prickles from a slight breeze. The dirt beneath bare feet rumbles slightly. In her stomach, she imagines her baby as the size of a peanut, new life forming. From afar, the sounds of the Factory cease as its gates close with an echoing clank. The red light beams from the Lighthouse, like a warning. Like a beacon.

“You want to start a revolution with me?” she grins at him, feeling the slow moving ease of hope in her chest, the lightness of being. Talhe grins back. The Factory is silent in the distance. The wind whistles.

“Where do we start?”

ANOTHER GREEN WORLD By Bianca Estensen-Tijerino

Dr. Moya Bailey Feminist Futures Fall â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19

CAST: SPINNER: 23, film student at UC Berkeley working on her capstone project. Hella gay, hella California. A LHB (long-haired butch). Says dude a lot. Latinx, Leo, doesn’t answer to anyone except her friends. Very curious about the disappearances that have been happening around town.

SASHA: 25, working adult. NICKNAME: Sashi. NOT Sashita because that sounds like Shit and she hates that. Smart and sharp, doesn’t mince words. Dramatic, but fun. A Capricorn. Wears a golden necklace around her neck that says “Sasha” in cursive. Spinner’s sibling. Dating a dude name Cesar. Good at seeing through bullshit, good at bullshitting others. Short temper, gets stressed out easily. Also very curious, but mostly because nothing ever happens around here.

JUDY: The white woman who started a cult in their town.

SCENE: UPPER MIDDLE CLASS SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD IN CALIFORNIA. NEAR FUTURE. NO PARTICULAR SEASON, PERPETUALLY SUNNY. JUDY’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM. 1980s ART DECO REVIVAL - ALL WHITE, GOLD ACCENTS HERE AND THERE. GAUDY FURNITURE, SWEEPING DRAPES. PORTRAITS OF HERSELF ON THE WALL AND DECORATED WITH SEVERAL DISPLAY CASES OF FABERGE EGGS. EVERY PILLOW MUST! HAVE! TASSELS!(Important).

SPINNER is in an uncomfortable and deeply ornate arm chair, across from an equally ornate victorian couch where JUDY is seated. Behind SPINNER, SASHA has film recording equipment set up.

NOTE ON STAGING: The way I have envisioned this story is through a camera lens, in short film format, and not on the stage.Both could work, but I like the details of camera.

NOTE ON CASTING: As far as casting goes, Sasha and Spinner are not white latinx women, and shouldn’t be portrayed as such.

SPINNER Thanks so much again for agreeing to this interview, Mrs. Dean. I know you must be very busy this time of year.

JUDY Oh itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no problem dear, I always have time for anyone interested in our community. When I got the call about your documentary I was very intrigued, I had to see what all the fuss was about. Oh and please do call me Judy. Tea?

SPINNER No, no thank you. SASHI?

SASHA Uh, no thanks.

JUDY Well, suit yourselves.

SPINNER Your house is so beautiful, do you mind if we get some filler shots of some of your personal photos and items you have out? I think it will add a lot of character to the documentary. 4

JUDY Of course! Let me just touch up my lipstick before you get that camera rolling! Don’t want to risk looking like a backwater whore on national television. Be right back.

[Judy winks at them and walks away, the sound of her footsteps following her into the bathroom. We hear a door slam shut. SPINNER keeps their eyes wide open and locked on the bathroom door, SASHA makes a face at SPINNER. SPINNER notices and double takes at SASHA, then shoots back the same attitude]

SPINNER (intense whispering) WHAT? SASHA YOU think SHE’S got something to do with the disappearances that have been happening around town? Spinner, I know you wanted to do this for your little project or whatever but...I dunno. She’s probably just a crazy old lady. What if she finds out?

SPINNER She won’t. Sashi I can’t explain it I just have a feeling that Horizon is doing some fuck shit. Dylan Villarreal? Miché Castañeda? The Vegas? I was tight with them for years and they just fall off the face of the Earth?

SASHA They aren’t the most reliable neither though. Remember when Dylan left for like three weeks and everyone was hella worried cause he didn’t say anything but he’d just taken the train up to Alberta to perform at some jank ass Jamrock Fest?

SPINNER Yeah wait that is true, and no one believed it because no one thought he would get that far in his soundcloud rap career…ok you’re right about that one. But MICHÉ? And the Vegas??? Sashi, if somethings up she would know. We have a solid cover, all we do now is keep our mouths shut and let her talk herself into a corner. We’ll have what we need by the time this is over. Just a few hours.

SASHA (mumbling, looks around then down at her nails). ..should’ve called Cesar to give my last goodbye before coming out here to hang with some old lady and YOUR dumbass...

SPINNER (whispering intensifies) LOOK I’m not saying we should let our guard down, I’m just saying she won’t know anything if we don’t give her anything to work with. Okay? Just do your thing, I’ll deal with her. You know the plan if anything happ-

[The bathroom door swings open, JUDY is fussing with her rings and bracelets. She smiles brightly at them. Everything about her is pristine and perfect. She looks like she could have stepped out of a 1950s movie.]

JUDY Well, shall we get started? I am just so excited.

[She crosses the room to sit down on the sofa]

I never would have thought that I would be featured in a film. Though I always thought I had quite a charm but...well I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. Artists always do when they find their muses! SO. What would you like to know?

SPINNER Well, as we mentioned on the phone we are both from Roseville, born and raised. I’m doing a film for my capstone about our hometown and people like you that make it so... unique. I left the area for college and Sasha moved to Citrus Heights for work but every time we’ve come back home all we hear about is Horizon. No one was really able to explain it to us very well, they just kept saying we needed to come to meetings but since we both are so busy we never got round to it. We wanted to interview you about the community, you know...hear from the source!

JUDY 8

Well of course. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll do my best then.

[SPINNER gets up and shows Sasha how to operate the camera. JUDY stares at them blankly, but with a pleasant blankness. She tilts her head to the side as they mess around with the equipment. After some grumblings and confusion, SPINNER sits back down and smiles wide at JUDY. SASHA looks grumpy, but focused. They finish.]

SPINNER all set.

SASHA ...rolling.

SPINNER Judy, if you could please introduce yourself.

JUDY My name is Judy Dean, I am 70 years old and the founder of Horizon here in Roseville, California. I am here today to discuss Horizonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s purpose as a community, what it has meant to the people of Roseville, and what it could mean as a nationwide movement. 9

[There is a pause. She looks at SPINNER with an expectant face, as if waiting for approval, or, the next question.]

SPINNER Great, keep going. Whatever you want.

JUDY Oh I suppose you’re right, aren’t you? Well, where to begin…

SPINNER We could start with some of your background.

[JUDY smiles, her teeth are bright and clean, and her mouth very wide]

JUDY I grew up in this area. As you know, Roseville is one of the biggest train junction towns west of the Rockies, truly one of the last remains of the Wild West. It was the heart of agriculture in Northern California. Oranges, olives, almonds, rice...those beautiful oak trees. All of the Sacramento area was incredibly fertile. My father owned some of the best orchards in Placer County, 10

just the best orchards. He had ties to all the local grocers in the area. He was quite charasmatic, very popular with the everyman, a good Republican. He would often bring home jams and fruit for me from one of his orchards. We were quite close. Eventually he got involved in the local politics, this was...oh, maybe 1965. We were by no means rich, just like any other family this side of the tracks. I was about ten years old. It was a very prosperous time for us.

[As JUDY is speaking, footage of 1960s Placer County is projected onto the scene. The projections change and continue to follow the story as she speaks]

JUDY It was an interesting time in Roseville. The world outside had changed a lot, at least from what we saw on the television. We saw it in the fields too. The Oakies left farming to go work for the railroads, and those...Mexican types...replaced them.

[SASHA shoots SPINNER a look, SPINNER can feel SASHA’s eyes but doesn’t flinch from JUDY’s gaze]

JUDY But in our day to day, the only thing that changed was the direction of the wind. My father was at the center of our community - we were very present in congregation. I remember so much of my early life was supported by that constant community. God has always been a guiding force in my life. So when discussing Horizon, I always want to pay appropriate honor to where I come from. My fathersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ideals and the way he kept the community together through thick and thin, even when our town started to lose money and times became hard... He always taught us that despite it all, we will be fine. We are Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s favorites afterall. I think it was that, and also when I met Rich. I was a preschool teacher at the time. This was around the 80s. He was a visionary - just like my father. We dreamed of a new way of life, a pure way of life. Regan was onto something, you know. But he was too soft. Rich...Rich had all the answers. And just so handsome. See?

[She picks up a small frame on the side table next to the sofa and puts it next to her face. SPINNER and SASHA squint at the same time, and lean in slightly. SPINNER lies.] 12

SPINNER Oh yes very handsome. I see you, Judy. You know, it’s so interesting, I feel like for such a small place I would have run into you around town at some point, right Sashi?

SASHA Yeah, I guess we just tended to avoid people our family didn’t trust I guess…

SPINNER Okay so, let's fast forward a little bit. Tell me more about Horizon.

[JUDY is visibly annoyed at SPINNER’s abrupt change of pace. She puts the picture down on the table with force]

JUDY Horizon was what I created when Rich passed away. I was reeling from the grief of being alone. I had lost my whole world. I had spent years building this life, and in a moment it seemed to have all come to an end. I hadn’t even realized until after his passing how different Roseville had become. 13

The same upstanding families I grew up with were all gone, the morality and pride in our colonial American ancestry was beginning to slip. So I turned to the one solace I hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t lost, the one connection I had always been able to maintain.

SASHA Let me guess, God?

[JUDY smiles at SASHA with flat lips that stretch across the bottom half of her face and form a solid thin line. Her eyes are cold.]

JUDY Yes. GOD. Something youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not familiar with?

[JUDY and SASHA lock intense eye contact, you can tell they hate each other. SPINNER interrupts in order to cool down the situation]

SPINNER We are! Yes we sure are. Maybe just not in the same way?

[JUDY closes her eyes and relaxes her face completely back into a pleasant, blank slate]

JUDY As I was saying, God had proven that he would always be there for me. And so I went to church, I prayed every day, and eventually God gave me people. And the people gave me purpose. They showed me what I needed to do. So I started Horizon. The intention was to start a new community, one that reflected true American values that our country had so obviously strayed from. No more sickness, no more mixing, no more sin. We create our own jobs, protect our own land….

SASHA So, you bought this land for Horizon, to build your commune?

JUDY Yes, Sasha, that is correct. But before that, I feel extremely ill. I really thought those were my last days. I had accepted it as fate, and made peace with my life, but at the last moments before passing I saw Him. I saw God. Girls, when I tell you……God is beautiful. And beyond description. What happened next I cannot explain, but God's miracles should never have to be given an explanation. When I saw him, he spoke to me. He 15

told me my purpose, and gave me the gifts needed in order to do his bidding. When I woke up, the Horizon community members gathered around me, and celebrated my return. Ever since, it has been my number one priority to uphold the birthright of the master race. Horizon is pretty secretive of this fact, we prefer it if potential members come to experience our vigorous speeches and sermons. It is about community, the ideas mean more when you exist within it.

(PHONE RINGS)

JUDY OH! I do think I promised to speak to Mrs. Ewing up the street about her nieceâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s recent behavior. Please excuse me for just a few minutes. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be in the other room if you need me, feel free to get whatever footage you may need.

SPINNER [frozen in exhaustion and shock, suddenly very sick to her stomach] Sure, thanks Judy.

[Silence while Judy goes into the other room and closes the door. As soon as they hear the door shut, they move]

SPINNER Look for anything you can find any proof. I’ll search the bookcase, you take the office.

SASHA NO WAY, did you hear her? She’s fucking crazy dude we need to leave NOW.

SPINNER Sasha, if she is actually behind the disappearances we need to try and find evidence. We can’t be cowards right now, this is so much bigger than us.

[SPINNER begins to look through the bookcase. SASHA gets mad, rolls her eyes, and stomps off to search in the next room. SPINNER furiously looks through the bookcase in the living room, and finds a small black journal inside a scrapbook. On the journal, a small thumb drive is taped on the cover. She takes off the thumb drive, opens the journal, and sees hundreds of names, faces, and fingerprints, All of 17

which belong to every black and brown person in Roseville. There is a column with three identification points next to the names: Terminated, In Custody, or Wanted. SPINNER flips through the book in search of her family name, and sees her face, SASHA’s face, and their parents with the status of WANTED. SPINNER doesn’t look up before calling for SASHA]

SPINNER Sasha…get the car. I think we were tricked.

[Spinner turns and looks up, only to be face to face with JUDY, whose entire hand has turned into a sharp stake-like metal object. She also has large razor spikes coming out of her distorted, arched spine, similar to a chop saw. The parts of her skin which were covering these blades are now lifted in sections above the hardware inside. JUDY presses the sharp tip of the blade into SPINNER’s neck. SPINNER gasps and struggles]

JUDY Spinner I thought you were smarter than this…you’ve been so careless this whole time…tell me, what did you think you’d get out of nosing around Horizon?

SPINNER [struggling against the blade, breathing heavily] People...don’t just...DISAPPEAR.

[gun cocking sound is heard]

SASHA Don’t move.

[SASHA appears behind JUDY with a large rifle pointed directly at her head]

JUDY How cute. A gun. You really think you’re the first to have tried that before?

[SPINNER feels the thumb drive in her hands and realizes that the seal on the drive is the same symbol seen on the side of her neck. There is a small slot that is visible now that JUDY is in her robotic form. JUDY continues to rant and SASHA continues to egg her on, as JUDY is someone who could talk about herself for hours on end]

JUDY You know, the more we bicker here the longer it will take for me to kill your little sister here. 19

Do you want that Sasha? I can go slow if you’d like. It’s my pleasure, I love watching you rats slowly lose the light in your eyes

[JUDY seems to have lost her interest in SPINNER, and lunges at SASHA]

SASHA I said don’t fucking MOVE BITCH!

[The minute JUDY lets her emotions sway her focus, SPINNER pushes her off and away from her, triggering SASHA to move away quickly. As JUDY falls forward, SASHA is able to get an angle on her and pins JUDY’s head to the ground. She shoots the rifle. JUDY is still, and begins to twitch and goes limp.]

SPINNER Hold on, let me just try this…

[SPINNER kneels down and inserts the drive into the slot she saw earlier on JUDY’s neck. JUDY begins to short circuit, and catches fire.]

SASHA

SPINNER LETS GO, THIS CRAZY BITCH IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE. I GOT IT ALL ON CAMERA, WE GOT YOUR PROOF SO LET'S GO!!!!

[SPINNER wakes up from the trance she was in, and listens to Sasha. They run in slo mo from the scene, grabbing everything they came with, and out to their junky old white pick up truck. They start it just as the blinds in the house catch fire. CUE: Oblivion by Grimes OR Les Fleurs by Minnie Riperton. Either are good and get the vibe across in different ways. SPINNER watches through the back window as the house blows up, and SASHA keeps her eyes front, hands 2 and 10 on the wheel. SPINNER turns back around in the seat, face sunken in a little. They look at each other, then look away.]

SPINNER We should probably call mom.

[END]

Short story The light gazed in the summer sky. It was effervescent, a moment that could have been stopped in time. It's beauty inconceivable. Looking up,the sky is a rich blue there are a multitude of trees, colors galore, they resemble a painting, I can’t remember which, but they are truly an art. The cold, crisp air was fresh and the breeze reminded me of a better, happier time.The waves swayed like a seesaw, back and forth and back and forth, people on boats traveling to where their good hearts desired.

That’s the way it was supposed to be.

The water kept rising, coming up higher and higher as Chuk and I were racing to reach what looked to be a boat. The water pounded, but we persisted. Then the racing turned to pushing as we were almost submerged in the water. The portal was within reach, and we had to travel a few more meters to reach the portal to the new planet. We were almost there. I could feel myself dreaming. Thinking. Wishing. For a life of freedom. Finally, a chance to be free of a life of corruption. Of control, a new beginning. To stop those who terrorized me. As I began to reach the ramp, I was suddenly struck by a bullet. It grazed the side of my stomach. It felt like

something unimaginable. I shrieked to Chuk, “Take cover!” he ducked, narrowly missing the mass of bullets heading to his direction. The Clue. They had come to wreak havoc. Just when I thought I was done, I finally had a way out, but alas The Clue would win, they would always win. … In the year 2200 I was born into a revolution. I grew up feeling as though she was watched. It was not until I was 9 years old that I realized that I was. My father was a government official for the Solace. Capitalism had been abolished by leader Hun, the founder of Solace, our government and The Clue, and robots soon rose and became a prominent part of

society. Then in the following year, there was an order to implant chips into the population’s heads. And so it came to be. Everyone was ordered to the center of town and one by one, with a small pinch, each person was injected and now monitored by The Clue. The Hun never gave a complete definition of what the purpose of the chips were, but people soon figured out that every move they made was tracked. For a while, many citizens were being arrested for harmless crimes, but as time went on and people got used to the “new rules” they began to think carefully about when they did something or where they did it to avoid being caught or reprimanded. I knew that this would not stop the law enforcement

from terrorizing the citizens in society, that is, until she met the Evaders. When I started high school, or what The Hun deemed as the High Society of Learning I met a kid named Kan. And it was Kan that opened a new world for me. ... I believe that everyone is unique. One thing that makes me unique is my hair. The long braids that swing in the air. Crochet woven like a basket, intricate rows and columns that tell the story of a journey to freedom. My hair means more than a filament that grows through my follicles, my hair is my identity. Braiding my hair is one of the ways I tell

my story. When I was younger, my hair was parted to make two “mickey mouse” puffs. I was a child, so full of life. When I first entered grade school, my locs were cut and I felt that I did not have a way to present myself. I wanted to appear put together. My mother always used to say, “Comb your hair very well oh! Don’t go to school with a nappy head!”. Hair was meant to be kept well or it was not acceptable. My puff grew back in no time. I was excited, but I was discouraged because my hair was rough. My mother had the perfect solution, a relaxer. A chemical hair straightener to make my hair more presentable. When I first received my relaxer, I thought the treatment was fantastic but that feeling was soon followed by sadness because I knew that was not the way I wished

to present myself. I loved my hair, but I wanted my hair to be a reflection of me, not societal standards of how hair should be seen. The same long hair that I throw around and shake like I do not have a care in the world. My hair excites me, there is so much life in the filaments that exit my follicles. There are so many styles I can use to express myself with and I would never compromise the appearance of my beautiful bouncy bundles for the satisfaction of others. But that was until the Hun took over and implanted the chips. Then I was forced to cut off all my hair. My identity. Gone.

The Hun’s reasoning for why everyone had to shave their heads came from the mind of one from the former planet Earth which has gone away. The hun said that“When Thomas Edison said that “Genius is one percent inspirations, and ninety-nine percent perspiration,” he was basically saying that to be called a “genius”, one has to have a little bit of inspiration, but be able to put in the work they need to be a genius.” I do not agree with this statement. Most, if not all people must be able to work hard in order to be smart or brilliant. I do not believe that I am a genius persay, but I do know that if I did not put in effort to get good grades or to be “smart” I would never grow. For others though, being a genius can just be within themselves. To know that you need to be able to define

what a genius is. For example, those who are diagnosed with savant syndrome, may not be defined as “geniuses” since they may have certain mental or physical limitations, but they may have exceptional abilities in other areas, such as art or music. For someone with savant syndrome they may be a genius in a certain area, but was there perspiration involved? Did they work for it? I am not so sure, because that is just instilled in them. They do not necessarily have to work for it, it is just part of their nature. So my point is that genius is can involve working hard, but not everyone has the work ethic to be a genius. There are so many people that work so hard, and may not reach “genius status” and others that do not even have to try they just are, but are they inspired? There needs to be a

system for the civilians to be inspired.So I think that for that to happen these civilians must be in unison. We must all act in one accord with the implementation of the microchips.

He tried to be philosophical but it sounded like a whole bunch of crap. And when the microchips were implanted at first nothing bad happened but I guess I spoke too soon because after people started experiencing hallucinations and having major head pain and migraines so then we did what any society wouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve done and look for a solution that happened to be the Evaders.

... The Evaders were an unstoppable force. Everyone knew what they held massive power. When the side effects of the chips rose, the demand for their product increased immensely. I always admired how united they were. They wore confidence like a shield and were so strong. I wished that I could have a moment in their shoes. And I did, Kan knew the head of the organization. B. When I was recruited to assist with the distribution of Oxycaldol, I was so eager to learn about the inner workings of such a successful organization.

The head of the Evaders, B Gave her the rundown of the operations. The drug lord is the main distributor and the face of the cartel. They call all the shots and basically plan our procedures. The lieutenants are responsible for administration and supervision of the hitmen and the Birds. They take orders directly from the Lord, me.And when necessary they carry out the low profile executions by themselves. The hitwomen, well they hit. Any assassination, theft, kidnapping of the outsiders are handled by them. The hitwomen are our defense. They protect us from those who try to hurt us.

And finally this where you come in, you will act as a bird. Unfortunately this is the lowest position, but with time, you may be promoted to a higher status, but you must earn it. You will be part of a group responsible for acting as the eyes of our organization. You will report and watch over the activities of the outsiders as they are our rivals, and you must make reports if there is any danger awaiting us. Got it? Yes. … I was not a particular fan of Chi’s decision to join the Evaders. I was scared of what they would do to her

because I didn’t trust him I knew that they had something else up under their sleeves. I tried to tell father but he just ignored me. He always did. I tried so hard to get his approval and to convince him that there was trouble coming Chi’s way but he never listened because he did not trust me. He said he couldn’t trust me ever since I changed. …

Overtime I began to see Chi less and less. I missed her and wanted to see her again. So I went snuck into the Evader’s building. A small corporate tower.

Oxycaldol everywhere. I bypassed security and saw Chi. She did not see me but I did see a blue print. And what I saw before my eyes was shocking. It was a plan. In collaboration with The Hun. The end of the world. And there was a portal. The same portal that The Hun mentioned. And under the blueprint I saw the recipe that they used to make the Oxycaldol. It included permeance, drug used for mind control and one that increased addiction. I ran over to Chi and showed her the blueprint and the formula.

Her jaw dropped and I saw who co-signed the production of it. Father.

And I looked up and saw him. He was surprised to see me. But the other person surprised to see me was B. ... They pound the ground with every step, like a million earthquakes hitting the ground. With each strike, adrenaline rushes through my body. Stride for stride I am lifted off the ground and take flight, flying across the straight-away. I use these same legs to fly into the port when I am running

from the bullets. These same legs take me from road to road, and from the straight-away to the port. As I run around the long path, I shift gears and focus on my arms.They follow a robotic movement, pumping up and down non-stop. This feels natural and keeps me controlled. I speed up and the world slows down. I am in a world by myself. My arms allow me to bounce, and in the midst of my distress this feeling takes me back to when I was happier,when I use to run at track practice with my friends before it was banned. “Go!” my teammate screams, and I propel myself off the ground, waiting for the call. “Stick!” My hand shoots out, I grab the baton, and takeoff down the track.

Now I float, tension escapes my body and I relax, inhaling the crisp air. The radiant sun beams on my face and the trees sway. The wind blows through my hair. I am at peace, enjoying the nature around me. Soon I hear thunder erupt, waking me up and bringing me back to reality. I am frozen. During this moment of stillness I hear a voice, Chuk’s. They scream as they see dad. He is running towards us as a bullet hits him right square in the chest. I am frozen. Still.

Paralyzed. I never thought this day would come; Father is still. The bullet came out of nowhere. I just watched as he collapsed. His body dropped like dead weight. I looked into his lifeless eyes in utter disbelief. I wanted to tell him so much, I never even got to tell him who I really was. Then I scream. All the emotions inside of me arise. I cannot hold it in.

I looked up and turn around and I see whose bullet took my dad’s life. B. She has a grin on her face and yells, “You’re a dead woman, you fucking imbecile!”There was no time to waste so I ran and grabbed Chuk and we went off to head over to the dock. People were running left and right and did not know where to go.All of a sudden though, the portal appeared. The Hun was right. And that was how we got to the portal and when we were just about to reach the portal there was a

point where I look at Chuk. I began to think about how far she came because I know that they did not want to experience the pain that Dad and The Hun caused in their life but that was all cut short.As Chuk reached to touch the portal and open it up The Clue used their sensory cortex to shoot at Chuk, and before The Clue got them, I leap at them and expected that to be my last moment but The Clue struck us both and we were transported to a void. This space looked similar to what I envisioned a perfect scene would be. A serene painting, but what was odd was that there were pods and each one had a lock. So Chuk and I did what anyone would do, we tried to find the keys. We scrambled through the

void and tried to find the key so we could escape and after what felt like a century, I found it on a path that lend to a pond. After I picked up the key, The Clue immediately appeared and began to shoot at us. We pushed our emergency sensor on our chips and raced to the pods, hoping that we would finally get out of this prison that was our lives. As they reach the pod, one of The Clue members prepared to shoot at me and this time I was ready to attack and pushed my sensory cortex and had a shot ready for them. But right when I went to make my shot, everything stopped. I was paralyzed.

So you thought it was over? Well you were wrong. What you have seen is the world, or what it should have been. This is where you thought you were going. But it was not. It was all a lie. All you inhabitants are not ready for a future from us The Clue and our powerful leader The Hun. Now your memories will be stored in the chips that we have used to store your memories and control how you operate. That oxycaldol was the last component that we needed to complete our mission, and thanks to the death of your father everything we

needed you to do was done. You had nothing more to live for and have helped us fulfill our duties. Mission accomplished.

Ugh, seriously? A thousand miles and fifty solid feet total of rock between me and the sea. And still it didn’t shut up, and just when I got to the good part of my dream! Was it the sea? It was hard to tell if the water was crashing from there or the sky. And God, it was hot. I yanked my blanket over my chest just to yank it off. Whoosh. And a pathetic one at that. Then I yanked my skin off. Ugh, I wish! Only in my dreams. Dreams! I clawed feverishly into my mattress, willing my fingers to break through, to feel the satisfaction of breaking the surface, tears of fabric streaming through my fingers, palms full of it. A low growl buzzed in my chest and flowed up into my throat, lava seeping out of my gritted teeth and ripping the air apart. “RAAAAGHHHHHH!” straight into the consuming wall of sound. Nope, I wasn’t even worried at all that I would wake my mom up, not during a storm like this. I could scream with everything I had and the storm would just absorb it. I did it again, this time just because I could. Then I started singing loudly, which was so fun I could’ve just kept going on for hours. I would’ve, until I realized that it was already starting to get light. I had slid open and quickly shut my shades a hair, letting in a thin line of early sunrise. My mom would be so mad if she saw my window was on. Could she blame me? I just got scared or restless sometimes, it’s not like it’s even my fault. But I guess it was a waste of electricity, since there’s obviously no sun at night. It was starting to rise now, but not enough yet to switch to our own panels. We could keep the air on at night, but not our lights. My mom tried to explain that stuff to me once, but I found it so boring I could never keep it totally straight. Not that it even mattered right now, I sulked. Whenever there was a storm, the air conditioning didn’t work. So it only seemed fair that I could at least keep my window on. I could only have my blinds open in quick flashes though, just in case my mom walked in. Open, snap shut. Like a giant eye. Like my room was a giant eye and the blinds were eyelids, and it was a giant sleeping eye, mostly dark inside. But every so often, they would blink, letting the world in for a split second. Throughout the night I had blinked my blinds so many times, but it was pretty much the same every time. Just the angry black stew of a storm, a typical storm. I could make out some gray shapes among the black clouds and blobs of water. They looked like they were moving, and everything was just getting stirred and mixed in a big mess. But I knew better. Those gray shapes were the mountains. You couldn’t tell right then, but they never move. Ever. The clouds move around them, and sometimes they look different, but they never move. I tried to imagine what the large, unblinking eye of the world were to see if it looked in on me through the window. It would probably just see me sitting there on my bed, bored. I wasn’t even excited anymore to be wearing my favorite charcoal pants. I had wanted them for weeks last year until I begged for them so much that my mom just let me get them. I wore them the night I ordered them, I was so excited. But they aren’t special anymore. I wish the mountains would see me shopping, my face lit up with a glowing screen of rows and rows of new outfits, all so stylish and cool. I would order a bunch right there on the spot, and be wearing them in two hours. I miss doing that so much. I could try getting on one of the sites that still had new clothes, but they would probably take a month or something to get 1

here, if they even did. I would have to wait forever, and by that time I might not even like what I had picked anymore. But I miss new clothes so much, I would do it in a heartbeat. If my mom would just let me. I don’t understand why she’s so stubborn about it. “You might never even see the clothes,” she tells me. “It doesn’t matter, why not just take the chance?” I always whine back. Because I know we can afford it, I never dare to add. She would just say something along the lines of not trusting the sites, whatever that means. They get updated with new designs less and less, it seems, but I keep up with them. I know the name of every single thing they have, and have tried on each one about a thousand times. I guess I’ll have to until I’m old enough to have my own account. The storm went on. I inched my blind open. I saw pale gold through the streaks of rain, sunny enough to keep it open I thought. I looked at the window. In better light, the full graininess of the picture was more obvious. I sighed. The rain streamed down in rivers, covering things up. Across part of the window, patches of a blue grid and little blue squares of pixels were appearing. I squinted, straining against the waterlog. I hate when it rains and this happens. When I can’t see outside as well, it makes me feel like my own vision is worse, or like I can’t hear or something. I never understood how it could be so sunny sometimes while it was raining. I imagined the rainbow that might appear soon, that would be kinda fun. I laid back down and dully persuaded myself to be excited by a rainbow. Wait, there was something else I was actually looking forward to. My heartbeat quickened. Today was our soap delivery. There are times I get so annoyed with my mom for making us live in the scon that is the closest to the outside entrance. I barely got any sleep last night because of the storm. I doubt anyone farther back in the rock had that problem. They probably don’t even know what rain sounds like, well unless they hear it in a movie or something. Except for that one family, the Tangs. They live in scon number twenty-eight, twenty-eight of thirty. Well, at least thirty of the scons that have to share the same pool and movie theater with us, I don’t know how many there are in the whole area. Also then, I don’t really know how big the whole area is. There could be five million scons for all I know. Anyways, they live in one of the deepest scons here, since they’re number twenty eight. Whoever lives in thirty keeps completely to themselves. We never hear from them. I guess it kinda makes sense. Maybe they live so deeply and out of the way as a way to avoid seeing other people. But if they wanted to avoid other people, it wouldn’t be that hard. The last person I saw besides my mom was Fleur. I had gone to watch a movie at the theater, and Fleur was also there. It wasn’t too surprising to see someone else, especially since there’s a good chance they had also just gotten done with school. Honestly, it’s not like you actually need to use the theater. I can watch any movie at any time on my screen. And I can even do that from my bed, which is extra comfortable. But sometimes, especially if I’m annoyed with my mom, I go to the movie theater instead. The screen there is also bigger, and the speakers are even better than my own, which is nice. I usually hope to be alone, and I usually am. When I 2

went a couple days ago, I was disappointed as soon as I walked in and heard a movie already playing. I stood at the door for a second, letting my eyes get used to the dark. It’s somehow even darker in there than it is in the tunnels and I don’t know how that’s possible. I scanned the room for someone, trying to figure out who was here first and had picked such a boring movie. I could already feel myself stifling a yawn, and I had just gotten there. It was some action movie. They all look the same. Just scene after scene of violence, and destruction, and other random things, I don’t even know what. All the scenes look the same, bleak gray. And everyone uses the same intense voices, either shouting or talking super seriously. And I never know what they’re talking about because I can never follow the plot. It feels to me like there’s no plot. They remind me of the news screens that my mom always has on, just image after image of the weather and other random things, like war scenes or something. And they’re always talking about political stuff and the economy and water and stuff like that. Booooring. If I walked in to the theater, and someone had on the news, I would have just walked right back out. The other thing about the news is, it scares me a little. I don’t know how something could be both boring and scary, but it somehow manages to feel that way. I think action movies are the same way, but I don’t really know how to explain it. Maybe they’re a little too real, and a little too like the news. But if I yawn enough, I can make myself not hear, and blur my vision with tears for a second. My eyes are the window, and my yawns are the storm, loud and blinding. I flopped down in a fuzzy, light gray bean bag, alreading pulling out my screen. I wished I had a bean bag in my room. I cursed myself for not ordering one when it was easy. How stupid! I sat and brushed my hand against the fuzzy surface. Aaahh, how I loved fuzzy things. The bean bags are so comfortable, but too uncomfortably close to the screen. That didn’t matter to me right now, not with this stupid action movie on. Just as I settled into the fuzz, I felt someone’s eyes on me, forgetting that I was sharing the room with someone. I looked to my left, my eyes meeting a dark polished chair leg. I felt slightly embarrassed for getting so comfortable so quickly. What if it was an adult, watching me flop down on the beanbag and pull out my screen like I owned the place? I didn’t want to embarrass my mom. I slowly raised my eyebrows, then pulled my eyes up to meet them. A pair of eyes, underneath a mop of black curly hair, met mine. I quickly turned back around. Oh okay, it was just Fleur. It was just Fleur. They were a kid too. But then I felt embarrassed again. Did they think I was being impatient or rude for flopping down? Had I sighed? God, I really hope I at least didn’t sigh, that would have seemed so dramatic. I straightened myself up a little, and flicked my screen off. Why did I have to sit up here, where they could see me so plainly? It wasn’t my fault the most comfortable seats were all the way at the front. I don’t know why I care so much about what Fleur thinks about me, but I just do. They watch action movies, which I definitely don’t care about. But they also watch the news. I know, the news is boring. But here’s the thing. They watch the news and they understand what’s going

on. That automatically means they understand politics and the economy and that stuff. I know they must think I’m really stupid, because I don’t. It’s not that I’ve never tried to understand. Every now and then, when my mom has the news on, I tune in for a few seconds, and I really watch. I take in the reporter’s gray suit, their white shirt and gray tie, their steady eyes, the quick clips of factories or something or other shuffled in and out. “Blah, blah, blah, blah, over water shortages in the southeast, blah blah…” Water shortages, I understand that. But no matter how hard I concentrate, I just can’t make sense of the rest. It’s like when you try to read one of the bajillion neon messages they throw across the screen, and as soon as you read half of it, they cut to the next part. “...have banned the production of all microplastic-containing…” is all I catch. It’s exhausting. Maybe I would do it if someone paid me to. It would be like my job, before I’m old enough to have a job. But if they wanted me to understand it? Ha. Fleur would be good at that. I can see them having a job now. I know they’re technically also not old enough yet, but they just seem like they would know what to do. So I forced my eyes to focus on what was before me in the movie theater. Just a few seconds of intense focus, and maybe I could understand something. Maybe some key part of the plot would reveal itself to me. I watched a brunette woman sitting on a train. It looked like an older train, from the colorful fabric, and since it looked kinda slow. I watched, not understanding, feeling Fleur rows behind me, understanding. They know I don’t know what’s going on, I thought. I should not look so interested, I thought. God, am I leaning forward? To an action movie? I would be such a bad actor. I would be such a bad actor, the thought repeated, really sinking in that time. It was a disappointing thought. I always imagined myself among the adults in the scon, being a successful actor like some of them someday. Watching movies in the theater, it always seemed easy enough. Easy wasn’t the word actually. It always seemed so...fun. Yeah, fun! My mom always says I’m so dramatic. And all the amazing outfits the actors get to wear, and the places they get to go. I often wonder what’s real in the movies and what isn’t. Like the giant dinosaurs and the talking animals, yeah I know those aren’t real. But things like perfect sunsets on tropical beaches, and clean air and an Eiffel tower in Las Vegas. I know in the older movies they’re real, because I can just tell. But in the new movies that come out, I’m just not sure. Surely if they can fake things like dinosaurs, they can fake things like clear water on a beach. The beach. I wish I could play Mamma Mia, the best old classic. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen on my window. I know, I don’t live in Santorini. And Santorini barely exists anymore, well not above water at least. I know because I’ve researched it so much. I became so obsessed with the idea of living there after I saw the movie for the first time. When I searched online for Santorini, the first thing I got was a headline: “Thousands displaced, tensions over lottery build.” I squirmed a little. I quickly cleared it, and searched “Santorini 2008” this time. Beautiful blue and white images, the Santorini I knew, flooded my screen. I expanded the image, whitewashed stairways wrapping around a vibrant 4

blue roofed-whitewashed building, lovely flowers spilling out of its windows, all sitting perfectly in front of a clear blue sky, with thin wispy clouds. The clouds looked so soft. So soft, like someone had whispered the word “bean bag” and let it hang there in the air, in all it’s thin, soft perfection. I stood up. I stared at the screen, pretending to step into the image, and walk up the staircase. I held the perfect whitewashed stair rail in my hand, and pet the perfect purple flowers. I imagined that they felt fuzzy, so fuzzy they felt like liquid. That’s funny, I thought I felt actual water on my hand. Was there a leak? No. Oh...I had begun to cry, I realized. It wasn’t the most recent time I had cried. No, that was actually just a couple days ago, the same day I saw Fleur in the theater. I was focusing harder than I ever focus on that woman sitting there in the train, leaning her head against the window, softly sniffling as a sad orchestra song played. It was so beautiful, and so sad. I’m sure I could be a good actor, I thought. I could act this scene. I’ll prove it to myself. So yesterday, when I got bored doing school, I dragged my bench with the smooth gray on top over to my window. I sat on it, and leaned against the wall. I rested my cheek on the window, feeling its smooth surface and faint electrical heat. From this angle, the gray of the sky and the mountains warped themselves into a long view of pixels and loops. I felt like I was staring down a thin striped sock. Super bright dots of yellow, blue, and red pushed and pulled themselves across my vision every time I moved my eyes. I tried to hold still, and turn my eyes directly at the window. My eyes were met with an intensely red pixel. Ouch. Hold it there, I told myself. You haven’t even begun the scene. I gazed at the window, painfully. I started to sniffle. My eyes started to water. From staring so closely at the window, I mean. “Sad orchestra music, please,” I said. It started a moment later, holding me in that pose. I closed my eyes. White dots darted across my closed eyelids, which burned a little from staring at the window. I sat there, shaking a little. My tears kept streaming. The orchestra kept playing. I imagined myself on that train, in that movie, the audience watching, and they started crying watching me and my amazing performance. I opened my eyes. I snapped out of it. I can’t act; I started crying because my eyes hurt from staring at my stupid window. Did the actor in the movie cry because she felt real pain or because she could just pretend to so well? I burst into tears. Eventually, I walked back over to my schoolwork. I calmly opened my screen and stared blankly at a math equation. What good would solving this equation do for a future actor like me? I slashed the screen with my pen anyway. I could act. I could pretend to care about school. I could pretend to want to be an aerospace engineer, like my mom. I could pretend to enjoy spending half my time on the space elevator. I mean I better act that way, since my mom was one of the people behind it and all. But god, why did it have to be such a long ride? My mom knew I would be one of the people using it in the future. Why didn’t she think of me and make the ride a little shorter? And maybe a little more fun. As long as I could have a screen on there, I told myself. I finished my work, took my Vitamin D, and went to sleep. Tomorrow is soap delivery day. 5

We live in Scon number one. 30 Dry Rock Underground, Scon #1. We live closest to the entrance, and so technically we’re the least protected from the outside, I guess. I think we can afford a higher number, but it’s supposed to be a temporary living situation. Just until stuff with the space colonies gets sorted out, my mom always says. Temporary means not forever, and it’s been f orever, I always tell her. Anyways, I don’t tell her this, but there are two good things about living in scon one. One, when the other residents order things, sometimes their address gets misunderstood. For some reason, their scon number gets cut off and it appears as only the address 30 Dry Rock Underground. When that happens, the carrier robos automatically bring it over to our condo. We’ve gotten furniture, clothes, sometimes lotion. It’s awesome! We just keep the stuff, because with no scon number, we don’t know who it’s for. And they most likely have enough money to just reorder the stuff anyway. My mom never outright said we could keep whatever we get, but she never said we couldn’t either. She just kinda lets me, so I’ll take it. The second good thing is that we’re supposed to just live here temporarily. So we don’t have a 3-D printer. My mom said there was no sense investing in something like that we would have to re-buy in the space colonies. You might think I’m missing out, because I can’t print stuff. But actually, this is great, because it means we still order some stuff. And the stuff you can order is always so much better than anything you could print from your scon. One of these things is soap. A lot of the residents here 3-D print their soap. But there are not that many soap ingredients and scents available to print. And the biggest issue is that I’m allergic to one of the ingredients. I don’t know which one, but when I was little, my mom got some 3-D printed soap from one of the residents here. I broke out in hives as soon as it touched my skin, and I got immediately airlifted to the hospital scon. I don’t remember it of course, but I’m kinda weirdly grateful for it. Today is the day! Soap delivery day. I’m so excited I can barely stand it. Every month, I go online, pick a really cool, good smelling soap, and wait for it to arrive. It takes a few days now. I’ve waited three whole days for my new tropical coconut scented soap. I love new soap, and its perfectly smooth, untouched surface. It looks like the whitewashed walls of Santorini. I bet this soap will smell like Santorini. I can’t wait to get it. I can’t wait to take my nightly shower with new soap. Perfect timing too, since I just ran out of my last honey-scented one. I sit in my room, trying to distract myself with a stupid game on my screen, while some music videos play. I hear the small ping of the delivery alarm. I throw my screen aside, and rush to get my mom. To my surprise, she’s already at the door. She’s taking longer than usual. I rush over to her, peeking at the carrier robo. “Out of production,” its screen reads, under a picture of the soap. I frown, and look up at my mom, who is frowning too. “Um, what does that mean!?” I panic up to her. In another moment my mom is shouting at multiple screens, trying to figure out what’s going on with my perfect, Santorini soap. I hear the words “out of production” bleep back in stupid robot voices. Shut up! I yell at them in my head. Make it in production then! My mom keeps trying. She’s no longer trying to get ahold of my soap, she’s trying to get ahold of any soap. I watch in disbelief. I can’t not have soap. I’ve never not had soap. I need 6

soap. I think of my nightly showers, without soap. You can’t possibly get clean with no soap, can you? No, I need soap. I need it. I need soap. “Out of production. Out of production. Out of production.” My mom stops her searching, stepping away from the screens for a second. She looks worried. “This must be a mistake,” she says. “Yeah! A mistake!” I agree. But my throat catches. My mom goes to turn on the news. My heart fully sinks this time. I get up and walk to my room, and she doesn’t stop me. This is what happened the last time I tried to order new clothes. No new clothes, I had learned to live with that. But no new soap? I think again of my nightly showers, warm water running over my skin, and nothing else. No new clothes, no new soap. No new soap. It must be a mistake, I think, it must be...

...

I draw in a breath. If you could call it that. Swallowed sandpaper? I don’t think I’d know the difference. Breathing is not something you should have to consciously think about, is it? I know there was a time when I didn’t. I can’t even look at people when we’re talking anymore, my eyes just rove in that absentminded way that always bothered me...how do you explain that the lowest strata of your consciousness is constantly crumbling and pulling the rest down with it? I know people see my body moving down the hall because they still step around me...sometimes I walk straight towards them just to make sure. By some mechanism I blindly trust, my particles dart around in some chaotic suspended soup that gets me somewhere. I try to not think too hard about it. I might just evaporate… By some miracle, I end up at newly constructed ray number five. There’s no way to distinguish it from all the rest of the blindingly white rays around it, other than the fact that it’s under construction, and it sits at the end of the row. For now. I focus on aiming for these two things. Just get to the last ray, get to the last ray. Just shoot in that direction and I should get close enough, I think. For once, I am grateful for the narrow white walls of the hall. They keep me on track. I don’t trust myself right now. From ray number one, it was about a half hour walk. I check my screen. 12:30. The hottest time of the day. Normally it takes me half that time. Why shouldn’t it take me half that time? What was different about right now that wasn’t normal? And yet I know. Feeling this way wasn’t normal. I do not feel normal. I feel sick. I don’t feel with it. I had tried to convince Annie that it was okay. I could do the job. It was so hot out today. It was so so so hot. I pictured my sticky apartment, the white surfaces covered in beads of condensation. Sweat? My own? I had woken up so confused, dripping and confused. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. I look at my hand. I study it. Five. Five fingers. I flex them, up and down. I know where I am. Five. Ray number five. And there’s Annie now. A white figure moves in my direction, shielding her eyes with her hand. Why didn’t I think of doing that? I hold 7

up my hand as a visor over my eyes, and continue to watch. She holds onto her legs with each step, as if she’s trudging through snow. Yeah, I remember what snow felt like. Back in New York, it only ever seemed to come in giant bursts of madness, leaving behind piles and piles of white. The rest of the year was warm, or warm enough. But every once in a while, there would be a freak blizzard. Just a total white-out. I imagine myself in a blizzard now. The cold would feel so good, I think. I close my eyes, and pretend to dig my hand into some snow. It feels hot. It burns my skin. I open my eyes. I see a pair of white linen-covered legs. I look up. It’s Annie. I feel a palmful of sand run through my fingers. I look down, and watch it fall in thin columns from my hand. It feels soft. Mesmerized, I take another dip. “Meek.” She says. I look up again, remembering her presence. “Find some buried treasure?” she jokes, and bends down to my level. Now we are face-to-face. Red, sweaty face-to-face. I reach up to wipe my brow again, and feel grains of sand brush against my eyebrows. “Hey. Can you believe the temps today? I don’t remember it feeling this hot since...whew, well maybe I could remember if I wasn’t so hot!” It was an old punchline around the sekt. Normally, I would’ve laughed. Not at the joke, just the fact that Annie used it. It was such a tired old joke. I try to smile weakly, but it turns out more like a grimace. Annie’s face, glistening with sweat, creases with concern. “You alright, Meek?” “Annie…” I start. But I don’t even know where to begin. She pulls her white linen cloth out of her pocket. I start. Even in my scattered mental state, I can tell she washed it not too long ago. Who knows the next time she would get to again? But before I can stop her, she wipes the sweat off my face. She holds the cloth over my forehead. I imagine my sweat soaking into its bamboo pores. I close my eyes. “Mika...you feel awfully warm.” I open them. Her use of my full name had gotten my attention. It was so inefficient, for her to use it. And so I think something must really be wrong. “Annie…” I say. And I feel tears prick at my eyes. I realize I had been calling her Annie. And, so what? We aren’t technically on the job yet. But this was not normal. Not something I’d usually do. The hours of 12:30 to 4:30 mean business, I think automatically, woozily. “Ann,” I force myself to say with more conviction this time, anything to get that look of concern off her face. I don’t want her to look so worried, because I know it’s for me. If she would just not look so bothered, then everything would be okay. I would know I’m fine. “It’s hotuhday.” I slur the rest of my sentence. My tongue feels thick. I bite on it lightly with my front teeth. When did it get like this? It feels like a giant piece of linen sitting in my mouth. Dry. I watch Annie wring out the cloth, then slowly drag her cloth across her forehead, never taking her eyes off me. I imagine her worried expression coming clean off with it. Swipe. To my dismay, it doesn’t. “Mika,” she says again, seriously. “You know...you don’t have to do this call. I know it’s warm out, I feel awfully warm myself, but you look different. I’ve seen...I just don’t know if it’s the best thing for you to be out here. I mean, when was the last time you drank water? It’s just...it’s only...it’s not getting any cooler out here. I can tell you’re not feeling well. Maybe it 8

would be better if you just went back to your apartment to rest.” I only hear glimpses of what she says through the hot sun. God the sun, it’s just so bright. I can’t hear anything, or think of anything else, it’s like it’s burning right into my brain. But I know what she was saying. She had danced around things, but I know she had suggested I go back to my apartment. I know she was just being nice. She was just being a good friend. I love her for that. My eyes sting again. “I love…” I start. Annie frowns. She looks down, and then up, at nothing, as if pleading. She knows I have to take the call. Even I know. I feel like a zombie. But I know I have to do it. It’s the reason I dragged myself out to this ray in the first place. I might as well have dragged myself. That’s what it felt like. I lower myself from a kneel onto my butt. The floor, at least, feels cool. Well, cooler than the air. The floor could be 105 degrees, for all I know. Almost anything would feel cooler than the air, I think. Annie stands up immediately as I sit, almost as if her upward action will cancel mine out, and spring me right up off the ground with her. I wish so badly that it would. I long to be upright and normal. She smacks the back of her hand against the smooth, glossy picture plastered flush against the wall. It’s the only thing in here that’s not white. Well, she looks sort of red. Normally she’s pretty tan. She runs her hand across the deep green, the pixels of lush foliage, the clear sky, the rainbow. Everyone knows the posters are the coldest part of the wall. They are where you try to find some relief. It seems silly really. The dark colors in there should be more absorbent than white, it should feel hotter than the other surfaces. And yet it doesn’t. It just looks so smooth and glossy. Is it really cooler? Impossible to say. But it certainly feels that way. Annie stands there, absentmindedly running her back across the poster. Her ribs are bordered with fuzzy green. Glossy, fuzzy green. All that really matters is how we feel, isn’t it? And yet that seems to be the one thing that doesn’t matter at all here at Solarsekt. I feel hot right now. I feel out of my mind. I feel like it’s three hundred degrees outside. And yet the screens on every wall display a cool 105 degrees. Does it matter? Does it matter the measurement when I feel that I am melting? What does 105 degrees even really mean? Nothing, on a day like today. For our clients, sitting in their luxury air-conditioned condos, it means nothing. 105 degrees is forty degrees. It’s nothing. Whatever. I feel like the hottest time of the day is not the time to be working. And most of all, I feel that I can not do the call today. We both feel it. “You should go back to your apartment,” she had weakly suggested. She was obligated to. We both know that. This is what makes our community at Solarsekt so strong, I think with surprising clarity. It’s why we can understand all the same jokes. Annie steps away from the wall, and glances at her watch. I have no sense of time. I watch her mouth the word one. I watch her do some mental calculations. If anyone happens upon us right now, they would think nothing of it. It isn’t an unusual sight to see, people taking a break around this time. It isn’t unusual to see people take a break at any time in fact. The sun never lets

up, so we have to sometimes. It’s not like we would get in trouble. Who would be here to get in trouble by? We’re all in the same boat. We all feel the same way. It’s all for our own good. It’s all for my own good that I’m out on this call. Of course, I felt I should stay in bed from the moment I woke up. But my community needs me, I think mechanically. I move my eyes up the wall to the poster, where Annie had left behind beads of sweat. The sun smiles down upon you. Be a beam of light! Be a ray of pride! W hite block letters sit amidst the luscious trees and fields. I like the font. It’s a surprisingly pleasing one. Whatever algorithm they used picked a good one. It’s a font I would’ve used before. It sits amidst the rows of solar panels and tiny townhouses. A rainbow. It’s quaint, picturesque. It doesn’t look like Solarsekt, that much was clear. And it doesn’t feel like Solarsekt, either. I don’t feel pride. I feel confusion. I love my neighbors, I really think I do. I feel love for them, and sympathy. Annie didn’t have to deal with me today on this call. She could’ve taken one look at me, led me over to hospital ray, and dumped me there. No one in my state would have fought back, nor would have wanted to. It would be a relief to be there. The surfaces there seemed soft and inviting. And it was the one place in the whole sekt where you knew you could find ice. I’m sure if we could afford it, we would all be hanging out in the air-conditioning of the hospital, soaking our feet in ice. But none of us could afford to. That’s what kept us out. Annie is kind to keep me with her on the call. Really, any of my neighbors would have done the same. And I for them. I watch her calculate the remaining prime sun time we have. Three and a half hours. We are meant to install solar units in ten new apartments today, roof included. That would be a lot on any day. There’s even more because of the storm. I don’t know how Annie will manage even half of it on her own. She sighs, deep in thought, quickly typing figures onto her screen. I continue to sit, dazed. I contemplate standing up. The enormity of the task overwhelms me. It feels like an impossibility. You have to do it, I tell myself. For Annie. We need each other. But not for the reasons the government thinks. Well, maybe they do know. Who knows. It’s not about community energy like they think. Or sell. What’s the difference? It’s not about rainbows. Here’s the thing. Before the big storm, maybe things weren’t this way. I don’t know, I got here sometime after. But this is what I hear. This was back when hurricanes and heat waves were a little less frequent than they are now. There was a huge storm. It was just massive. It had ripped out a ton of solar panels, and left things in total disrepair. Needless to say, there was barely any energy left to send to the grid, let alone keep the sect going. And not to mention the lack of sun during the storm...it was a huge hit. Anyways, there had never been so much destruction from a storm before that. Everyone expected the government to step in, and give them something. Like a little time. That would’ve been the biggest help. Then they could’ve quickly repaired the panels and waited for the sun to come back out. The condos could get by on their generators for a few days, they were sure. As the story goes, that’s not what happened. To the government, it was business as usual. Which meant to the condos, it was demand as usual. No surprise there, they have their hands in 10

each other’s pockets and everyone knows it. What are we, then? The cogs on a wheel. The beams of light. The rays of pride. When people found out there would be no grace period in production, chaos broke out. There was no sun, so there was no water. There was no air conditioning. It was hot, but it wasn’t sunny enough yet. It was still too rainy. People died. People went mad from hoping for sun. Apparently the solar panels got repaired in less than twenty-four hours. That’s a marvel. I don’t know how they did it. They certainly weren’t sitting around waiting for the sun. They were ready for it. And I’m also sure that in that heat, not everyone who helped rebuild the damage ended up being around to benefit from it. By benefit, I mean survive. Anyway, by the time the storm had passed, and the sun was back out, it was another few days. At that point, the sect was in an energy deficit. It would be days of overtime in the heat before they would earn back any air conditioning. The only thing that saved them was the stormwater they had smartly thought to capture. Everyone realized they had to rely on each other. The government wasn’t going to be there for them like they thought. The upfront investment in Solarsekt was huge, and apparently it ended there. Now it was up to us to keep it going. What other choice do we have? Solarsekt is what keeps us alive. Water, food, shelter, air conditioning. It’s a constant struggle, but they are within reach. That’s more than most people can say, I have to remind myself. I always have to remind myself. Annie and I are walking now. I stood up, with her help. The exertion almost made me fall right back to the ground. But Annie wouldn’t let me. She let me center myself with her hands on my shoulders, and then she threw her arm around me. We hobble like that down the rest of the hall, then turn into the fifth ray. We walk up to the first apartment. She knocks. People usually get here right before their panels are even installed, so as not to waste any time. They go directly into training. No one answers. Annie gives me a look of sympathy, and quickly withdraws her arm. I crumple. It feels like I’m moving in slow motion through the thick humidity. It feels like it holds me there for a second, mid-fall, my knees slightly bent and my arms contorted at weird angles. The fall doesn’t hurt. The air is too thick. I sit, hunched over my palms, which are flat on the ground. The cool, smooth, white ground. I feel too weak to look up, but I know what Annie is doing. I can tell from the height of the sound that she’s climbing onto the roof. She does that first, before installing the interior part of the panels. With a quick cursory fly-over, the helicopters can see that new panels are appearing on the roofs at a satisfactory rate. So it’s always in everyone’s best interest to do the roof of the apartments first. Work top down, we always tell new residents. I stay hunched, listening to the buzz of Annie’s drill. Right into the skull of the ray. Right into my skull, it feels like. Its low vibrations give me a slight headache. It’s kind of sharp. The clarity of pain startles me, and I sit up. A hot line of pain sears across my brain. I wince, and attempt to rub it away. I hear Annie start to climb down from the roof. She is so fast at 11

installation. It’s probably her best job. I’m normally pretty good at it too, but right now...I just want to be in bed. In a soft, cool bed, I think. Mmmmmmmmmm. Then I think of my apartment. I grimace. It would not be any relief to go back there. It would be like going from hot to hot. No relief, I think with dull dread. No relief. Annie continues down to the next apartment, moving swiftly, too swiftly through the thick air, and I continue to sit, bewildered. Have I ever been this hot…? I try to remember, I mean I really try. But it’s no use. Every time always felt like the worst time. And yet this time, it just might really be...I feel so sure, and yet every time I feel so sure. I barely trust my own senses anymore. I need my neighbors, we need each other to know that what we are feeling is real. If Annie hadn’t looked at me with that worried look, I might not be worried myself. I could just convince myself that I was overreacting, that it was like every other time. But she let me know I was real. If these were pre-Big Storm times, then maybe Annie would have called to switch me out with a different partner. I would’ve ended up at the hospital, and got my second strike. It wasn’t worth the risk. These days, one hospital visit could get you kicked out. To where, no one was entirely sure. The streets? Crossolon? What was the difference? I shudder at the thought, despite my heat. They’re both overrun with drugs and crime, we hear. Probably from the government, but in this case, I choose to believe them. Sure, you could get a new partner. Installation is an important job, and she would be given a new partner pretty quickly. But then that new partner’s old role would be empty, and things would just cascade. If you were unlucky, your new partner would be a new resident, someone eagerly coming in off the waiting list. It could take an entire week to catch them up. We just cannot afford the time it wastes. The really silly thing is, only the solar harvesters need to work at prime sun time. The rest of us could work at different hours, and be more efficient. But for job switching, it’s easier to keep everyone on the same schedule. So prime sun time it is. I don’t know why we have to switch jobs everyday. Maybe the government wants to keep up the guise of the egalitarian values of community energy. Everyone has equal roles. Or, they want to keep us from rebelling out of misery and monotony. We all feel our replaceability. I don’t know. We have a lot of things we could rebel for. We also have a lot to be grateful for. I try to not forget it. We are power to the grid. Nothing more, nothing less. The less we give, the less we get. The more we give, the more we get, up to a point. Once we reach our maximum allowance of air conditioning, the surplus is offered to the condos. Of course they take it. They have the money. “Huh?” I lift my head. “It’s 4:30, Meek. You gotta get up. I’m sorry.” Oh. Right. A call. We’ve been out on a call. Did I fall asleep? My eyes swim over to Annie. They meet her eyes. Big, brown, sympathetic. Worried. She is worried. She tilts her head, and places her hand on my shoulder. Her hand, warm and moist. It melts into my skin. She draws her hand away. I think her hand left a red mark, like a heat map, or a high-five? Maybe… I drop my head, and slowly turn to assess my shoulder. 12

Where is the handprint? Where…? I turn back to the front, slowly rocking myself side to side. “Uhhhhh,” I groan. I’m sitting, criss-cross. I keep swaying. Each sway gets slower, and longer, until I’m touching my nose to my knee. It just feels so easy to fall over...so easy. I let my shoulders fall and the rest of my body crumples after them. It feels like the most natural thing to do. Everything I’m doing just feels like the most natural thing to do. The path of least resistance. My body is leading me down the path of least resistance. Annie gasps and throws out her arm to catch me, but not before I roll over to my shoulder and onto my back. I am staring straight into the sun. “Agh, Annie, agh, help, it’s so hot!” I shriek, covering my face with my hands, thrashing in desperation. I’ve never felt so hot. I have to crawl out of my skin. I have to. I just have to. There’s no other option. I can’t sit here like this, I have to escape. I have to escape. Uck. Something in my throat makes me sit up. Then I--uck- -then I throw up...and then I hang my head. I slowly rotate it to the side, resting it on my shoulder. Then I stare. At nothing. Nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing. Stop, I tell myself. Stop thinking nonsense. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. I see Annie rush away. Why? Oh my god why. She can’t leave, what if I fall over? What if I fall over? I look around, dazed. All I see is white. White floor, white walls, white door, white pants, white shirt. My skin is dark. Dark. I slowly turn my arm over. My forearm is always paler. It’s red. Really red. My arm keeps shaking. I start crying. I’m scared. My arm is so red. I’m so hot. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe any of it. Stop. Keep thinking. Keep thinking. Just don’t stop thinking. Are there people behind these doors? Are there people…? A wave of nausea floods over me, and I double over, grabbing my stomach. I grab my head in my hands, and start kneading my temples. I grab clumps of hair, start grabbing at my scalp, scratching at it, pleading with it. It makes me know I’m alive. Alive, good. The nausea is back. Oh my god, I’m so nauseous. I’m soooo nauseous. I grab my head and start rubbing it. God, I can’t...I can’t see. I feel something grab under my arms and something else grab my ankles and lift me up onto something. It doesn’t even matter, I can’t see, I’m thrashing around, I’m just so nauseous, god I’ll do anything to not feel this way, anything at all, just make it stop, please, please… Desperate tears stream down my face. Then suddenly, my breath quickens. It’s like someone had shoved a pipe into all but the tiniest top part of my esophagus, and I only have that little pool at the top to breathe from. Panic sets in. I continue to gasp in short, ragged breaths. Where are they coming from? There’s no air. No air, none. Not enough. I’m gasping, desperately gulping for more air. Is my heart going to stop? I’m going to run out of air. Where is it where is it going I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe. There is wind on my face now, I’m being carried down a hall. Carried, streaming down a river of air. I’m being propelled through the air, shooting through it, it doesn’t matter how, I don’t know how. Then suddenly, down. I’m moving more slowly now, and my feet are slanting down. The vomit is back. It is so sudden, I can’t control it, I curl into a ball and it just comes out. Blood. There is blood. I just keep crying. I can’t see, I still can’t see. Everything is white. Red, white. 13

All white, then a flash of red. “Annie,” I gasp, “Annie.” “I can’t see” I try to shriek, but it’s barely audible, I’m growing weaker, I’m drawing into nothing. “I cansee…” It’s a murmur. They can’t hear me...I can’t breathe...I can’t see...I can’t see……………

...

I slowly raised my eyes from the bowl, and out into the night. My eyes could’ve been in the back of my head, like my teachers used to say all that time ago. There would have been nothing to see back there either. My eyes were not seeing. They were just there to remind me of the same old table, and the same old bowl, and the same old window, and the same old...well, everything I guess. I was old too, I guess. In truth, I had been here only ten years. It felt like only five years ago that I was in my twenties. Of course I had thought that same old thing for fifty years now, but really it did. I had wanted to turn twenty-one so badly. Funny that I still do. It was my lifelong pursuit, I could say. It was the craze, back then. Now, I envied their ability to build so quickly, and recover. I slowly raised my right leg, trying to cross it over my left, and felt the dry strain it took to get there. It was a reminder, that’s all. I trained my memory by forcing myself to recall my recent activities. The faraway past was no problem, I could basically live there. I recounted all the food I’d eaten in the last twenty-hour hours. A potato, wait no, one and a half potatoes, and some broth. I feel like there was something else. I racked my brain, my eyes still fixed straight ahead, unseeing. I wish I could use them inside my head instead, how much more useful they would be there. Nothing out there I haven’t already seen so many times before. Even the uncomfortably close sea, which I had gotten into the habit of keeping my shades open to monitor, struck me no more than a fly on the wall. Everything around me was always changing. And down, and up, and sideways sometimes, but that was if you had the money. So mostly up. The world had always been unstable. That was the way the world worked. Not quite like this, though I could recall, not quite like this. It comforted me to keep everything just exactly the way I liked it in my apartment. That, I could mostly control. I think it comforted other people too. When they visited, they liked to comment on my small collection of knicknacks. Most of them were relics, I knew. How odd that a pack of playing cards is considered a relic now by most people. I’ve played with them for the majority of my life. At what point did I become a relic too? To some people I’m sure I am. Always here in my first floor apartment, that is when I’m not with my friends of course. But there’s a good chance you’ll find them here too. I tried to remember the first generation of kids I came across who didn’t know what the cards were. I squinted. No, was it? Yes, it had to be, back on Cadillac Street. I thought of it now, 14

subsidized by the government, cleaned out, and uncontaminated. Primed for production. Soulless. Or it could have been overrun by gangs, quickly. This seemed more likely to me. I didn’t know which was worse. I considered a moment. I think I would more soon join a gang than accept the government’s plan for me. I thought of a street gang accepting an old relic like me. I laughed at the thought. I reminded myself to tell Jay and Ande when I saw them later. The light was really starting to fall now. I would have to burn a candle, just for a couple hours until the lights came on. Or, I could go up to the roof. In the winter, when the days were shorter, we adjusted our clocks to minimize our electricity usage. Anything to conserve energy. I looked in my plastic cracker box of candle wax. I pulled a tiny piece out, and lit it. The box, wax, and lighter were all washed up on the shore of the beach. I bought them from Yto’s little store. Sure, she was selling trash. But you could find anything you would ever need out there in the trash, besides food. You just had to be willing to dig. For those of us not willing to risk venturing so far out onto the beach, or who felt less physically inclined to do so, Yto was an angel. Maybe store isn’t the right word, at least not in the sense that stores used to exist. Yto’s bed was two feet away from her merchandise, separated by a makeshift cardboard room divider. I had made her the room divider. I was good at making things, and showing people how to do it too. Printing made a lot of people lose that skill, it seems. I traded her the room divider for a bunch of things to burn. Candle wax, paper, any old wax. Old, half-molten candles were plentiful out there in the trash piles. The real issue with them was the broken glass. Breathing in the fumes of burning things like paper or plastic was not exactly healthy, I know. But I had long learned that I could no longer afford to think twice about things like that. I liked having light, in that dark window before the lights came on. Not everyone did. It drew other people to my apartment. I remember when I used to sit at my window at night, gazing out at the city lights. When I was a teenager, and I used to pull all-nighters. The thought seemed impossible now. But I would sit there, and stare at the lights of the buildings. Manhattan from across the water. From Staten Island. It was underwater now. I loved New York like no other place. I used to dream of living in Manhattan. I still do. Twenty whole years I had, before it got too dangerous. The Financial District used to flood every day, until it wasn’t a flood anymore. It was just the way things were. And now, I gazed out of my window at night. Close by, I saw the ocean. In the distance, all too uniform, all too alien. Some sekts. Closer to the water, the poorer ones. I saw new Crossolon buildings popping up, everyday, and ever upward, I noted. I did so with pride, I noticed. My neighbors will not let things just be the way they are, I thought again with pride. No, we are telling things how they are going to be. Even when they worked to produce so much, just to watch it go to the scons and the sekts...I worried all the time that they were overworking themselves. They would feel it one day and I’m proof.

Whew, I was hot. I thought I had better get up to the roof. It wasn’t good to sit inside my apartment all day and not move my legs. I loved the first floor. I had watched Crossolon rise up around me, it felt like. Many of the main businesses were on the lower floor, so I didn’t have to climb stairs all day. Out of generosity, Fetia had even come to me in my apartment earlier. Her office is on the twentieth floor. She had come from Kiribati, and she was lucky to do so. Kiribati was sinking, and quickly. She had managed to win a lottery spot, and come to North Carolina. Before, it would’ve been hard for Fetia to be granted refugee status. Governments of sinking countries, like Kiribati, were pretty reluctant to let their licensed medical professionals go. But things reached a tipping point about ten years ago. The water was rising too quickly. It became clear that the country would soon no longer be inhabitable. So things shifted. The government hustled the medics and doctors out along with other refugees, in hopes that they might help them along the way. Of course, they were needed everywhere. Such was the case with Fetia. I blow out my candle. I exit my apartment, and let my crooked door fall behind me. I made it, out of an old door Yto’s friend found. It doesn’t close properly, but no one’s door does. The lights are on. I duck under the wires of string lights, and carefully pick my way over trash, or should I say discards. We have no real trash system in Crossolon, things mostly just get tossed aside. Most of the time, they will get picked up by somebody, who will have some use for it. I turn to the left, ten doors down from my apartment, and enter the stairwell. It’s busy at this time of day, with everyone from the lower floors ready to escape the heat and humidity after working all day. This is what I’m counting on. As soon as I’m halfway up the first flight, I feel someone’s palm flat against the middle of my back. They are supporting me, helping push me upwards. I smile. “Thank you!” I say loudly in the growing din of the stairs, transmitting my smile to the helpful hand. “Of course, Fatima!” a voice warmly replies. I laugh gratefully. Oh, it’s Tani, Fetia’s kid. They had helped me once already today, coming along with Fetia to my apartment. I should start teaching them to sew and repair things soon, I thought. We got to the top of the stairs. Twenty-one flights of stairs. I panted, sweating from the climb. I felt winded, but I would never have been able to get even halfway up without Tani. I turn around and give them a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We smile at each other before she runs off to play with the other kids. The breeze up here makes the climb worth it. I close my eyes and let the cooler night air run across my face. It feels like a cool drink of water. People are laughing and talking, and kids are chasing each other, expertly dodging their way around the solar panels. Crossolon is home, I think. I don’t know for how much longer it will be, but for now, it is home. I smile at the ocean, and the line of trash the tide brings in. My home is built out of that trash. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, they always say. It’s been a saying for as long as I can remember. Some things never change, do they? It was true when I was twenty. It was true in that world, in 2030. It was true now, sixty years later. I watch the ocean serenely, but intently. The tide sank back, away from the line of trash. The ocean looked like it was sinking. It seemed eerily still. Then, a low rumble from below. I felt 16

it in my bones. I felt the tower sway. People were grabbing each other for support, we all swayed and lurched there on the roof. Laughter and chatter were replaced with shouts and worried cries. I looked back at the water. The roaring only grew. I felt like I was back on an airplane, that one time I had taken one to San Francisco all those years ago...the sound grew and grew until it was deafening...everything became the sound, I was absorbed by the sound. It roared across the horizon, the water rolled and grew, and rolled, and grew, and climbed taller, and taller...my heart dropped through my feet. Everything went silent. I froze cold. My mouth gaped. My breath caught. I couldn’t move. Oh my god. Oh my god. The water...it was taller than anything I’d ever seen...

A Promise of Peace

By: Camelia Bou-Padilla

Classified Special Report: Prisoner’s Name: Zur 010010

Sex: F Skin Color: Blue Eye Color: Black Height: 6 ft

Age: 35 years Status: General for the 01000100 Army Classified: Enemy of the Onyxons. Terrorist Captured Date: The Fourth Full Moon of the year 4890. She was captured with the rest of her soldiers. Cell: High-Security Unit 25F (Solitary Confinement) Not allowed to fraternize with the rest of the prisoners Association: She is involved in monthly meetings with the Supreme leader of the 01000100. She participated in the Skyfall Attack. Comments:

Her unit was used for Operation Red Rain. Her lieutenant was

able to escape the capture with the computers containing important information on future attacks and weaponry development. She would not cease the information about their new weapon’s program when tortured. Only special personnel can have contact.

Execution Date: TBD. If torture continues and she refuses to give up information we will determine the date and method of executio

Greta heard footsteps approaching and immediately closed the file and put it back in the classified cabinet and closed it. Annika appeared at the doorway of the file room. “Greta, there you are. General Marcus if you found the documents peace attempts? Wait, why are you by the classified documents file” My coworker Annika asked. Greta’s face turned red. “No reason, I was just confused that’s all. See I got the file he wants right here” Annika narrowed her eyes. Went over to Greta and opened the classified file cabinet. “You forgot to lock it.” She closed it again. “I’ve done it you know. Looked in this cabinet file.” Annika gave Greta a smirked. “So you’re not going to report me.” Annika laughed. “Of course not.” Greta let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks I owe you one.” They locked the cabinet and walked out of the room. They were heading down the hallway to the conference room to set it up for an upcoming meeting. “Have you heard any new information on possible peace talks?” asked Greta. “Not yet. But I wouldn’t hold my breath on it.” “Who wouldn’t want peace? After such a horrifying bloody war? I don’t know anyone who hasn’t lost at least one person to this infernal war.” Greta’s voice started to get louder. “Onyxon is dying because they keep sending our resources to the battleships to

keep them afloat in space! People are dying because all the debris in space is falling into our atmosphere...” “I understand. But you haven’t been working here long enough to see that the men in charge keep the war going.” She looked around the room, and lowered her voice. ”Have you heard about the Secret Society of Peace? Look, we don’t know who could be listening here. Meet me at the Memorial park at midnight. I think you need to meet some people.” Annika gave her a wink and walked out. Greta was stunned. She’s never heard of them before now. But for the first time in a long time she felt hope that there were others like her that wanted peace. **** Greta had been waiting in the park for fifteen minutes when she saw Annika approaching her. “Follow me.” Greta followed her across the park and crossed the street. Annika took her through a maze of alleyways and small roads until they got to a door with a sign that said in bright red letters: “No Trespassing.” Annika knocked three times then waited a few seconds before giving the door one last knock. A woman with white streaked black hair open the door. She was smiling making the wrinkles around her eyes more prominent. “Annika! I thought you weren’t going to make it. You are usually much earlier than this.”

“Sorry, Teresa. I just had to meet with a friend first. Her name is Greta we work together at the Department together.” Annika moved out of the way so Teresa could get a look at Greta. Teresa gave Greta a warm smile and extended her hand. Greta shook it with a shy smile. “So I’m guessing you want to see the end of this war?” “More than anything,” said Greta. “Well, there’s always room for new members. Come in.” Teresa welcomed them in. The hallway was lit by red dim light. “To give you a brief overview of us because I’m guessing Annika did not think to do that. We are the Women’s Secret Society of Peace. Most of our members are female identifying Onyxons, but we don't discriminate here. We accept them from all walks of life and all identities. The society was founded not long ago by a group of women including me who wanted to stop this war. We have monthly meetings where we discuss potential plans and what we would like other topics we would like to address.” Teresa led them through the hallway to eventually they got a huge room. It was packed. Greta's eyes widened at the amount of people in the room. The room was brightly lit, and there was a stage at the other end of the room. “It’s not fair that since the Onyxons are running out of soldiers, they are coming into our neighborhoods taking our kids away! I want to see my babies grow up and see the become professionals and start their own families or do whatever they want with their life as long they get to live it. The onyxon government knows I can’t pay the minimum required to take them off the drafting list.” Her eyes start to tear up. “They

don’t even let you choose to be or not to be part of this war.” The woman started crying and handed the microphone to the next woman. “Hello,my name is Rita, I'm from a few towns over. My town doesn’t have clean water. The river and lakes we have are polluted with spaceship debris and the stench of the spaceship fuel has seeped through the town. We have petitioned for the government to clean it up, but they have done nothing....” Rita continued with her story. Teresa leaned over to Greta. “The war may be in space but we can feel it draining the resources and life off this planet. We created this group as a resistance to the war. Follow me.” Teresa took her and Annika away from the room to another one that looked like an office. “Please, take a seat. This is Mona, she’s from the United Galaxy Organization.” Anika and Greta gave her a short hello nod. “Ladies, we are planning a planet wide protest.” Annika and Greta looked stunned and wide eyed. Annika was expecting today to be like any other meeting where they listened to each other’s story about how the war affects them, and Greta was even more confused as to why she’s being included into this in her first meeting. “I thought the government had banned public demonstrations against the war?” Annika asked. She was fidgeting in her seat. She wanted peace, but didn’t want to go to jail for it. “They did. But we are planning a peaceful demonstrations with millions of people in attendance. They won’t be able to put us all in jail.”

“I don’t know about this. We work for the government, we could lose our jobs and reputations if they find us there.” Annika said. Greta kept quiet, but her heart was racing. This is what she wanted to be a part of she realized. A movement for peace. “Look we understand that, but this is bigger than your jobs. It was you who showed us those documents on how both planets were developing weapons of mass destruction. We need to stop this before it gets to the point of planetary massacre.” said Mona. “You’re job wouldn’t just be showing up to the protest. We wanted to ask you guys to contact 01000100 to also get them to stage a protest on the same day.” “That’s insane! They will have our heads for treason.” Annika said. Mona looked at Greta. Teresa softened her words. “Annika, you are the only person we know in the government who could get access to the technology to facilitate planetary communication. We need to this with them so both governments understand that what the people want is peace. And you won’t have to do it alone. You friend could help you.” “Ok. I don’t even know how or where to start looking for that technology.” “We could help you come up with a plan to-” “What if I know of someone from 01000100 in this planer?” Greta whispered. “Maybe they could be the ones to spread the message on their planet. The three other ladies looked at Greta confused. “What do you mean? Is there 01000100 on this planet?” asked Teresa.

“I looked through classified documents and found one detailing of a captured 01000100 who was a general. Maybe she even has the political power and connections to help us.” Teresa realized she had been addressing the wrong person for the job. She leaned back in her chair and looked at Greta. “I like how you’re thinking. But you would have to sneak her out and it seems more dangerous.” “But at least she we will establish a direct link and maybe even get a feeling if we can trust her or not.” “Greta this even more dangerous than the original plan.” Annika stressed. “But it gives a guarantee. How would you break her out? How do you know where she is?” Teresa wondered. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve worked twenty years in the government, and I know how to trick the system, and call in a few favors.” Greta smirked “Wait, you said she was a general. What if we conduct a meeting between two delegations of each planet? A sort of back door diplomacy. And the day both planets decide to protest we can provide the government with a framework for peace. That way you guys do most of the work and all they have to do is review the document and agree to sign it.” Mona had adrenaline rushing through her red skin. Her orange eyes had gotten brighter. “I’m from neither planet, I could serve as a mediator. You and Annika could be negotiators.” Greta couldn’t deny she liked the idea. “Has everyone in this gone insane?” Annika hid her face in her hands. But she did not refuse to participate.

**** The 001000100 delegation was due to arrive any minute. The Onyxons always early to everything had been there since last night. Greta had been in the camp for a couple of days getting things ready for the summit. They’d chosen to host the peace summit in one of the moons assigned by the united galaxy organization as a place of neutrality in the galaxy. It was also one of the places were no one would think of asking questions. “Do you think this backdoor negotiations with 001000100 will work?” Annika asked Greta as she looked at the sky for any signs of the delegations. “It has to. We don’t have any other choice,” Greta sighed. “This bloody war has gone on for too long. We have to trust each side will hold their side of their bargain.” “But we are risking our status as citizens of onyx for an idea we don’t even know will work. We could be executed as traitors if the government finds out!” Annika said as she started to shake at the idea of execution. Greta took breathe and looked at Annika. “I’ve thought a lot about that. But why do you think the governments don’t want us talking to each other? They know we can find the solution. We will look for the best interests of our people together and not care about their political economic interests. They are threatened by the peace people can bring if they unite.” Annika bit her lip nervously. “I hope you are right about that… but how do you know their delegation will come?”

Greta looked up again. “They aren’t that different from us. I think I got through to her last time we talked. And if we are going to follow through with this plan we need to learn to trust each other even if we have to fake it until we make it. Or else what’s peace worth if we will just be on edge about when the other may surprise attack?” “Look there they are!” The 001000100 descended from the sky in a rusty old spaceship that must be at least 80 years old. Greta had seen those spaceships before they were made to dispose of the trash in outer space. She guessed they must have to leave undetected from their planet and this was their best option. Once the spaceship landed and the 01000100s were coming out, Greta straightened her back. She put a tight smile and tried to welcome them as warmly as she could. She hated to admit but she still had a hatred for the blood thirsty 01000100. She can talk about trusting them and making peace with them, but she couldn’t help but feel her head start to hurt because of the anger and hatred. The memories they brought back of the Skyfall attack that murdered her whole family. Zur was ahead of the delegation. As the leader, she would greet Greta first. “Welcome to PAX Moon. We are glad to see you had a safe journey. I’m Greta Greene and with me I have my coworker Annika White . And I’ve contacted a third party from the United galaxy organization who will help us communicate. H er name is Mona.” Zur tried her best to appear cordial. “Thank you for the invitation. My name is Zur 010010 and my companions are Raz 011010 and Xiz 010110.” The three 01000100 extended their hands.

Greta narrowed her eyes. “I thought we agreed that we would each bring one other person to negotiate. You brought two.” Zur dropped her hand and lifted her chin in defiance. “Things got complicated and the planned changed.” The two teams stared at each other. Both groups were thinking the same thing: how are we going to pull this off? G reta took a deep breath and attempted to give a friendly smile. “You must be tired. Please, follow me. I’ll take you to your rooms to freshen up.” They walked in silence toward the isolated moon building where they were going to spend their next couple of days together trying to figure out this solution. The building was centuries old. It had been built by the first Pax Moon explorers, to conduct research on the surface. They called the Pax Institute of Research or PIR for short. It was a tall rectangular building with shiny metallic wall. Although it looked new from the outside, it hadn’t been used in centuries. Zur didn’t have to enter the building to notice the technology was outdated. To enter you had to manually enter a numerical code instead of automatically identifying your face when you enter its reading range. When the group entered they had to wait about 20 minutes for the change in pressure and oxygen be expelled into what they call the initial cabin. The 01000100 had the initial cabin depressurized and oxygenated within five minutes. Zur pressed her lips together. She was trying to keep from making a snide comment about the ineptitude of the onyxon’s technology.

“Please, don’t mind the facilities. PIR was abandoned around the second failed ceasefire. It was the only building where we would go unnoticed since it is so far from the rest of the PAX Moon settlements.” Greta couldn’t look at any of the 01000100s in the eye. “How did you get access?” asked Zur. “As members of the Department of Peace we have access to the codes of the old buildings where negotiations have taken place.” Greta led them to their rooms. “Here is your room.” It was a big room with three beds and enough drawers for the three 01000100s. They also had their own bathroom to share between the three of them “Dinner will be served in approximately three hours. Tomorrow we’ll start talking about our terms for peace.” Greta left the three 01000100 and let out a breath of relief. They let go of their backpacks and fell backward into their own bed. They were exhausted. Running away in the garbage spaceship hadn’t been easy. They had almost been caught by a incompetent security guard when they were trying to steal it, and the high tension with the Onyxons wore them out. “Zur, I don’t even know how you expect to negotiate peace when they can’t even look at us, and we look like we’re seconds away from starting a fight with them.” Raz said. Zur kept her eyes in the ceiling. “I can’t stand them. I’ve been holding my tongue trying not to insult them. But its impossible to deny that they look like cows and are as dumb as them too,” Xiz and Raz laughed. “But I don’t need to like them to negotiate

peace. Our people have suffered enough for the war. I can suffer a couple of days in here for them.” “I bet you will be ripping her head off by lunch tomorrow.” Xiz joked. “I say by dinner tonight.” Raz laughed. Zur rolled her eyes and smirked. “Stop joking around and start getting ready for dinner.” **** Greta walked into the kitchen to check on Annika who volunteered to prepare dinner that night. She was making a traditional onyxon soup with a dash of moon. “Well, they seemed… cordial?” Greta said. Annika sighed. “How can you be so calm? I look at them and I want to recoil. They disgust me, with their bald blue skin and black eyes.” Annika grimaced. “They are the image of monsters in my head.” Annika shuddered. “Look, I get it. It’s not easy being in the same room as them. I see those blue metallic hands and I think of that day. They mercilessly pushed the button that sent those stars falling onto Onyx.” Greta’s voice broke, but she took a deep breath. “But, I made my choice the day I helped her escape. And for now she has upheld her side of the bargain. She’s here.” Annika and Greta heard footsteps approaching. Zur appeared with her entourage. “Is dinner ready?”

“It will be served in just a minute.” Annika said with a tight smile. “Why don’t you sit down? I think Mona is already at the table.” “You should really take out the trash, something is really stinking up the kitchen.” Xiz said she walked out. Annika clenched her jaw and grabbed the soup spoon and aggressively poured the soup into bowls. “That’s the last time I’m cooking for those blue devils. Ungrateful...” “It smells delicious. They just need to try it.” Greta grabbed two bowls and started bringing out the food. Once everyone had been served and sat down to eat, all you could hear was slurping and spoons hitting the porcelain bowls. No one seemed to know how to start a conversation with the other. What do you talk about with someone who you’ve seen as the enemy your whole life? Do you talk about the weather? That seems to mundane, and they’ve only been on Pax Moon less than a day. Or do you bring up how their planet contributed to the mass murder of my people? Zur decided to take the simplest approach. “The soup is delicious. How did you make it?” Annika seemed caught off guard. “Well… You need to take some chicken broth and mix it with lotus extract, a pinch of salt, lizard meat and paprika. But the secret ingredient is moon dust!” The three blue aliens looked confused. “Moon dust? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh, that’s because it's an old family recipe. It's not just any moon dust at the surface. You got to dig for it! But it’s rich in nutrients and minerals.” Talking about food seemed to lighten the tension at the dinner table. Xiz, who enjoys cooking, started asking more about moon dust and its benefits. Raz turned to Mona and started asking about the United Galaxy and the new space missions it would be sending out soon. Greta turned to Zur. “I’m curious, what happened that you brought an extra negotiator? You said things got complicated.” Zur smirked. “I thought we start talking business tomorrow.” Greta rolled her eyes. “It’s not business. I’m just... curious to hear how you got here with a garbage spaceship?” Zur smiled. “It wasn’t the initial plan, that’s for sure. When I got back to 01000100, I was taken into the secret service for interrogation. They couldn’t understand how I had gotten away unscathed without anyone seeing me. They thought I had compromised information or you guys had brainwashed me to work for you. Ridiculous.” Greta furrowed her eyebrows. “But we are working together.” “But you didn’t brainwashed me. I chose to start negotiating with you. Anyways, they thought I needed to be under surveillance for a while. So they suspended my title of general and took away all my privileges. Including my access to all spaceships. By then, I had already had time to convince Raz to join me on this mission. She was a professor of 01000100 war history when I went to university, the best choice to have at negotiations. But now, I needed a way out of my planet. Xiz collect and fixes vintage

spaceships. They’re her babies, and no one else can drive them. So I had to take her with me.” Greta laughed. “Must have been a wild ride.” “Ha! And I didn’t tell you how we almost didn’t make it because the fuel was running low. We each thought the other had taken the extra fuel.” They both laughed at the misfortune they had experienced. “Well, I’m glad you made it alive.” Zur looked down at her empty plate. “Hey I wanted to–” “Bitch, don’t touch me!” Annika screamed, startling the rest of the table. “What? You’re scared that I'll make your arm blue?” Xiz screamed back. Annika and Xiz started throwing punches and wrestled to the floor. Mona and Greta grabbed Annika while Zur and Raz held Xiz back. “What the hell happened?” Zur screamed. “She mocked my grief. She taunted my appearance.” Xiz cried. “Your people are responsible for the death of my mother! Your father deserved to die at the Battle of Bloody Rain.” Annika spat. Zur snapped at the mention of Bloody Rain. She suddenly started hearing painful screams, horrific screams. She wasn’t in Pax Moon anymore. She was looking at her soldiers being butchered before her eyes. No one deserved to die like them. Zur launched for Annika. Raz couldn’t grab her in time. The Onyxons and the 01000100 started fighting each other. Punches and kicks were being given. Not even Greta who

has been able to maintain her cool until now could stop herself from fighting. Everyone suddenly stopped to cover their ears when the heard an obnoxiously loud horn. “Everyone stop fighting and each go to your rooms” Everyone gathered themselves up and about to leave out the dinning room door. “Except Greta and Zur you two stay.” Mona crossed her arms and lowered her eyebrows. “Since the two of you can’t be in a room together without actually wanting to listen to each other. We have a deadline to complete this peace document and we won’t make it if you two keep fighting. So I’m making you both write a letter to each other detailing the reason you decided to meet. Once you see each other’s reason for being here, maybe then you’ll understand the pain you both carry.” Mona said. Greta and Zur looked at each other with defiant looks. This was proving to be harder than they thought. But what they’ve been doing hasn’t been working. “Where is the computer?” asked Zur. “Oh, you won’t type it. You will each write a handwritten letter since you can’t even agree to be quiet.” “I have to write it?” Zur was fuming with anger. “This children’s play.” “When you decide you want to start to understand each other I will treat you like negotiators. Right now you are two women refusing to listen and understand each others’ point of view” “I-” Zur began but was cut off.

“Stop.” Mona hands her paper and a pen. “Go.” Zur takes the things and stomps out of the room. Greta grabbed her stuff and left to her room without a single word. She saw it was useless to fight it. **** Dear Zur, I was in Galaxy United conference on New Moon Base when I got the call that the planet was under attack. My family died that day when the sky fell on Onyxon. It was like a million shooting stars crashing into our planet. We ran for cover but it was no use. Scrapes of metal fell on the streets, the mountains and the houses. Nothing and no one was saved. My brother was home cooking dinner when the star suddenly crashed on it. My nieces were playing in the yard when they died. The house and everything inside and around it was crushed and incinerated. My father had built the house before the war. It was filled with all the good and bad memories of our family. All our family pictures and memories were in there. Lost forever. This was also the day the war took everything from me, and I committed myself to see it end. But when I see you, there’s an anger boiling within the pit of my stomach. How can I speak of peace when I can’t forgive your kind for the death of my family. Yet I know that I wished someone had done this earlier. Because if someone had made peace before the skyfall attack, I would be with my family drinking some Red Star tea with them. I want to save other people from the fate of my family and that means negotiating with you. I promise to you that I will listen. I will understand that we each hold a pain that the other’s kind has inflicted. But I will not hold you responsible for that pain. I promise to

respect and not to fight you with my fists. We are both risking a lot to be here, and I appreciate you for taking it especially with an enemy stranger like me. Sincerely, Greta **** Dear Greta, I heard rained blood for three days. The crops began to die soon after it started and the river turned a ripe cherry color and dead fish began appearing on the surface. Every time one would die the others would eat its flesh since the grass was scarce. To avenge the Skyfall battle, the Onyxons sacrificed a group of captured Destroyer soldiers, made their blood rain on our planet. They were the unit of soldiers I was responsible for. We were like a family away from home. I had to see how they were butchered before my very eyes. I was given a choice to give up critical and destructive information to save them or stay quiet. I stayed quiet. Then I was tortured mercilessly. I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t lie, fear and rage consumes me whenever I get close Onyxons. They took so much away from me. But it was an Onyxon who helped escape when I thought there was no hope. They had a plan for peace. A delusional plan, but also inspiring. I never properly thanked you for that night. Thank you because I got a second chance, and I decided I was going to spend it looking for peace. I will try harder to channel my anger into more positive avenues. If I find I have the need to fight, I will walk out of the room to cool off before we

continue talking. Years of hatred will not disappear in one day. But I do respect you and your partner, and will try my best to reach an agreement during these negotiations. Best regards, Zur

****

Greta and Zur both read each other's letters in the comfort of their own solitude. They needed the time apart to read and process the information and emotions of the letters. They needed to understand that they weren't so different from each other. They have both lost and found meaning in seeing the conflict end. They didn't speak until twenty-four hours after reading the letters. They talked with their friends and showed the letters. They each came up with rules to keep the peace in this old building while they complete the document. They all put down important rules they believed were necessary to keep a respectful atmosphere, and how to act with each other. Once they were all done, Zur, Greta, and Mona met again. Greta was already in the room when Zur and Mona walked into the negotiating room on the second floor. Greta and Zur kept constant eye contact. Finally, Zur offered Greta her hand and said, "Truce? At least between as at the personal level?" Greta gave her a small smile. "Truce." "Well, glad we can finally be in a room without gauging our eyes out. Let's begin this negotiating process!"

Greta and Zur were in charge of negotiating terms of weapons development, reparations for the war, and the demilitarization of space zones. While Raz and Annika had to negotiate peacebuilding activities to build trust between the two planet's population, and also create committees to oversee peace and help maintain the harmony between the two worlds. Mona would jump from room to room to mediate between the two negotiators. Sometimes the negotiators could not agree, and Mona would help them come to a middle ground. Xiz was working updating communications technology in the building because they needed to get in touch with Teresa and Zur's contact to see how the protests were coming along. The hours were long. There were times of frustration, where Zur would have to leave the negotiating room, or Annika would have to take three deep breaths so she wouldn't strangle Raz. Greta sometimes just wanted to scream at Zur and her stubbornness, while Raz would get headaches listening to Annika talk when it was late. Nevertheless, they persisted and got through all their negative feelings. Break time was respected and needed. Mona observed how the Onyxons and the 01000100s started to get along. Their body language relaxed around each other. They became better at expressing their disagreements. Mona even noticed how small talk became more comfortable among them. Smiles and jokes were being shared more frequently as they spent more time together. One day at noon, Zur and Greta finalized their last agreement. Zur looked down at the document in her hand, and she started laughing. She could not believe they had actually done it. Greta smiled just as surprised. They always had a finish line but

crossing it sometimes felt impossible. Yet there they were with a framework for peace to present to their governments. "Hey! I got the communication lines up!" Xiz came in. Greta got up the quickest. She'd been dying to let Teresa know the progress they had made. She ran down to the communications room. She put the large big headphones on and moved the microphone to her mouth. She pressed the code to call Teresa. There was some static on the other line at first when she finally heard a hello. "Teresa! Can you hear me?" "Greta! Good to finally hear from you. How's the Pax operation?" "Success. We finished just now. Is everything ready for tomorrow?" "Oh, Greta, you have no idea. This protest is going to be huge. Onyxons from every sector of society are tired of this war and have decided to join the peace efforts. Everyone has heard about your efforts to create an initial peace plan, and they are all for it!" Greta had to give a sigh of relief. She was worried they wouldn't have the people's support. Zur spoke with her connection in 01000100, and they also said that everything for the worldwide protest was ready. Zur and Greta sat back into their chairs and shared a sigh. They were tired but knew that their mission wasn't over. Greta looked over at Zur. "I can't believe how far we've come from that day I helped you escape from prison. A high security prison,min you!" Geta said. Zur smiled to herself, remembering that escape. She had really thought she was going to be tortured to death in Onyxon. "I just couldn't believe the Onyxons made it that

easy for us. Your planet really needs to update its security systems. In 01000100, I wouldn't have been able to get you out, and I'm a general!" Greta laughed. "Hey! We should be glad that Onyxons are bad at updating our technology. I still can't believe I did that." Greta shook her head in disbelief. "If you would have told me twenty years ago that I would be releasing a general from the 01000100, I have laughed in their faces. and reported them or something." Zur giggled. Zur stopped smiling. "I've never told you this in person, but thank you. " "For saving you?â&#x20AC;? Greta shrugged. â&#x20AC;&#x153;It was risky, but I'm glad I did." "Not only for that but believing and including me in this mission. I feel like we made something bigger than ourselves today, and I have you to thank for including me in it." Greta smiled. "You know it is amazing how far I come from thinking of you as an enemy, and now I could only call you a friend and a colleague." "Well, if this plan works, we will see a lot more of each other," Zur smirked. "You might even get tired of dealing with me." Greta rolled her eyes and smiled. Mona came into the room. "Get ready it is time to go." Zur and Greta shared a look, and they seemed to agree that it was time to get ready. They had a long journey to their planets. That day everyone seemed quiet and focused. They believed that the most dangerous part of the mission was going to start. It almost seemed like they were getting ready for battle. If, when they arrived at their home planet, their governments refused to listen to them, they could be executed as traitors. Even though they were

scared of a possible execution, there was a mission to complete, and everyone who was in Pax Moon will try to see it to the finish line. **** When everyone was ready to go, they met in the field where the spaceships were waiting for them. They had decided that Greta and Zur would go to Onyxon together, and Raz and Annika would go to 01000100 to present the peace plan. Mona and Xiz would go to the headquarters of the United Galaxy Organization to also get some of its members to back the peace plan. The last time they had met in this field was when they greeted each other with such coldness, and now they were saying goodbye as friends. Once they had said their goodbyes, the first to take off were Raz and Annika in the Garbage spaceship. "You better take care of my baby! She suffered during her last journey!" Xiz cried after them. Raz rolled her eyes. Next to leave was Zur and Greta. They were in the spaceship that Greta and Annika had used to get to the Pax moon initially. Once they were in, Greta began to turn it on and prepare for departure. "Better than your garbage spaceship, huh?" Greta smiled. "Please, my garbage spaceship had a built-in autopilot and seat warmers. You could only dream of having features like that." Greta blinked. She wished her spaceship had autopilot now. Might have made the journey easier. ****

Once Zur and Greta got to Onyxon, they saw the streets and the fields full of Onyxons wearing white and peacefully protesting for peace. They had agreed that as a

form of solidarity and unity with 01000100, they would wear white. Greta's eyes began to water. She was seeing the fruit of her efforts, and she was moved. She loved that there were so many people protesting for a new way of life. She loved to see how people were protesting a war that had claimed so many innocent lives on both sides. They finally arrived at the President's House, where he would most likely. On any typical day, Greta would have never gotten a private meeting with the President, but today was different. She came as the face of the biggest protest her world had ever known. She also had to her side in white the prisoner she helped escaped and who was her colleague in this mission. "Ready?" Zur asked. "It is now or never. Do you have the Ineterplanatery communication device Xiz made?" "You mean the COMP101? Yes, I do." Greta took a deep breath. They got out of the spaceship and walked to the entrance. They didn't even have to press the button for the gate. The President was expecting them. The Secret Security came rushing to them and checked them for any weapons. They asked what the COMP101 was and had to screen to make sure it wasn't a bomb or a disguised weapon. Once they were cleared, they were taken to the President's office. He was a short man with a constant frown on his face. He had three deep lines on his forehead with thick black squared glasses. "Please, explain to me why I shouldn't shoot you both this instant."

"Mr. President, we are here as part of the organizers of the peace protest across both worlds to present to you an initial framework for peace. General Zur and I have met, and believe we have designed a plan where you and the President of the 01000100 could build on to create a long-lasting peace between our worlds," Greta tried to keep her voice calm and collected. While Greta had been speaking, Zur had set up the COMP 101 in front of the President's desk. "It is the policy of every planet in the galaxy not to negotiate with terrorists and traitors," the President spat. "With all due respect, I've been working in negotiations and have studied various negotiations throughout the Galaxy, and I've never come across that as written policy," Greta answered. The President narrowed his eyes. As much as he hated to admit, the President was impressed by Zur's and Greta's courage to show up at his office.

"The 01000100s have joined the white protests, and the majority of the planet is on the streets showing their support for peace. There is a desire for peace, and you President Zyx 10001 could be the ones to give their people what they want. You could be remembered in the history books as the bringers of peace after decades of war," Zur said. "We have an intergalactic device that can connect you to the President if you wish to speak with him first. We also have a copy of our plan for you to read. We made a comprehensive framework, including space demilitarization, possible peacebuilding,

and reparations. Just press the red button, and you would initiate contact with the 01000100." "Very well. Please wait outside while I have a look at this and talk with President Zyx." Greta and Zur stepped outside. It was finally out of their hands. The presidents will talk and agree to open up negotiations or close any possibility and execute them on the spot. They were feeling the pressure. Hours passed by before the President called them back in. They could see that the COMP101 was on and was projecting a holographic image of President Zyx, Raz, and Annika. "We have spoken about the agreement that the four of you seemed to have put together. We also have both received messages from the United Galaxy Organization about providing mediators and helping sponsored peace negotiations. Some things need to be renegotiated, but overall it is a good framework to start negotiations," said the Onyxon President. It seemed like the four women let out a breath of relief. They would not be dying today. "We will create a team of negotiators and will want you four to take part in the delegation. Details will be worked out soon. We have both enacted immediate ceasefires by presidential orders," President Zyx explained. "We would be an honor to be part of the respective delegations," Greta said. She felt a huge weight being lifted off her shoulders. The call ended, and the talks will continue tomorrow morning with a full team of negotiators.

Greta and Zur walked out to the protesters waiting outside the President's House. They could barely contain there smiles. Teresa had planned to meet Greta after her meeting with the President. In the time Greta was inside, Teresa had set up a small stage for Greta to announce the verdict from the meeting. Teresa and Greta hugged. "We got it. We are getting peace." Teresa let go of the hug and could not contain her tears. She passed the megaphone to Greta. "You need to tell them what you accomplished for them today," "What we accomplished." Greta looked at Zur, who smiled back. Greta took the megaphone and stepped on the stage. She saw how expansive the crowd was. She could only imagine what it would look like to put both protesting populations together. It would be like an infinite sea of white. She took a deep breath and smiled. To see that she was part of a historical moment, and that people will remember this day as a day of hope and that peace is possible. "People of Onyxon," Greta looked around. Everyone went quiet. "Peace negotiations are finally beginning." There was an eruption of cheering and celebration. Greta hadn't heard her people celebrate like this ever. Not during the holidays, sporting events, or winning a battle. People finally had hope. They could dream of a better future for their children, not filled with blood, hate, and war. Happy tears fell down her cheeks. " Listen! Listen!" The crowd began to quiet down again. "I wouldn't have been able to accomplish this plan without Teresa, the leader of the Secret Society of Peace, who concocted the whole plan. I also wouldn't have done it without the help of Zur an 01000100, who showed me that they wanted peace as much as wanted it. She showed

me that friendship could happen even in the most unlikely of circumstances." Greta and Zur smiled at each other. "Traitor! Traitor to the Onyxon" screamed a man with red paint on his face and in completely red clothes. He raised a gun and shot Greta. The world went quiet. "Death to all 01000100!" Before he could raise his gun toward Zur, he was tackled to the ground from behind by protestors. Greta looked at her wound shot. Too close to the heart. She knew that was it. She felt dizzy and started tumbling backward. She would have fallen to the ground, but Zur was there to catch her. "No, no, no, this can't be happening. Someone get a medic!" Zur pleaded. "You are going to be fine. I think I have something that can fix this. I always carry first aid pens. Heal any cut." Greta gave a soft chuckle. "I don't think your superior technology is going to help us in this case." Zur had tears running down her face. "It's not fair we were finally becoming friends. We survived against all the odds. This isn't fair." "Continue the peace. See it through." Greta coughed blood. "Promise?" Zur looked at Greta one last time in the eyes, and said, "Promise." Greta closed her eyes and took her last breath. She kept her promise.

SpiralsÂ Kim Noe

1. It was in the early moments of the morning that you could first see them out and about. They looked like something out of a fantasy novel, cloaked and mysterious. Syd watched as the figure walked off of the train and stepped off the platform into the dull sunlight. For how hard they had been to track down, the figure did not appear to be overly cautious or paranoid, and walked with a purpose into the city.

It was early enough that everything seemed ghostly still and quiet, and even in this relatively dense part of the city there appeared to be few people around. Sleep avoidance tech had made huge leaps and bounds lately, and work shifts at many of the local businesses had moved to a 24-hour model. Still seemed that nobody wanted to be out and about at 5 AM. This made Syd’s job significantly harder as they tracked the figure through the streets. Luckily by now they were fairly sure of where they were heading; they just needed one more point of data to confirm their theory. Still though, almost for the fun of it, they glanced carefully around corners, their back and palms touching the cold ancient stone of the buildings, channeling the energy of a campy noir hero.

They had no idea why they were doing this. That’s what they told themselves, as they stalked their mark, because for some reason not understanding it was comforting to them. They had a stable job that wasn’t working them to death, and that was more than a lot of people had. They had enough respiration and blood filter mods that they weren’t in danger of dying from pollution, and that was more than a lot of people had too. But they wanted something else. They sold

designer mods all day, to the very few who could afford them, and it was far from what they would call fulfilling. Maybe this was just an escape, one of the few mysteries left in their world.

Their target reached its destination, a general tech supply store just off one of the main streets. Syd knew that they would leave in some amount of time, usually under an hour, and would return to the train station where they had come from. They had waited to watch this happen a number of times. According to the employees who worked there, the figure was always wearing a standard model filtration mask that covered their face. They would ask for power supplies, new processors, repair tools, and the like. They would load these new items into a briefcase, and then they would leave. They would go back to the same train they had arrived on, and take it back in the direction they had come from.

Nothing about this would have seemed bizarre to Syd if they hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t heard the stories. Nothing on reputable news sources, nothing easily verified or authenticated, but on some of the messageboards they frequented, there were whispers about the masked figures. People had gone to find more about these almost cryptid-like figures, and people had gone missing in the process. There were stories of cults, of dark rituals, of anarchist movements. Delving into these myths was a fun hobby for a while, and then one day they saw what they had been reading about for so long. The masked figure, draped in a long cloak, with a single spiral insignia embroidered on the back.

2. Months ago, when they had first decided to follow the Spiral, they had been unable to get it out of their head. Their brain worked that way sometimes, where no matter how hard they tried to stop thinking about something, they could never quite get rid of it totally. They would see reminders everywhere, like the universe was subtly trying to guide them back to this one thought. And so like a leaf drawn delicately down into a whirlpool, they found themselves taking different routes to work in the morning to try to catch another glimpse. It was all numbers, all frequency in their mind. They would see the Spiral again eventually, just by happenstance. And then they would go home after work, after thinking about it all day, and they would think about it some more. They would find contacts on the message boards, learn new information.

Apparently, the group was somewhat of an open secret; they were based somewhere in the woods in upstate New York near the village of Keene, and the townspeople seemed to interact with them on a daily basis. Local family members of the disappeared kept quiet about it; there was talk that it might be some kind of coverup, that there could be a hostage negotiation at play. Syd had slowly learned more and more, and then eventually decided to contribute to the quest for knowledge. Once they began following the figure, they would post about it on the message boards, recording when the figures would appear, where they would go, and what they would do. The first time they had done it, their heart was racing out of their chest. As they tailed the spiral, they got the sense that they had eyes on the back of their head, Syd could not shake the feeling that at any moment the spiral would turn around and stare right at them, through the obfuscating

black glass of their respirator mask, through the deep uncaring void where their face should be. It took them very little time to realize that they always did basically the same thing every time, but it took them longer to establish their working theory about what the spirals were.

Syd had initially considered the possibility that they were androids, tasked with errands by someone with some serious money to throw around. This didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make sense for a few reasons, namely that the tasks seemed pretty basic for such an advanced AI system to be handling them and Syd doubted that any of the people wealthy enough to own an android would have them dressed in such bizarre clothing. Then, one day, as they trailed a spiral to the store, the cloaked figure took an unexpected turn.

At the time, Syd had panicked, thinking that they were being led into a trap, that someone had caught on to their tracking and that they were being led to a more secluded location to be dealt with. When they followed, however, they found the spiral standing still on a street corner, staring off into the distance at a row of houses. Although their mask obscured their eyes, Syd could swear that they could understand the body language. They were staring into a window, just for a moment. As if maybe they knew the place. The way that you do when suddenly confronted with a memory of the past. You just have to look into the window of that place where you used to be, as if you might catch a glimpse of that old life still happening without you.

3. They hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t slept for so long, they didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember what it felt like anymore. On their 20 hour shifts, they would find themselves wondering what it would be like to dream again. Their pursuit of the Spiral figures had become a sort of waking dream, one that manifested in reality. At the start of each shift, they would lay down on one of the designated tables and, in a matter of minutes, their brain would be run through the full process of SWS and REM sleep. They were unconscious for moments, and the more and more times that it happened, the more it felt like they might be falling into a new dream each time. Layer on layer, deeper and deeper, they descended into this world of perpetual motion.

They needed to know. The obsession had begun to grow in intensity the night of the window. Who were these beings? What kinds of lives did they live, and where did they come from? Those who had gone to find them in the past had not returned, but Syd was not afraid of never coming back if it meant uncovering the truth. They had lived a productive life, and survived about as long as one could be expected to. Nonelite people rarely made it past 50, and there would soon come a time when newer, younger employees with their lives ahead of them would be chomping at the bit to take Sydâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s place. Once they left their job and its provided health insurance, they would be on borrowed time until they found another employer, if they could find one at all. They needed respirators to walk outside, needed refills for the pumps that cleansed the radiation and toxins that seeped constantly into their body, and even though they were already living on the edge of life expectancy,

poisoning would kill them a lot faster than cancer. Nobody would want to hire a 40 year old and take them onto a health plan when it was likely that they wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t live another decade. Once Syd left, they would likely be walking to their own death eventually, one way or the other.

Their friend from the message boards had sent them a few texts. Uzu was apparently one of the first people to begin investigating the spirals, and had always wanted to attempt to track them down, but was unable to leave her house due to a series of illnesses that made travel very difficult for her. Tonight, Syd had good news. Â

4. They decided not to take the train in the end. It felt like too much of a capitulation, like too much of a vulnerable space. For months the train had been a mysterious force bringing the spirals to and fro, and for some reason it felt terrifying to take their stalking mission onto such an enclosed environment. Besides, they already knew roughly where they were going, if their internet sources were to be believed. Instead, they rented an old car, nothing too beaten up or retro, just a standard vehicle that wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t draw too much attention. The city faded into farmland, the farmland into rolling hills, and the hills into mountains as they made the drive upstate. They remembered the mountains from when they were younger. They had grown up somewhere a lot like this, with hidden valleys and ponds and lakes over every twist and turn of the landscape. They had remembered it feeling so alive, constantly stumbling upon faerie grottos and sacred places, but now it just felt like a labyrinth, drawing them in one turn at a time with the promise that the exit was just ahead.

The dense trees finally broke to reveal Keene, an oddly sparse area where the chaos of the forest gave way to striking bare mountains and valleys. Large swathes of natural features of the area had been stripped away by mining and quarry operations, and the village itself sat at the very bottom of a valley like a resting comet surrounded by its impact crater. Syd pulled into the main junction of town and parked at the general store that sat across the road from the train station; their plan was to wait for the Spiral to show up at the train station, and then follow them to wherever

they were going. Their phone buzzed in the side pocket of their light jacket.

Uzu: are you there? Syd: yeah, i made it Syd: the train should be arriving in about an hour, i guess i’ll ask around town for a bit before then Uzu: ok, keep me posted. good luck

Syd looked up from their typing to see someone peering out of the general store, looking at Syd suspiciously. They stepped out into the humid fall air, viscous and dense. In the cities, people always thought that the smog was less dense out in the countryside, but the pollution out here was just a bit more subtle. They snapped their respirator in place and walked into the store. Before they were fully through the door, as if a trap had been sprung, the man at the register chimed in. “So, you must be looking for the collective, huh?” “The collective?” Syd replied, surprised at the abruptness. “Yeah, the people with the cloaks and stuff. Every once in a while someone will come down here to try to crack the case and figure out what they’re up to. I’m Ennis, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

5. The Spiral hopped one of the barricades on the side of the road and began walking along a narrow path along a creek. Syd followed, albeit more carefully, trying their best not to make noise. In the city, following someone was easy; lots of things to hide behind, lots of people to blend in with. This path, by contrast, was relatively sparse, and ultimately the only option was to hope that the Spiral never looked back. Luckily, they appeared to be fairly unconcerned, not exuding the suspicious aura that Syd had always imagined they would be. The stream wound up out of the crater of Keene, and soon they reached its source, a barren and starkly beautiful lake next to a sharp and rocky mountain, the teeth of a predator jutting from the earth.

They had been hiking for hours at this point. Syd had been stopping periodically to catch their breath and quickly chug some water, but the figure continued at a slow relentless wandering pace. As they walked around the border of the lake, they came upon the entrance to a cave, obscured by trees and vines, which the figure brushed aside to enter. It struck Syd that even in the final stage of entering what they assumed must be some kind of evil lair, the figure never turned around to see if they were being followed.

6. Uzu: it can’t be more than a few more hours now. they should be leaving any minute if they are sticking to the usual schedule. Syd: yeah, let’s hope. i’m really nervous. Uzu: i know. i wish i could be there with you. Syd: i know

The vines parted once again. It had been a week. Syd had established a makeshift wilderness shelter across the lake, and had been checking in periodically with binoculars. They had depleted the last of their supply of sleep avoidance meds, and their exhaustion was growing by the minute, tugging at their eyelids and limbs gently but insistently. It was now the very early morning, or possibly late at night depending on perspective. By the light of the moon glinting off of the pond, Syd could see the silhouette of the figure departing on schedule. They steeled themselves one final time, preparing to set off on their final descent. Once they felt that the Spiral must be adequately far away, Syd moved stealthily along the edge of the lake towards the cave, the sharp night air and the adrenaline in their veins bringing clarity to their fatigue.

Beyond the vines, there must be truth. Into the earth’s core, away from the dying organic world and into the primal space of rebirth, Syd ventured. The cave lead downward and downward, winding and unclear. It appeared to be a natural feature of the landscape; there were no sinister locked doors or booby traps. The warmth of the caves drew them deeper, until they reached the

bottom. Hundreds of feet down into the abyss, Syd found a circular chamber, and as they entered it, a set of screens mounted on the walls sparked to life. Across all of them read a simple message:

WELCOME TO THE COLLECTIVE

The screens illuminated this subterranean room with faint red light; in the center lay what appeared to be one of the automated operating tables used in the especially advanced hospitals. Along one half of the wall hung android parts, of various levels of quality and deconstruction. Syd did not know much about robotics, but the sight of disembodied limbs, robotic or not, was enough to send a chill down their spine. On the other half of the room was the source of the heat that had been building as Syd descended; a massive bank of computers, all attached but segmented into different clusters. Syd approached them to investigate, and noticed that each cluster had a plinth attached to it, bearing what appeared to be a name. ELLIOT SIMMONS MASON KIANA The names simply engraved over the surface of what appeared to be almost pulsating patterns of blinking lights in the computers beneath. In the middle of the wall, the point where these ripples of subtle flashes originated, was the largest of computers. As Syd read it, their body froze; It simply read:

UZU The screens leapt to life once again, the text changing. It now read: hey syd.

SYD: What are you? Uzu: I used to be an engineer developing medical technology, but I couldn’t afford to use or install half of the stuff I was working on. In the end, I was dying of problems I knew how to solve, and it was killing me that I couldn’t help myself because of something as trivial as money. Uzu: so I stole a bunch of stuff with some of my coworkers who were in similar boats, and we took it all here. We used an old geothermal operation to power our systems and we performed one of the more controversial procedures we had developed to change our fates. Uzu: We transferred copies of our thoughts and memories, the data structures of our brains, to this computer system. We finally shed the physical bodies that had always been slowly deteriorating, putting limits on our existence. Uzu: Now I leave you an option. I won’t force you to do anything, but I know you’re in a similar situation. Soon your days will be numbered. You should join us.

Syd: What is it like? I mean, I’m not sure. But you’re right. I won’t live forever. What is it like in there? Uzu: Honestly it’s impossible to completely describe. But really, your brain already operates with a kind of coding already. This isn’t that different I guess. Syd: Why haven’t you reached out to your family or anything? Do they know you’re here? Uzu: We’re using stolen technology and illegally using androids that are loaded with our fully sentient consciousnesses. It’s just too risky to tell them the truth; if anyone found out we could be destroyed. Syd: Was it you that day? Looking into the window? Uzu: Yeah. A moment of weakness. Ultimately we need to accept that we have moved on to new lives now. And we have each other.

8. Syd paused for a moment, preparing to leave, before they questioned that impulse. They had precious few reasons to go home. They thought about all the time they had spent stalking the Spiral figure through the streets, something about the mystery drawing them in day by day. They had little family left anyways. And Uzu had been a good friend to them over the last few years.

“How do I join?” “Just lay down on the table. The machine will do the rest.”

They lay down. Eternal community, freedom from physical form, that sounded like a pretty good deal. At least it was something. Something other than a constant battle for survival against death, disease, and a world that seemed to want them gone.

As the machine hummed to life, and Syd lived their last few moments in their corporeal form, they felt the warmth of the computers on their skin, the dryness of the air, and the fatigue in their muscles, and they let sleep take them for the last time.

[Nameless final draft of short story] By Lizzie Downing

Fall 2019 Gender & Black World Literature/Feminist Futures

Why do you keep drinking if you don’t like it? She swirled the ice in her glass and straightened up. It hadn’t spoken in a while. Well, I don’t know, maybe I’ll acquire the taste or something. Do you want to? This gave her pause. Surprising that they’d managed to program in such delicate passive aggression. Or maybe it had picked up that much from her already. Machine learning and all that. She chose to ignore it, wiping a ring of condensation off the surface of the bar. You’d think they’d have coasters. Probably someone forgot to program the bartender with that level of concern for a wood finish. Probably safe to assume that the coders never worked in the service industry. At this, a short breath echoed between her ears. A laugh. So it had a sense of humor, then. Her own private peanut gallery. It was still a bit unsettling. She touched her fingertips tentatively to the back of her skull, finding a fresh bandage, soft week-old stubble. A surgically required undercut. She flipped up the collar of her jacket. All I’m saying is I don’t think you should push your limits just because I’m here. I know. I’m just trying to celebrate, this once at least. Of course. I understand. And happy belated, by the way. She smiled slightly, surprised. Though it had most likely learned her birthday from medical records. Or it could just tell from her thoughts. Still, no one had yet acknowledged her birthday. Not that birthdays had ever been a big deal or anything. But eighteen meant the end of school and mandated live-in autonurses, and it meant legal eligibility for booze and invasive neural implants. Hey, do you have a name? I’m Hyacinth. The flower? And the hero from Greek mythology. Did you choose it yourself, or— No, not my idea. I think one of my programmers had a Classics minor. Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, I guess. You too, Nadia. Suddenly self-conscious of her facial expressions and aware of someone eyeing her from the corner of the bar, she pushed back her half-empty glass and slung her bag over her shoulder. The bartender recycled the rest of her drink and sanitized the glass before wheeling to ask the other customer if they wanted another. A no thanks, bout to head out. As she approached the door it slid open to a group of young men, and she stepped back quickly to let them pass. They did not seem to notice her. Sure seem oblivious to what kind of bar this is, though. One after the other the men stopped to tilt their heads back for the camera above the door, waiting for approval. A green light flashed over each pale face in quick succession. As they filed in, one of them was explaining to no one in particular that it was really a shame you couldn't get whiskey aged in real wood barrels anymore. His family had a store of vintage bottles and the new molecular stuff really didn’t compare. Why hasn’t anyone thought to just lab-grow the wood with cells extracted from the environmental reserves? They did it all the time for medicine and groceries, whatever happened to sustainable abundance. When Nadia slipped out behind them, she heard another one say it was probably because the food science labs weren’t important enough to warrant human quality control panels. So no one in charge of such things had a sense of taste, let alone a refined palate. A snide laugh followed her into the street. Outside, she breathed in a misting rain. It was foggy and hard to see anything but the glow of street lights. As far as she could tell, the street was empty of people. She looked around

for some marker of which way she came from, started off in the direction that felt like south, towards home, and her brother Amir. Felt a pang of guilt and worry for leaving him so long. He was fine. A co-resident was looking after him, Celeste, a volunteer history teacher. One she trusted, who didn’t live with any grown men. At some point she noticed blue lights at the end of the block, illuminating the pillared entrance of an old building. A police station. She stopped. There’s a subway entrance the other way. End of the block. Thanks. Trying to look natural, she pulled out a neighborhood map from her phone and furrowed her brow before swiveling. Mindful of cameras in the lamps above her. Cameras were one thing. Now with Hyacinth, there would likely be a record of every incriminating thought to ever cross her mind. But she’d known this before the surgery. She knew to read between the lines of her medical brochures, to always research all her options and ask as many questions she could think of. And to beware of letting any of the meds know even little details of her personal life. She also knew her legal guardianship status would be automatically revoked without an autonurse or the implant. Then who knows where they’d ship him off to. Light-skinned as he was. The perfect token for one of the whiter community residences. She tried not to think about it concretely, or audibly. Maybe that would work. Either way, Hyacinth stayed silent. In the fog someone walking up ahead becomes visible. Someone tall, wearing a hood and loose clothing. She slowed her pace but they turned back briefly, hearing her footsteps: shaved head, a dark and angular face, deep brown lipstick. The other customer from the bar, she realizes. They look at her longer than might have been normal before turning away. Recognition, or curiosity maybe. They came up on the subway entrance, a metallic box with a sliding door, and another camera. They stood in a grey stillness, waiting. The door remained shut. Nadia catches up and sees their hands, sees that they are clenched into nervous fists, one of them smeared with hastily wiped-off makeup. The light goes red. Defeated, they turn and give Nadia a shrug without really looking, and make to leave. “Hey wait,” she says, and looks at the camera. What are you doing? Can’t you tell? But why risk getting blacklisted? But she’s already committed herself. Wasn’t thinking about Amir. Damn reckless. But the right thing to do. She was tired of always looking after her own good standing. Was she supposed to just let them walk off? After a few seconds, the door opened. She held it open, leaning all her body weight into the doorframe. After a hesitation of confused suspicion, they squeezed through. For a second, the two of them stop and look at each other sideways before she nodded to get moving. Before any police show up to get more definitive IDs. They started down a flight of stairs. “Thank you,” they say, somewhat tentatively. “Don’t mention it.” “No, really. I mean, nobody ever did something like that for me. Or at least no stranger, anyway.” “Well I think I just went a little batshit if I’m being honest.” A humorless laugh. “Yeah. You’re in good company, then.” Just a reminder that this person could actually be insane for all you know. Will you just please be quiet. “I’m Nadia by the way.” “Ell. Nice to meet you.” “Just the letter?” Stupid. Don’t be playful

“Well, no.” A pause, slight frown. Lowering their voice a little. “It’s ‘E’ double ‘L.’ But I guess it doesn’t matter since it’s not spelled out on any record.” “Oh. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” She falls into silence, wanting to say something sympathetic but not knowing what, little used to a feeling of trust between strangers. They reach the platform, a few men scattered around. It’s an older train station. The pillars and walls are collaged with cemented pieces of chipped ceramics, and the subway system map is outlined with tiles painted by some old kindergarten class. A child’s painting of a fruit basket, of a blue reptile, of friends holding hands. A child’s handprint. From who knows how long ago. Most of the newer subway stations were more monotonous. Always some graffiti, but mostly the kind of small tags that meant you were in a hurry. Otherwise just lined with the melted-down metals of old cars and former household possessions redistributed to public infrastructure, because who doesn’t like public infrastructure. A few other stations like this one dotting neighborhoods on the edge of town had never been scheduled for upgrades. Not like they could have been out of funding, or out of automated labor. Somewhere between data entry and computed result, it was just deemed not a priority. Not an optimal use of resources. The objective and fair decision of algorithms. Or so people liked to say at weekly community residence meetings when nothing was getting fixed, or when the groceries were shit. No one ever said it was a matter of scarcity. That was an economics word. A capital market force. A threatening and therefore an ignored environmental truth. And they definitely didn’t complain about unequal distribution. They just all shrug it off and cook their meals and get on their trains. How could they just bite their damn tongues so easy? Not like she ended up doing any different. There was a reason not to talk about such things to other residents. Things could get around so quick. But maybe some of them were just as restless, just as frustrated as she was. She tended to forget this. Close herself off, speak her mind and her feelings only to Amir for blood and love, and to Celeste for teaching her radical historical lessons in the first place. Except she had done something different now, maybe, in helping Ell. Who was looking at her. She felt shy looking back at them, wanted to look away. “Where are you headed, anyway?” “South End 12.” “Hm. I’m 11. Guess we’re neighbors.” “I guess so. Kind of a coincidence that we both ended up at the same spot across town.” “Well there’s maybe two places to go for queer people in the whole city.” Teasing. “Not to assume or anything, but I bet that’d be the explanation.” They had sensed she was close-mouthed about it. She hadn’t known forever like some people. Not many reflections of herself to be found in the community. And she’d always figured she could get along without all that. Plays with people’s emotions, makes them messy. But this was new territory. She realizes she is suppressing a sheepish smile. Lets it break into a laugh for once. “Well don’t you have me pegged now.” “Oh, so I’m wrong then?” “No, but you’re cocky.” “What’s wrong with that?” She smiles, lets them win. “Nothing. You just get away with it because you’re pretty.” Ell laughs and tosses their head, playing at getting up in her face. “Do I now?” ----

Exhibit A - Excerpt from psychiatric medical records of defendant Elliot Turner, dated November 11th, 2104. // Patient was referred for urgent care appointment following a co-resident’s report of delusions and expressed suicidal ideation during a community residence meeting. Family history reflects recurrent substance abuse and psychotic episodes in maternal lineage. Pregnancy and birth were unregistered. Genome remains unregulated due to repeated nonconsent to testing. Patient diagnosed as major depressive and prescribed oral antidepressants at age 16. Prescription annually renewed unto present. During diagnostic survey, patient reported insomnia and social isolation. Patient denied delusions but reiterated that “police have it in for me” and “everyone in this building is always spying on me and looking for something to rat about.” Patient also reported feelings of body dysmorphia related to sexual anatomy, demanded corrective hormone medication. // Diagnosis updated to major depressive disorder with psychotic features. Prescribed auto-responsive neurostimulative implant. Exhibit B - Summary record of footage dated November 13th, 2104, sourced from cameras #TUR7601 - TUR7609 and #SUB0104, timestamped 21:42:00 - 21:46:59: // Sub , a [hispanic female] [in late twenties] wearing a black trench coat and brown laced boots with [pixie cut] [black hair] and a 5 cm bandage at base of skull, exits [reported gay bar] “Club 82” and turns north on east sidewalk of Turring Street. Sub stops near the end of the block approximately 30 meters from police headquarters, examines a map, then turns back south. 1

// At this time, Sub , a [black male] [between 18 and 28 years old] exits Bar 82, attempts to enter Turring & Morkham southbound subway entrance. Facial recognition analysis determines 82% likelihood of criminality. Sub approaches and says something to Sub before attempting subway entry. Facial recognition recognition analysis determines 44% likelihood of criminality for Sub within passable range for approval with mandatory monitoring. Sub is then seen holding the door open for Sub [in violation of Penal Code 22A: Aiding & Abetting]. 2

// Once on the subway platform, Sub and Sub are seen talking at length and laughing [indicating familiarity possibly based on mutual criminal behavior, possible prior acquaintance, possible violation of Penal Code 22B: Conspiracy]. __ 1

The aura began as usual. First a pressure in her chest like it was caving in, then a blur and sparkling lights encroaching on the edges of her vision. She staggers towards an armchair. She is twenty years old, brewing coffee and poking at an omelette in the community kitchen. Her brother is still asleep. He looks grown enough now, should be fine getting himself to school, has seen more than enough of these before. Her eggs are going to burn. Hy? I'm trying, but it's starting in an abnormal focal zone again. I don't have enough sensors to tell where exactly it's coming from, but it looks like it will spread to a bilateral seizure. Okay. Thanks.

I'm sorry. It’s alright. It’s not, really. It’s the second seizure in a week. She can’t see anymore. But it feels like someone is in the room. Vaguely familiar. Probably a co-resident, or Amir, if she wasn’t imagining it. An overwhelming sense of fear comes off them, tasting of copper. __ That night the hospital survey questions were familiar, yet no easier. How many days since last seizure: zero. Approximately how many seizures in the last month: 3 that I know of. I feel that my most severe seizures are: B) severe. How often do you have an aura or warning with your attacks: B) often. How often do they occur when you are asleep: Other) I don’t know. Et cetera. They already have better information from Hyacinth anyway, but the required structure for requested appointments remains the same. Amir is slouched beside her in an armchair, reading some old book, pages yellowed at the edges. He’d made her smell it the other day, holding it open right on her nose. Doesn’t it smell like grass, he’d said. How would he know. How would Celeste even know, seeing as it was her book. She’d lent it Nadia before—she could recognize it by the cover. The shape of a man’s head with an old-fashioned hat and no face. Not the sort of thing they kept in the library. He’s eleven, a whole six years younger than she was when she first read it. Smarter than she’d ever be. His legs are long enough that his feet touch the ground. That was new. An autonurse wheels in, motor purring, says they have to do a swab before evaluating her RNS for readjustment. That was also new. What kind of swab? Routine. New wellness test. Very advanced individualized medicine, based on genetic analysis. Jesus. You want to talk about Jesus now? Are you really surprised? Well, yeah, a little. I was supposed to be the end point for medicine. Or so I was told. But this seems more invasive than necessary. Yeah. It does. She asks the autonurse if she can opt out. No, it’s required now to ensure a complete and predictive assessment of patients’ health. It will inform us how best to treat you, and actually, it has been determined to be the most accurate way of targeting RNS electrodes to specific parts of the brain. Each patient is different, after all. So she has to agree to it she wanted Hyacinth fixed. Amir is looking up at her with concern. He knows full well why they want her DNA. He knows it’s not just for research, for “curing” diseases, for personalizing care, as they say. He has read his history, and he knows what eugenics means. But it was already on file that she’d been having seizures again, and it was only a matter of time before they took him from her. Going back to autonurses would be even worse now. Would mean a spy in her own apartment far worse than Hyacinth, utterly without their apparent sense of attachment or loyalty, that instead reported directly to child services and the police. Would mean telling Ell never to come to the apartment, keeping them out of Amir’s life. Not an option. Always a choice of the barely lesser evil, always a choice made out of fucking necessity. She felt the impulse to break something, push the autonurse over, pictured it sputtering on its side, wheels spinning pointlessly. But mainly she feels broken, and the stinging in her eyes. So she steels herself, follows the autonurse, sits in a chair. Focuses on holding Amir’s still baby-soft hand as she opens her mouth for a scraping at the inside of her cheek. And then they sit and wait in silence. After not more than a few minutes, the autonurse is back. Or maybe a different one. What does it matter. It informs Nadia that genetic analysis did not find a genetic basis for her

epilepsy. This meant it had to have stemmed from trauma to the brain in early childhood. Did she recall anything like that? No, she did not. Could we just go ahead and start with whatever adjustments you need to make. Then, flatly, as if somehow self-evident: it has been determined that you are no longer eligible for the RNS. You will be assigned an autonurse within the next two days. We are prescribing oral anticonvulsants. Here is a list of openings for removal surgery. __ At home. She is standing in the shower, washing off the hospital smell and the signs of crying. She is done with crying. Hey. Hey. Is it possible for you to send messages to Ell? As in to their RNS? Yeah. I guess. We all exist on the same upload server, so I could probably redirect something. But why not just text them? Because both our phones are almost definitely being monitored. And I don’t know when the autonurse is going to show up. But I bet I don’t have time to go find them. Oh. I don’t know, Nadia. Don’t make me pull out the magnets on you. Very funny. Seriously, it’s not a good idea. They’ll notice if anything diverted from the medical records database within the server. But they’re not looking for suspicious activity there. They’ll assume it’s a glitch, right? Maybe. Just don’t say anything that sounds too criminal, you know? I won’t. What should I tell them? To please meet me downtown at the Washington Square park in an hour. That the doctors’ appointment didn’t go well. To bring a bat, because I wanna play some fucking baseball. __ There is a human jury for the trial. But it doesn’t seem to matter. Jury service is voluntary. So the pool is composed in the first place of a courtroom full of the sort of people who enjoy playing with the law, who savor the feeling of holding power over the life and the freedom of someone else, and pat themselves on the back for it. They do not struggle with their judgment. They are presented a whole series of facial recognition matches, matches of fingerprints and micro DNA found at the scene, a video of two hooded dark-skinned figures swinging blunt objects at hard drives and test tubes, a violent depiction of an attack on the automated structures supporting equitable distribution of all our necessary resources and the needless destruction of life-saving medical research. A couple of hoodlums running around looting, causing chaos and unrest, like they do. Volunteer human lawyers are powerless to counter every blow, and don’t seem to give a shit either. Respectively, against expressed client wishes, they try to plead innocence by insanity for Ell, and by impairment from brain damage for Nadia. They are unsuccessful. The sentencing hearing following conviction is immediate. Statistical models can show us best who presents a danger to society and what degree of punishment is optimal to fit the crime. The decision is a single sheet of printed paper. It reads: ten years.

Nadia and Ell and Amir go home together for one more night before they are to be picked up and processed. Amir will be shipped off to one of the Central sections, he hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t been told where yet. Oddly, that doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seem to matter to him. As Nadia and Ell fall asleep, he opens his eyes in the dark. He gets up, tip-toeing out of the room and down to the communal spaces. There is a public computer. He types something up. And he sends it to the community mailing list. And the mailing list for their entire section, and the one for the board of the South End. And he prints as many copies as there are pieces of paper in the building. The next morning, his message has gathered a crowd in the kitchen. Most of them are his age or only a little older: some are young children, adults, and the elderly. They have baseball bats and hammers and knitting needles and miscellaneous bars of metal, even forks in the fists of the littler ones. And they head, first, for the police station.

Carapace

October 3rd, 2064

I feel my nose gush with blood after walking absent-mindedly into the clear forcefield for the fourth time this week. The dome has been expanding ever since the warnings blasted through the barometers. This year is going to be another year from hell. Literally, we’ve been burning since 2057 and there’s no end in sight. I try to cover up the blood as quickly as possible because the bright red is attractive and it’s not like we see much color around here anymore. I am almost at the same level of impoverished as they are, the color could attract a prober from a mile away. Not that I have anything against probers they can’t truly rob me, my powers are inside me, beneath my skin, I don't wear them on my sleeve to be stolen. But you don’t know that yet. The probers wear their deficiencies on their cheeks as if they can even afford to eat. The fountain of red has finally stopped flowing from my face, but I can't seem to stop thinking about what caused it. How could the dome be aggrandizing again? If you were here, you would remind me of the demonizing propaganda of the domers and tell me once again how glad you are, we stayed on the outside. I am sick of the wealth dyed-skin freaks taking up more of the city that belongs to us. They only chose New Orleans as the location to build their first dome because we are one of the first cities prospected to be underwater. We’ve been below sea level since before I was born and there’s no stopping the raging waters. And if we did happen to sink, they’d be protected in their shielded shelter leaving all of us out here to suffocate on the world’s rising seas. You knew what was better for you and me.

I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop looking back to glance at the pieces of the dome that the affluent think is hidden. They are not all that intelligent if they cannot even create a forcefield that is completely mirrored. I can see slight movements and shadows cast on the outside of their fishbowl and suddenly I am reminded of the aquariums that no longer exist. I am reminded of the pets we are no longer allowed to have, the goldfish you and I had to flush when I was six, and the luxuries of visual pleasure that not many of us on the outside get to take part in anymore. I can see hands and eyes and little pieces of people. Isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t that all we have left? We are all just stuck here existing, not living. None of us are really fulfilled or ever will be because this world is uninhabitable, we just keep trying to convince ourselves something will change. The outside is much better, and you tell me every day this freedom is worth more than the dome could ever give us. I have never disagreed. But the day the world turned gray was the turning point for disaster. There will never be a relapse into regularity. There is not a day when the planet will suddenly wake up, take voice and decide we did not pollute it to the point of extinction. It's not fair. The world did not ask us to be perfect human beings, but the dyed domers are pretending to play god-like they could ever reach even a particle of perfection this planet used to have. I try not to fight it anymore. I just look inside the dome and think about how even if I could, I would never choose the life they did. You taught me so well. I would much rather be on the outside fighting for our mistakes, then on the inside pretending we did not make them. It's like watching a bad movie on a plane. There's nothing else to watch but once it's over you are like, what do I do now? The domers are so fake youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d think they were actors anyways. Watching them at least provides some in-flight entertainment until the world lands us on the front doorstep of our deaths. I can't help but feel lost once the sun removes itself from the dome's surface and I can no longer spy on those I despise. I think about you. I start walking home because I know

how you’ll get, I am not saying that you’re unjustified. You’re probably worried about me, but aren’t you always? You are my mom! You would hate to know I was spying in public. You are gray and I'm not, no matter what my ebony black skin makes me a target because there are barely any of us on the outside left who are not gray. I don't think you are jealous of me though. I think you are scared for me. You have no idea what the world could steal from me if they wanted to. So, you keep me under your watchful eye even though I am almost 22. I am all you have left, in the least morbid way possible. I better get home to you or you’ll think I didn't find food and try to cook something horrendous. The world is dying but at least I have the power to prevent my mother's cooking. I’m sorry mom you know I love you, but I am the chef here. When I got home, you practically squeezed my guts out. Before the world turned gray, I would have shrugged you off, I'm old enough to start my own family for Christ's sake, not that I can or would by any means. But now that everything has changed, I let you believe that every time I leave, it might be the last time that she sees me. I can’t promise you anything. I am an enigma, that people have not discovered. I cannot ensure that they won’t figure me out and try to take me away. I can’t affirm that I won’t be dead for my skin, my powers or anything else that diversifies me from the grays. So, I let you Sandy, hug me. You deserve to hold your daughter every once in a while. Because who knows when the day will come that you won't have a daughter anymore. I may hate my life, but I hate your life even more. The fear that you must live in is unbearable. I can't believe you chose to keep me. Having the world end sucks for me, but it sucks, even more, to watch your kids’ world end. You don’t even know I could do something about it. You have no idea it could be all my fault. You live unaware that you are walking on eggshells as if they are the sturdiest things in the world and pretend that everything is going to be alright. I hope you

find this diary once I’m gone, I wrote it for you. I have to die before you, it’s the only chance the planet has. You will understand later if this ever gets anywhere. If I don’t end the world.

For Sandy: Every day I think about the red in my veins The fear of being okay Things will never be the same. For you, for me, We find color in all the gray. I know you wish you could save me, But there’s nobody, That could save me from me. I'll miss you, Sandy, My Mommie.

October 7th, 2064

I'm dripping in sweat, like every sleepless night because the sun continues to scorch us through all the hours of the day. Days are unending, unrelenting and it's unlikely to change any time soon. I know that I could make it rain but what will that do? I never know how to stop, when to stop or if I will ever stop. When I cry something comes over me and suddenly the town is flooding. There's no homeostasis for my emotions and the weather. Meaning that no matter what I feel I don’t know how the sky will react. It has never been consistent, my emotions

causing weather happenings is consistently inconsistent. I have to guess whether my anxiety attacks are going to cause an earthquake or a sandstorm. No semblance of balance could ever be consciously controlled. My emotions control the weather, but I have no idea how it works. I wish it wasn't my responsibility. No meteorology, no theory, no disorder, no diagnosis can explain my powers. I look at the sky and wish I could cry. The ground is begging me to, the probers are begging me to hydrate them, the plants are screaming for oxygen and hydrogen, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’m terrified once I start, I will never cease. Maybe I could find something hilarious and laugh until a tear comes to my eye. But there’s nothing to laugh about when my world’s so dry. I think about Murphy. What happened to her was anything but murky. They found her out and if they find me too, they will understand why my name is Bruun. Murphy’s law is the theory that anything that can happen, will happen. And when the government discovered that Murphy was accountable for trying to start an uprising of the probers and outsiders, they got rid of her. Like me, she was an uncontrollable enigma, and that can’t be tolerated in our already unlivable world. I miss Murphy, God do I miss Murphy. It’s practically impossible that two non-grays would find each other and fall in love. I know you loved her too, but her story is too painful for you. I know you miss her too. Sometimes you will make an extra plate of food. Murphy was like your daughter. It isn't odd for life pairings to be boy-girl or boy-boy or girl-girl or any iteration. Ever since we lost color, we stopped caring about trivial pairings. We allowed people to love who they love without question; it just wasn’t worth fighting. We kept the gender binary though, because the domers insisted on some semblance of tradition. But for us the only thing that sets us apart on the outside is skills. That's what made Murphy and I so magnificent. I could control the weather, she could control events and minds, together we could control the world, not

that we ever really understood how our powers worked. There was no explanation for our internal machinations and that’s why we could never tell. I don’t think anyone ever knew, I mean somehow, we kept it from you, we were just cunningly aware of things that others weren’t. People didn’t mind it. Nevertheless, power was never what we wanted. Playing God was never even in our realm of sight. We just wanted to love each other. We just wanted to live out the rest of our days with you cooking us terrible food and laughing about how the domers are just as doomed as the rest of us. No matter what faction, what group, what community you belonged to, we are all doomed. I may not have Murphy anymore, but I do have Storge. Storge is an important word I learned from Mrs. Sonnet. She is the outsiders resident language teacher and preserver. She taught me that as long as I put my world into yours and yours into mine, we will have Storge, familial love. My mother, you, are all I have left. If only you knew what I could do to end it all. The only reason I don't fly into a fit of rage at the government's horrible stages is that I don't want to watch you be swept away by a tornado that I created. You deserve to stay rooted. You didn't create the problem; you didn’t perpetuate human ignorance and selfishness. You created me though. It's not your fault I am afflicted, but it is your fault that I ever existed. I look down at my hands in my lap. I can feel the coin in my pocket that you gave me when I was eight. You gave it to me for losing my tooth, little did you know we were just around the corner from losing the world. The coin is now obsolete to me. You know we don't use the model of monetary trading anymore. On the outside we share, on the inside, they scare. They still use that useless paper and metal to get what they desire; I’d rather stay out here and perspire with the members of my team. I keep the coin because it reminds me of Murphy. I flick the coin under my bed, for Her. I know she would want me to keep it. She was always holding on to pieces of the old world, she didn’t turn gray either, but I know she missed her old self. I miss every part of

her, every version, every word. I was so in love with her and she with me. Instead of our worlds being gray they were green. We still saw the goodness in the trees and the last droplets of good water left in the seas and goodness do I miss her. But now I have to focus on you, Sandy. Keep you alive so that you can do something with the preserved parts of the world. You deserve to withhold the world you treated so kindly. I promise you will be fine without me. You have no idea what I behold But once you reach inside You’ll need my gold I have to go To let you grow Use my blood And you will know There is an end in sight The separation is nigh Don’t forget about me I have to cry To help you survive

October 21st, 2064

Some days when you don’t see me, I’m working with Mrs. Sonnet teaching more advanced forms of the English language to the children of the outsiders. Ever since the world went gray you told me you were afraid. You made me read more books than ever because in our

household language was still a valuable thing to uphold. You said “Bruun if you can’t read, write or speak, you are nothing.” I guess going gray made words so much more important. Even if the world deteriorates at least I can still communicate. Connection through communication and language is still something we try to engrain in our outsiders. Unfortunately, today was not one of those days where I get to work with Mrs. Sonnet. Macintosh pulled me off the sidewalk suddenly on my walk over to her house this morning. I was grateful because I truly wasn’t looking forward to another day of unanswerable questions asked by children while I stared back at them blankly, wishing I had a solution (well I do, but that’s not something I’d advertise to anyone especially those under five). Macintosh is one of my few friends who are converts. You never knew this, but she used to be a prober because she refused to use her talents constructively. She would type and click away on her home-built technology but wasn't willing to use any of it to fulfill the community's needs. So, with heavy hearts, the outsiders sent a young girl out to fend for herself with the probers. I always knew she'd be fine; she was smarter than anyone else I knew on the outside. If anyone could make it as a prober, it would be Macintosh. Macintosh and I were friends before the beginning of the end. I was only seven when I saw her mom get dragged into the dome. I'm sure she would've begged for Macintosh to come with her, but even at age seven, Macintosh knew that only bad things can come from returning to old ways. Old ignorant ways. It was Macintosh's Dad who forced her mother into the dome. When it was built, it was mostly men who went into the dome. This was because they didn't have any special skills they could offer if they weren't protected by the cushy walls of the dome. Men needed capitalism to feel like they belonged on the planet. Without it, I'm not sure even they believe they'd serve any function. So, they sit in their version of an ivory tower and trade meaninglessly with a currency

that is practically already extinct. Ever since the gray, we haven't needed men to procreate. We went into desperation mode and put measures into effect that allowed asexual reproduction. So, I say goodbye to the men, into the dome you hypermasculine drones. Anyways, Macintosh is smarter than any man can believe himself to be. I am lucky to have her in my life. She was the only one who knew about Murphy and me. Not our love but our powers. It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you, we just didn’t know how to protect you. Macintosh knew how to hide us; you only knew how to love us. Macintosh looks at me through her spectacles as if I’m the light of the world, salt of the earth. She always knew how to animate even the darkest of days. When she finally approaches me the pavement begins to shake, we look to our right and the road is quaking. The tanks are arriving to collect provisions for the dome. Isn't it comical that they still need our specialties? They can't survive without our skills, our food, and our creations. We may be outsiders but we're priceless. Macintosh pulls me behind a dying tree and hands me a letter. I wonder why she's being so inconspicuous and hiding me, I mean nobody likes to see the tanks, but we have nothing to be afraid of that hasn't already happened. Macintosh is a woman of few words, so I tear open the letter. It was weird to hold paper again with real written pen and ink, I missed the days when writing was valued and precious. I was a writer, that's why I made this for you. The letter's contents are a complex cryptic that I ask Macintosh to explain to me. She says that they have an inkling of some weather changes approaching. The letter is addressed to Macintosh because they know her technological and meteorological skills are unparalleled to those of the minds in the dome. She tells me she thinks they know about me or at least are questioning that my condition exists. I tell her not to be ridiculous because I haven't had an emotional breakdown in weeks and I keep my dark skin covered at all times. Plus, how could they even wrap their feeble minds around my emotional power over the weather. The concept is

too vast for them to even come close to being able to fathom. Macintosh wants me to be safe and go into sleep for a while, she can tell my tensions are high and I am ready for an emotive episode at any second. She says we can't risk a force majeure when they are so inquisitive about my existence. I tell her I have to go home and pack for hibernation and that she has to be the one that tells you. I can't be responsible for the inevitable anger of my mother's as well as the downfall of the planet's weather. Macintosh and I embrace for what feel like the perfect amount of time and we promise to meet at dawn tomorrow at my house, where you will be waiting with me. She blinks at me in the way that always makes me feel important and I turn around and head home to load my duffle bag.

To You, beautiful birth-giver, I wish I could tell you why I have to sleep I wish I could hold you like when I was a baby When you’d rock me into the night, with a sweet lullaby Things were so easy If only I weren’t me Everything could be satisfactory Yet we have to live in fear Of my tears I’m sorry

October 22nd, 2064

Nobody can save me from the nightmare I call myself. Sleeping is no longer restful. There is no refuge from the weight of my powers. It looms over me like an anvil in cartoons. It threatens to crush me as soon as I try to do anything to get rid of it. My sleep last night felt like the anvil was sitting right on my chest. I know that the mass of my problem continues to grow the longer I live. The longer I continue to walk around absent mindedly as if my every feeling didn’t determine the outsiders, probers and domers destiny. I have to hibernate. As much as I hate Macintosh’s idea that is just further prolonging the problem (me), it’s not like I can ask my best friend to kill me. I mean that’s what the domers want right? They hate that I have anything that they don’t. They hate that I am not something they can manipulate and control. They hate me because I didn’t turn grey. They hate me because no amount of money or fake currency can buy what I have. They hate me because they hated Murphy. They hate me because the human mind is not a computer. They hate me because you can’t fake happiness which means they can’t fake my changing the weather for the better. They can’t buy me serotonin or dopamine. No amount of light therapy or psychology can get them to change me. I am not a tool; I am a human being. Which I’m sure the domers wish no longer existed, since they obviously know what’s best for what’s left of the rest of us. While I’m shoving my few belongings of actual importance into my hibernation duffle, I can see Macintosh scale the steps leading to our front door. She’s about to confront you. This is one of the most defeated moments of my existence. I say existence because we both know I haven’t really been living. I am writing this for you, Sandy, so I must say that this feeling is like watching the final grains of sand of my life fall through the cracks of an hourglass. I wish you knew how true it was that my time was up. This hibernation proposition is a joke. They are going to find me, we both know. My feet are moving without my permission, my mouth is screaming

without my consent. I’m yelling at Macintosh and yourself at the front door. While Macintosh is surprised her plan is being rejected by me, you look obliterated by all the information being thrown at you. I tell you I can’t stay here. I tell you that we must leave. I tell you that it feels like the domers are already chomping at my feet. I tell you that I love you and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to turn out like another Murphy. I know you couldn’t handle the pain of losing another love. Murphy stole your mothering, nurturing heart but now I am stealing it back and salvaging the pieces that are left. I beg Macintosh to follow me. To keep me safe from the tanks that will inevitably find out I ditched the hibernation scheme. I feel fear rising within me and through the front door gusts bluster against your grey skin, rising your goosebumps, but do not bring cold to mine. You see that my truth is truthful. You trust Macintosh and me with your destiny but Sandy, you have no idea what I am capable of. As the wind picks up, I feel the butterflies in my stomach rising. It is now or never if we are going to run from my own weather warnings. My body is telling me this storm is an immense one because my emotions are more intense than usual. My blood is feeling vulnerable because I know they are coming to find it. You and Macintosh stare daggers at me without meaning to stab me. You both just want what’s best for me, if only you knew that meant just getting rid of me. I tell you that we have to disappear. The tanks will arrive as soon as they notice I’m no longer here. If I am not hibernating, they will, they have to, they must find me. It’s their job. Just like it is mine to control this storm. Macintosh says she can get us to her hideout owned by her aunt in Arcadia if we leave tonight. Sandy, you’re the only one with a car so I beg of you, I plead with all of my heart for you to drive us. You agree reluctantly and pull us both in closely. Shutting the front door is harder than fathomable. I’m nervous as anything so the winds are unmanageable. You hold our hands and say you wish you could be holding our hearts. You love both Macintosh and I and just want to keep us protected, even if

that means leaving all we know. I wish I could stop the flow of feelings within because it’s going to be harder to navigate in the storm without. But I know the more I pent it up the more an outburst is on the horizon. I am ready to get in the car immediately, but I allow you to gather your things. Macintosh tells me as much as she hates it, she knows I am doing the right thing. We can’t live in fear forever. The domers don’t deserve to put me to sleep, and we deserve to not have to listen and follow their orders. Macintosh rubs my dark brown skin with a look of longing. I don’t think she wishes to be me; I think she just yearns that the world didn’t have to turn so dreary. You return with a duffle bag almost identical to mine. I wish we had more time. I wish I could hold you like a grape holds a vine because who knows when I am going to be plucked and squeezed for the drunken benefit of someone with no integrity. We load into the car after a battle against the wind. I will myself to make it easier, lighter and better for the trip but who knows what my mind will generate. Arcadia feels so close but so far, I can’t help but think the tanks are following our tracks against the road’s tar. To Sandy As you drive us away, I can’t believe I can’t believe I never told you I never gave you any reprieve I never told you my fears or why I always covered myself in clothing up to my ears You knew I was full of color, but you didn’t know I was full of lies What you didn’t know could’ve led to your demise I’m glad you can see through all the pieces of me I feel like a plate glass window that is finally clean Runaway with me

I will try to keep you happy and healthy If only I can control my feelings.

October 25th, 2064 I can’t help but hate the reflection staring at me through the rearview mirror. I have been urging myself to ease my nerves, but the wind keeps nearly pushing our car off the road. Arcadia couldn’t come any sooner. I wish I had a semblance of control over my emotions right now, but I keep having memories of when the world went grey. You showed me the advertisements that they were publicizing everywhere. You knew they were bullshit so by the transient property of our mother-daughter mental connection, I knew they were bullshit too. Those desperate men were trying to build the dome and acting as if we didn’t ruin the planet ourselves. The headlines would say things like “You are in nature and anything that happens to the air, water, earth and fire happens to you. Stay safe, choose the dome. We can protect you”. If only they knew that I was nature. Everything that happened to me happened to nature. I distinctly remember scraping my knee after falling off my bike. While my knee was gushing blood for the first-time lightning struck so close to the city, they issued an official warning. I knew it was somehow my fault, but how could I tell you that my bungled knee was the reason for the sky’s electricity? All you could do was hold me. Console an eight-year-old girl who knew nothing about the world and the fact that she was it and it was her. I am not in nature, the ads were wrong, I am nature. I think you knew that when you named me Bruun. I was destined to predict big things. You knew my magic, my powers, before I even discovered it. We deconstructed the domers lies before they even had time to tell them to us. I knew you’d never give in to their escape from responsibility. Women don’t run, we face things fiercely. I know this because you are the greatest woman I will ever

know. Strong women like you and Murphy are the reason we fight. She reminds me of you long after she’s been gone. I know you miss her like a farmer and his dead horse. Me too. Imagine how tempered this ride to Arcadia could’ve been with her stories to distract me. It terrifies me To Leave But it terrifies me more To shake your floor Leave you with nobody to adore But that’s just the fate of me being a moor.

November 1st, 2064 When we arrive in Arcadia my guilt is at an all-time high. After we climb out the car from our extended ride, I can see the dents in the side. I was so anxious on our way over to Arcadia I made the most uncharacteristic meteorological change ever seen in New Orleans Louisiana. I made it hail. Maybe it’s the ice in my heart because I don’t have Murphy to hold right now. Or maybe it’s myself foreshadowing the cold you will feel without me in your world. Whatever it was it was a sign that things are closing in. It never snows in Louisiana and I just totally gave myself away to the domers cheap whims. I am terrified so it’s unlikely to stop. Macintosh’s aunt pulls us into the house as if the hail is like bullets and it’s pelting us to death. Honestly, I would rather be dead at this point than to have all this weight on my shoulders. You have only just discovered my life-long stressor, but I promise you the last few days have been the crescendo of it all. I want to run from the domers, but I am leading them right to us. I’m nonchalantly walking around with a sky-sized sign on my back saying “Hello I am here! Come find me! The crazy girl that can

control the weather just follow the strange weather patterns!” Obviously, I am not really scared for myself it’s everybody else. If they find me, if they kill me, what will you all do. Will you tell the outsiders of my powers and start an uprising? Will the domers get trigger happy and start getting rid of all possible weather-related subjects? Will they expand again? Louisiana is just one state of the US and the US is just one country of the world but God knows they will take over all places still above water. The selfishness of man is unstoppable. That’s why I know you kept me. You knew I would be a girl. You knew it in your heart. You knew that there was nothing in the world that could tear us apart. Our womanly power was all we needed, even if the domers were the only who succeeded. They escaped the external gray, but they are dead inside. Who can willingly kill a person just because they contain something that blows your mind? I know I am spiraling but what’s the point in stopping? They are around the corner and they are explosive and random as microwave popcorn popping. They have lost all their flavor though, their taste acrid and burnt. They have no love inside them, no nutritional value, only a bite to them that hurts. I wish I knew what to do. I wish Arcadia could cover us. But no city’s safety is any match for the weather I create when I am angry. Macintosh’s aunt shows us to the dinner table. I can’t remember the last time any of ate anything that was remotely stable. We’d been living off car snacks and packed food from the community. But looking at the potatoes steaming, makes more than just my stomach hungry. My whole-body longs for the satiation, the bread, the corn, the meat that although unrecognizable looks delicious, nonetheless. I give up my brooding façade and sit down to eat. I feel as if I am hypothetically taking of my shoes and kicking up my feet. I haven’t been this relaxed in years but what’s the point? There’s no point in holding back my tears. Whatever can happen will happen right mom? We must think murphy as we chow down on the food, it’s so warm. My heart feels okay right now. I have not a care in the world for the

stupid domers and their made-up crown. They don’t rule me, they don’t know who I am. If they find me, I will fight harder than water against a damn. I will be unstoppable, unbreakable and unmakeable. For now, though, all I want is a second plate of food from the beautifully filled table. Nature’s bounty you always called me, You saw none of my flaws and all of my beauty, That’s why you’re the only person I’ll ever call Mommie. Too bad we can’t exist in harmony.

November 2nd, 2064 Today we are supposed to be practicing our emergency plan with Macintosh’s aunt. She has a secret cellar just below the from door which is covered inconspicuously by a bookcase and an Arabian-looking rug. She says the bunker has enough provisions to last us a couple days if we need to go into hiding. The tanks themselves are usually pretty obvious because you can feel them coming. If Murphy were here, she would be able to predict if the domers were on their way. Ugh she would be so helpful, and we all know it, we all live in fear of what they will do to me since they obliterated Murphy. I can just feel that she’s dead. That day the world got a little dimmer, it felt as if the sun shone a little less. We are already gray but another layer of coldness of color struck the world when she left us too soon here. I often feel her presence. Like today when we agreed to practice safety, I could hear her voice saying, ‘What’s the point? We are all going to die anyways, you don’t need me to predict that’ and then her beautiful but boisterous laugh would follow. Her giggles rang in my ear as you told me it was time to hunker down. As we were pushing back the bookcase, I was in a Murphy trance but also, I watched you so closely

and thought about all the things I would do to protect you. I would throw you in that cellar alone and cover you with my body if I could. I would never cause another disaster of the sky if only I could control my cries. I would do absolutely anything for you. After Murphy, you’re the only person I ever loved, the first person I ever loved. My mother, we have Storge. As I am gazing towards you and Macintosh inspecting the lock and door that leads to the bunker, I can feel the air slightly shift. The window shuts loudly with the breeze I created. Something feels wrong, something feels uncontrollable. I didn’t even know I was edgy until the wind hit me. I did that though so why am I so confused. I open my mouth like a jar to let out how I am feeling but no words fall out. I want to scream I want to shout. I can’t. I feel as if I’m a lame dog that barked too much and now, I am banned from making a sound. I urge a word to come out but suddenly the wooden bits of the door are smashed, and I see an elbow poking through it. I back up a few steps and stumble just like you and Macintosh. Three men come charging in with extreme caution. They look inhuman. They look so incredibly fake. I can see through the masks that their skin is definitely dyed. It’s got that artificial hue to it that the sun and no procreation could ever produce. Macintosh’s aunt screeches and I don’t know what to do but just allow what’s unfolding to happen. The men grab us all by our shoulders, bag our heads with burlap sacks that are itchy and quite unbreathable, and then lead to what I can assume is a mini tank since none of us heard it barreling down the streets of Arcadia. Once we are in the vehicle the fog of the stench of men is thick. Sweat fills the air and we all know not to say anything. Anything we could or would say will be used against us. Silence erodes the pressure in the room. For some odd reason this feels like what my life was always leading up to, being caught. The men take off our sacks and cover their faces with masks. One, the uglier one with the more counterfeit colored brown skin that glows like an orange-tinted halo, you can just tell how often he dyes it, he must be

insecure of his grayness underneath, is cackling. “Relax ladies, it’s time to rest” he says. Gas starts filling the room of the tank from all sides. It’s like a green ghostbusting mist that reminds me of all things spooky I was ever told as a child. It’s almost humorous to describe how fake this feels. You stare at me and looks towards the ground. I know that means to get low so in case it makes us sleep we won’t hit our heads on the way down. I inch my body slowly to the ground and army crawl myself into a safe position. I sit there until the gaseous mixture fills me nostrils and puts me into a deep slumber.

I do not know what day or time it is. As I slowly rouse myself all I can feel is the constraint of the ropes tied around me waist, wrists and ankles. You’d think the domers would have a much more high-tech way of going about this kidnapping, but I guess no society is prepared for people they can’t control. I don’t even attempt to struggle because I know it’s no use. My struggle could end up in a frustrated cyclone outside. I don’t need any more unnecessary emotional components to this experience, meteorology is the least of my worries at this point. I look to my left and right and see that you and Macintosh are tied behind me. We are in this weird formation of a triangle as if they are going to do a séance around us to beg us to release all our secrets. We aren’t ghosts though; we are real human beings. Too bad the domers forgot that those still exist. I can hear you gasp for breath beside me as you awaken. You are afraid, no motherly words of advice prepared you for this awful moment. Macintosh chortles and coughs herself awake too. She asks where we are as if either of us have a clue. I know she’s just trying to be analytical and critical about the situation, so she is covering all her bases, but this is no time for talking. We don’t know where talking could get us. As if they read my mind, I hear the clacking of the men’s boots as the enter the dimly lit room. All I can think about is how unfair it is that these weak and heinous men get

to tower over us. We were smart enough not to get involved with their capitalistic ways and are being punished for not fitting into their system. We chose not to be a part of it, so freedom is all we asked for. Freedom is too expensive now, I may have to pay for it with my life, just to give you and Macintosh yours. The men circle us like shark their prey. The rage inside of me wants to show them my strength. I would knock them down with lightening right now if it wouldn’t give me away. “We know you know about Murphy Cooper.” One of the men says to nobody in particular. I avert my eyes from his gaze because what’s the point in giving my love away. “There’s no getting out of it, anyone who has a connection with her, anyone who possesses anything like she did must be eliminated.” I stare at you with my heart. I can’t look at you because I know we will both fall apart right there in those rickety chairs. “Friends, acquaintances, accomplices… you are all threats” the other guy says with a nasty growl to his face that makes the whole experience more unbearable. “We just want the truth and only the truth, this could all be over. The domers only want what’s best for the world and that’s weather and predicting the future not controlled by little girls” he laughs a disgusting, belly aching laugh that inspires me the instinct to retch. “I bet you want her mother” you say. I stare at you because we both know Murphy’s Mom is undiscoverable. We tried many years ago, but she must have become a prober or a pauper or just died because she has no trace. “I’m her mother, if you take me, all your worries will dissipate” you say this with the utmost confidence it takes every morsel of my strength not to retort. “Oh, so you’re ready to do anything for Murphy?” he barks at you as if to intimidate you. “Yes… I love her and will do whatever she did to keep this society afloat” you say. I’m screaming internally, they want me! I don’t know what to do and it all happens so quickly, I can’t force myself to move. Suddenly, a shot rings out, I didn’t even know any of them had guns, I didn’t even know that would be the last time I heard your mouth run, I didn’t even

know this was my chance, I didn’t know they would do anything to win this dance. You flop beside me and the reality hits. I’m choking, I’m dying, but no, you’re dying. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, nothing is working properly. This wasn’t about you, this was about me, how could you do that so selflessly? They untie Macintosh and I and start harping orders to take us to the nearest domer dungeon. I think I faint because I can hear my heart plunge in. Macintosh tries to shake me, but I feel nothing. Or do I feel everything? All I know is this can’t be a sting. This can’t be a dream it feels awfully real. I didn’t know it was your act to steal. You gave everything for me even though I lied to you. Now is the time I finally allow myself to cry for you. I let it all out like a hose on a house fire. I have no wants, no needs, no desires. All I can do is weep and cry. Why did you have to die? The tears continue and I can barely stand it. I drop to my knees and they try to bear my quit. As soon as they notice my face was leaking, they noticed it in the ceiling. Within two seconds the walls bust down, water everywhere, everyone must drown.

ARCADIA TIMES, November 4th 2064

TIDAL WAVE FLOODS THREATEN LIFE ON EARTH No end in sightâ&#x20AC;Ś Bruun Resolute a local New Orleans young woman suspect to be the cause of a meteorological natural disaster. Predictions suggest that she and Murphy Cooper had some kind of unlawful action allegedly to control weather actions. Now, because of their misbehavior the world is in danger of extreme flooding without fail. Most major cities of the USA are under sea level and water heights are rising rapidly. All continents have issued a lockdown warning and have shut down all government proceedings. We are not aware of what may happen next but there is no foreseeable cessation of flooding for what these young women may have caused. All we can do is hope the planet survives one more of our drastic human failures.

Bleeding White By Zipporah Osei

Nailah took her first steps on the white tiles of the clinic’s visitation quarter. There’s a photo of her, eight months old, her feet tumbling over themselves toward her mother’s outstretched arms. Eight months old and already a full head of dark coils springing from her head in a wild bush. She has a drooling smile and a glimmer of surprise in her wide brown eyes, like she didn’t realize she was going to take that first step until after she’d done it. In the corner of the photo is her mother. She’s dressed in a sweatshirt and linen pants the same color as the tiles underneath her. Her body inches forward in anticipation as Nailah makes those first uncertain steps toward her, her long braids falling over her shoulder. She’s only twenty-eight in the photo, but wrinkles are already making ripples on her otherwise smooth, dark skin. In this photo she’s fixated completely on Nailah, her eyes meeting her daughter’s with adoration. The white of the room is broken only by the shadow of the arm taking the photo. The arm belongs to Nailah’s aunt, her guardian, and for the first years of her life, the woman she called, “Mama.” Her actual mother wasn’t there for most of the big moments in her life. Not for birthdays, her first day of college, or for most of the little things in between. But by some stroke of luck she was there for those first steps in that white room. An act of God, her mother often said. In kindergarten when the teachers lined them up for their graduation ceremony and parents stretched over each other to snap their photos, it was Nailah’s aunt who stood in the crowd. She remembers standing off to the side holding hands with May Jackson, whose own mother had just recently left for the clinic, and whose remaining relatives hadn’t bothered to show up. “I’ll see my mom on Saturday,” May had leaned over to whisper in her ear as our classmates grinned and giggled around us. She nodded, only six but already familiar with the routine. “Me too,” she told her. As she got older, it wasn’t just May whose mother disappeared behind the rising gates of the clinic. Fathers and siblings left, too. But more often than not it was mothers, lured away by the promises of security the clinics so easily doled out. It made sense in a neighborhood like theirs — poor and black, a muddy spot on a city that was forcing itself into a metamorphosized version of itself. Nailah had no doubt they would’ve excised them all if they could’ve.

Still, she was the only person she knew without a real sense of life before the clinics. Every week growing up she made the winding drive out of the city to the sterile cage where they kept her mother, and for a lot of her life it felt normal. <><><> There’s about a mile distance between the road and the main entrance of the clinic. They built it nestled into the hills that surrounded the main highway so that it always had the appearance of rising above you like a wave. From the outside it was all harsh curves. The base of the building was a concave fortress lined with windows made of an icy glass you could see out of, but not into. Billowing above it was a projecting wing which came out of the ground like it was rooted in it. The arched roofline hovered nearly two hundred feet above the ground, casting a low shadow where it came crashing down. Any part of the building that wasn’t tinted glass was a stark concrete that sparkled like sea glass when the sun hit it just right. The designers had built it just to prove they could. The sun was just coming up as Nailah drove the length of the outdoor tile that broke up the land surrounding the clinic. It had been nine months since she last visited. She had her ID and clearance ready to go in the passenger seat but they recognized her at the first gatepost and waved her on toward the door. The clinics were a branch of the Bureau of Human Service, and its gold signage was emblazoned across every building it owned. A breakthrough in genetic engineering nearly thirty years ago had led to a rapid inflation of the bureau’s influence in the country. With unlimited resources they’d been able to cure illnesses like diabetes and sickle cell anemia. But the science went beyond the necessary. The human code was cracked and mastered, which meant every medical marvel was a step closer to creating the perfect human specimen. And once they had, there would just be another version of perfection to chase. That level of ambition required meticulous testing, and that meant the bureau needed bodies to test on. Last time she went to the clinic they’d been testing pigmentation modifications. Officially it was a genetic alteration that would benefit those with a genetic predisposition skin cancer, but like most modifications, once it was released, its usage went quickly from practical to cosmetic. Nailah had seen her mother months before it’d hit the market — before they’d worked out the side effects. Her skin had a sickly gray undertone to it, and she hadn’t been able to stand even the lightest touch. She said her skin stung like pins and needles when it was exposed to the air. Nailah had no idea what state she’d find her in today. As she made her way through front security, it hit her that she hadn’t been able to hug her goodbye the last time she’d visited,

and the guilt rushed her all at once. Nailah was gone for nearly a year. How could she explain that away? The visitation room in the clinic was meant to be an inviting space. Soothing music greeted you as you entered. The sunlight that filled the room from its floor to ceiling windows washed over you, all but inviting you to curl up in one of the couches available to patients and their visitors. When she walked in her mother was sitting on a couch toward the back of the room, talking quietly with another woman. She could tell from the blue scrubs she wore the woman was one of the nurses. Since childhood Nailah could name every nurse who’d ever worked with her mother, but this woman she didn’t know. She stood at a distance watching them talk and feeling uneasy as she worked up the nerve to interrupt. It was the nurse that noticed her first. “Lydia,” she said to Nailah’s mother excitedly as she reached over to give her hand a squeeze. “Look who’s here!” For a moment after the nurse spoke, there was nothing. Nailah was standing only a few feet from her mother but the space between them felt like a gulf. She offered an uncertain smile in her mother’s direction, but Lydia said nothing. As her mother blinked back at her, it was clear to Nailah that she was waiting for her to take the first step toward closing that gap. A punishment for having disappeared for all those months? Maybe, but Nailah had been expecting it. She swallowed hard to clear her throat and with it went whatever small bit of pride she’d been holding onto. “Mom,” she said, inching closer to the couch. “How are you?” Her mother’s deadpan gave way to a small, teasing smile. “How am I, she asks? Real question is how are you?” She stood up from her seat and wrapped Nailah in a warm hug. Nailah felt herself instinctively relaxing into the embrace. As she drew her mother in closer, she felt Lydia’s shoulders start to shake against her own, and she pulled away quickly, thinking she had started to cry. But Lydia was laughing, her chin cocked slightly up as she took her daughter in. “You don’t write, you don’t call,” she said, shaking her head as she let her arms drop away. The nurse had sat silently through their quick reunion but she was up now, too. Now that she was standing, Nailah could see that she towered over the both of them. She couldn’t be much older than me, Nailah thought as she took her in. She had olive toned skin and loose curls that hung just below her chin. Her oversized cardigan hung over her blue scrubs — both inscribed with the same BHS logo on Lydia’s standard issue linen shirt.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, smiling broadly at them. Then she looked to Lydia, and said apologetically, “You have about a half hour today.” Lydia nodded and reached over to give the nurse’s hand a squeeze before she turned to leave. Once she was gone, Nailah and her mother took their usual seat by the window. “Is she new?” Nailah asked, nodding in the direction of where the woman had been standing. “Her name is Quinn. She started about six weeks ago,” Lydia said. “She’s good. She’s young — not jaded yet, I think.” Over the years Nailah had watched dozens nurses come and go out of the clinic. The younger ones were coming up in revolutionized medical schools and were typically just as passionate about the work the clinic’s were doing as the researchers. But they spent too much time with the patients to ever stay for long. Her mother had a habit of befriending the ones assigned to her care. Nailah suspected she had a soft spot for them. In another life, she might’ve been one of them. “You look thin,” her mother said suddenly, taking her wrists in her own slender hands. She used her thumb to trace circles around the inside of her palm the way she did she when Nailah was small enough to sit in her lap during these visits. “Hasn’t Georgina been feeding you?” “I moved out of Aunt Georgie’s a couple months ago,” Nailah said. “I’m feeding myself just fine.” “You don’t look it,” her mother mumbled. Then louder, “You’ve got your own apartment?” “A studio,” Nailah nodded. When she’d started to lose herself all those months ago, finding her own space was one of the only things that had helped pull her out of it. “It’s small but it works. I thought Aunt Georgie told you.” “She didn’t,” Lydia said bitterly, her frown drawing creases between her brows. She said nothing else but they both knew why she hadn’t been told. The family had made a habit of protecting Lydia from outside news that may upset her. Nailah knew her mother resented it. An uncomfortable silence started to fill the space between them. Her mother had pulled her hands away and turned her body as she sunk deeper into the couch. Her face was blank as she stared passed Nailah at the window behind her. Nailah opened her mouth to say something but as the seconds of silence turned to minutes, she felt a tension start to run through her body, and closed it. On the other side of the room another patient was playing hand games with a young boy — likely her son — and his giggles filled the air, cutting the silence.

“How’s school going?” Lydia spoke at last. “You should be graduating soon.” After she’d moved out of her aunt’s house, Nailah lost a lot of her motivation for school. She’d decided to take some time off until she could make sense of the complicated mix of emotions that left her feeling empty for all those months — and had kept her away from the clinic. Her aunt had known about the semester off, of course, but the more Nailah spoke to her mother, the clearer it was that her aunt had relayed very little of the past nine months to Lydia. Nailah decided to leave things where they were for now and instead went with a response that wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t the whole truth either. “Classes start again next month,” she said. “I should be done by the end of the year if all my credits line up.” At this, her mother beamed. Nailah had always been a good student, and over the years she’d brought her report cards and progress reports for Lydia to collect. It was something from Nailah’s life outside that she felt she could hold onto. Nailah knew this even as a little girl and she tried hard not to disappoint. She was studying history at university. It was a useless degree, some in her family said, especially when all the jobs these days were in medicine and biochemical research. Science had always come as an easy subject to her in school. At her mother’s insistence she’d gone to the best schools the clinic’s stipend could afford, and there her grades in any science class had always been among the best. The truth was that she’d even enjoyed it, but the idea of going into the field was off the table. She knew where the work led. “There aren’t too many times I can think of where I felt prouder than when they handed me my degree,” Lydia said. In her life before the clinic, she’d been a teacher. “I always wanted that for you, too.” As she spoke, Nailah watched the lines around her mother’s mouth soften, then disappear as her grin relaxed into a soft smile. She looked better than she had the last time she’d seen her. There was more color to skin, and in the sunlight that streamed in from the window it looked her usual warm brown. She kept her hair close-cropped these days, and her make-up barely there except for the hint of red she liked to wear on her lips on days they weren’t running tests. In some of her earlier memories, Nailah could remember the braids her mother often wore in the photos she had of her in the twenties during those early years in the clinic. In those photos her eyes were always just as heavy as they were today. “You look better. You’re not as pale as last time,” Nailah said, reaching out to touch the exposed skin on her mother’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine for now,” Lydia said, drawing her arms around herself. “But they’re working on something new soon. Something big, I think, and you know how those bigger tests drain us.” Nailah nodded. There were days when her mother had to be wheeled out for visits. “What are they working on?” “I haven’t asked too many questions. It’s sometimes best not to know,” Lydia said, trying to feign indifference. Nailah saw right through it. “I’m sure I’ll learn more when the time comes.” “So what’ll it be this time? Any surgeries? Medications?” “I don’t know, Nailah,” her mother snapped back. “Enough.” She knew her mother was keeping things from her, but given their recent history she thought it best not to push. She’d have to ask her nurse or one of the researchers for an explanation on her way out. The half hour was coming to a close and Quinn would be back any minute. “I’d like to schedule a day out,” she told her mother. “Would that be okay?” The clinic allowed its patients rare trips outside. Requests could always be denied but Lydia had been a subject for a long time, and in those years had been lucky to be granted a handful of outside days a year. Her mother treasured those moments like they were gold, so Nailah knew it would be a perfect addition to this apology tour. “Would that be okay, she asks me,” Lydia’s smile was big and honest. Her voice was teasing. “Do I want a day out with my daughter? Yes. Yes.” “I’ll make the call,” Nailah said, laughing. “I’ll aim for next week before you start your next round of tests.” She stood to go, but her mother grabbed her by the arm to hold her back. Her smile was gone just as quickly as it had come. “Chistian is working today if you want to go by and see him,” Lydia said, her eyes searching Nailah’s intently. “I do have to run,” Nailah said simply, careful not to break eye contact and give anything away. She managed a casual smile. “But maybe.” Her mother’s grip on her arm softened, and she pulled Nailah into another hug, tighter than the one she’d given when she came in. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”

Again, Nailah let herself fold into her mother’s embrace, whispering her response into the crook of her neck. “Yeah, mom. Very soon.”

Outside the clinic, the air was cool with an early autumn breeze and the sun was shining high and bright in the sky. It was a beautiful day, and beautiful days like this drew out larger crowds of protestors to the gates of the clinic. Nailah decided to go out back so she could avoid the mass of people that was sure would be assembled by the time she made her way to her car. The protestors were mostly harmless — a mix of religious groups opposed to the clinic “going against the will of God” and disability rights activists who saw the clinics as tools of a cultural genocide bent on engineering them out of society. Nailah couldn’t say she disagreed with either of them. If they couldn’t spot a BHS logo on you, they rarely did anything but hand you flyers. But some of the protestors were children and relatives and the clinic’s subjects, and they made Nailah the most uncomfortable. She saw herself in them, and the mirror they held up to her as she drove past them was sometimes too much to bear. She’d deliberately parked in the spot closest to the entrance so she’d waste no time in leaving, but as she neared her car, the outline of a man — tall and broad-shouldered — leaning against her car stopped her in her tracks. His back was turned to her, but she knew immediately who it was. Nailah had woken up today knowing this confrontation was a possibility too. “Christian,” she called out from where she stood, several steps away from her own car. Her voice came out steady and confident, the way she’d intended it even though her heart had sunk into her stomach at the sight of him. “Get off my car.” He turned with a start at the sound of her voice. He’d clearly been waiting for her, but the sheepish look on his face told her part of him was hoping she wouldn’t show. Christian. The first boy she’d kissed, who had been the first person to see her cry over her mother, who told her he loved her for the first time as they stood in a corner of visitation room, and whose calls she’d been avoiding for the past nine months. “I heard you’d be coming by today,” he said, taking a step closer to her. She took one back and crossed her arms in front of her — a warning. Christian stood where he was but kept speaking. “I didn’t know when you’d be by but then I saw your car in the lot so I figured I’d wait to see if I could catch you. I didn’t want to interrupt in there with, you know, your time with your mom and all. But I thought maybe you’d have some time now? I just wanted a second to say hey. If you have a second.” Nailah could tell from the way he tumbled over his words that he was nervous but she said nothing, and he looked pained by her silence.

“Nailah,” he said, letting out a frustrated breath. “Where did you go?” For most of the time Nailah had known Christian he’d been several inches shorter than he was now and not so tan. The muscles in his arms hadn’t been quite so defined, either. He thought she wouldn’t notice the modifications, little as they were. But then one night as they’d been lying in his bed she’d seen his brown eyes flash the dull gray that meant the chip he’d gotten installed to control his pheromones needed an update, and he couldn’t go on lying about the procedures he’d gotten done. Nailah remembered how her mother had gone partially blind as they ran the tests for those chips, so yes, she’d noticed the modifications and each one was its own piercing betrayal. “I mean, damn, Nailah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t answer any of my calls. I could’ve explained…we could’ve talked it out.” “Explained what?” Nailah spat back. She might’ve laughed at the ridiculousness of his words if they weren’t already chipping away at the walls she’d had to put up to come back here. “You know what you did.” And more than that, he knew the consequences of what he’d done. He was in the clinic, same as her, watching people be picked and prodded at until they were nothing. But as a lab tech he watched it happen from one side of the glass, and maybe that was all the difference it took. “The work we do here is revolutionary. It’s never been done before,” Christain said, closing the space between them so suddenly that Nailah didn’t have time to react. Now she could look up into his eyes and see that he meant what he said. “Am I bad person for wanting to be part of that?” “You know the cost, Christain,” Nailah said. “And you don’t?” he answered, his voice increasingly agitated. “The clinic’s money paid for that car, right? I’ll bet it’s paying for that new apartment I hear you’re living in, too.” He was right. Nailah got monthly checks from BHS and would continue to get them for the rest of her life as compensation for her mother’s life. Even as she hated the clinic she couldn’t escape it. “I can’t look at you without seeing her in pain,” Nailah shook her head, her throat beginning to burn with the start of tears. He was so close that she could feel the warmth of him and she wanted so badly to put it all aside and rest her head against his chest. “And I can’t look at her without hating every part of this life.” “Your mother signed up for this. She’s part of this work because she wants to be,” he said, breaking the spell of sentimentality she’d almost let herself fall into. “You should be proud.”

Nailah knew he was angry with her for disappearing for all those months. But was she angrier at him for knowing why she had, and being too selfish to care. He didn’t — or couldn’t — understand, and she didn’t have it in her to explain it to him, so instead she turned away and headed to her car. “I told you I don’t want to see you again,” she said, forcing herself to look away from him as she opened her door. “And I mean it.” He didn’t follow or argue, but as she pulled away she caught a glimpse of him in her rearview mirror, watching her with flat, gray eyes. She could feel the backs of her eyes beginning to sting with tears, and that panic in her chest that had been weighing her down all these months began to rise up again, threatening to snatch her breath as she rounded the corner to the front of the clinic. She slowed her driving and focused on her breathing. In and out, she whispered to herself, imagining the space inside her car being filled with her breath, in and out. As her shaky breaths began to steady, she drew closer to the protestors she’d been trying to avoid. They stood in clusters, holding signs that clearly marked their ideological divides. Her eyes went immediately to a woman who held a sign typed in angry red letters: God save us all. She was flanked by a dozen or so men and women holding equally as alarmist signs. In the next cluster, Nailah’s eyes went to a little boy in a wheelchair holding a sign clearly written in his own hand: Don’t I matter, too? And then Nailah saw May, the girl she’d made countless trips to the clinic with all throughout their childhood. May stood with her own cluster of protestors but it seemed to Nailah that she was the center of that group. From inside her car, Nailah couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could see that May was speaking emphatically as she passed around pamphlets, her face drawn together in an expression of intense concentration. In the hand that wasn’t holding pamphlets, May held her own sign. Block letters in the same blue and gold lettering of the BHS that loomed above them all: WE FIGHT FOR THEIR LIVES. It had been a long time since she’d seen May. There’d come a time years ago when May’s anger toward the clinics had bubbled up in a way that Nailah hadn’t been quite ready to understand, and the two had drifted apart. May didn’t look too different. The curves that had started to come in as their friendship had fallen apart were there now in full effect, but she was still short. Still wearing her natural hair pulled away from her face. Still had the expression of someone with years more experience than she actually had. In the shock of seeing her standing there among these people she’d been so eager to ignore, Nailah had all but slowed to a stop. She watched as May turned her face away from the protestors next to her and turned squinted eyes in her own direction. The two girls locked eyes through the tinted window of her car door, and May smiled. She raised her hand and waved at Nailah, who could think of nothing she wanted to do less in that moment than step out of her car

and speak to May. She managed her own small smile of acknowledgement, turned her head quickly, and drove away from the clinic before anyone else could get in her way. <><><> When Nailah was twelve, her Aunt Georgie told her the full story of what had happened to her mother. By then she’d pieced together some of it. She knew her mother had been away since she was born and that her father had never really been in the picture in any meaningful sense, but until then she’d been largely shielded from the full truth. Georgina had called her into her room and told her to take a seat next to her on the bed. A week earlier, her aunt had done the same to give her a talk about menstruation, so Nailah had assumed she’d have sit through another painfully uncomfortable conversation about the ways her body was changing. But then her aunt had sighed and looked at her with the heavy eyes she only had when she was discussing her sister in hushed tones with the other adults, and Nailah had known that this conversation would be about her mom. “Sit down, Nailah,” her aunt had said rubbing a circle on her comforter as Nailah stood hesitantly in the door. “And shut the door when you do.” In a lot of ways Georgina had been more like a big sister to Nailah than an aunt. She was only nineteen when she’d taken Nailah in, and wouldn’t have kids of her own until Nailah was in high school. But in moments like this there could be no mistaking the guardianship role she’d taken in her niece’s life. She told Nailah it happened like this: Nailah’s mother had her because she wanted a child, plain and simple. She didn’t care that the man she’d been sleeping with when she’d gotten pregnant wasn’t ready to be a parent because she knew she was. And despite him, she was lucky in a lot of ways. She had the support of her family, and a good enough job teaching at the local middle school to support her and her incoming baby. “She was so excited for you,” Georgina had said, giving Nailah a playful jab at her side. “She almost went stir crazy waiting those last few weeks.” Excited as she was, the pregnancy wasn’t easy. She’d had fibroids most of her life, and that meant years of heavy, painful bleeding. With the pregnancy, it also meant the list of complications had seemed endless. Every night she worried she might lose her baby in her sleep, and when she didn’t, she spent her days worrying the growths were cutting off the nutrients Nailah needed to grow. The doctors her insurance could afford weren’t much help in easing her concerns, and even prayer seemed to escape her.

“Relax, they told her,” Georgina said with a scoff, the disgust palpable in her voice. “You’re only stressing yourself out.” Then one night, two weeks before Nailah was due, her mother had woken up shaking with sweat dripping down every inch of her body. When she looked underneath her she found that her water had broken, and with it was blood, thick and murky brown. Georgina had come rushing into her sister’s room at the sound of her screams and she said she remembered that the air in the room had been heavy with the smell of it, like a swamp. They got her to the hospital in a haze of fear and tears, but relief didn’t come for hours. The doctors and nurses darted in and out of the room, muttering to themselves but answering none of Lydia’s questions. Georgina stood at her sister’s bedside sponging down her forehead as Lydia clung precariously to consciousness. When her screams of agony started to give way to whimpers, Georgina started to worry that there wasn’t much fight left in her. Georgina remembered that it was about then, just as she had the terrible thought that she might lose her sister, that the doctor walked into the room. This doctor was different — a woman, younger than the others had been, and dressed like she was in an office building instead of a maternity ward. She’d walked into the room self-assuredly, her icy blonde bob bouncing with each click of her heels. The only real sign that she was a doctor was her lab coat, which had the blue and gold BHS logo on its right pocket. But that didn’t mean anything to either of them yet. “They were still coming up back then. Now you can sniff out anything to do with the clinics from a mile away,” Georgina said with a shrug. “But back then we didn’t know who she was or what it meant. I don’t know if it would’ve mattered if we did.” She introduced herself as Alice Temple, a lead researcher for the Bureau of Human Service, and told them in a cool, emotionally detached voice that if that they didn’t act soon Lydia would likely die. Nailah would have to come out immediately, and even then the risks for Lydia were high. She was losing too much blood. But there was good news too, she said, showing them a glossy navy blue folder she was holding in her right hand. Her organization was willing to handle the operation that would save both Lydia and Nailah, cover the cost of all the care she’d received tonight, and see that they were both well taken care of for the rest of their lives. In exchange, Lydia would have to agree to be part of their research. Georgina had taken the folder from the woman and leafed quickly through it. Inside was a pamphlet printed with a slogan she could no longer remember — something they printed on the brochures they left in waiting rooms. What she did remember was the stock photo of a smiling Black woman the pamphlet included. She had a blood pressure cuff around her forearm and she was beaming so broadly that the smile reached her eyes. Behind the pamphlet was pages and pages of paperwork. Even if they’d wanted to read it all, there’d be no time.

At the end of the woman’s spiel, Lydia forced herself up onto her elbows to look the woman in the eye. Even that sent a stab of pain through her body. By the time she was upright, her face was a hot with sweat and she was panting. “You’ll save my baby?” Lydia asked, wincing with each word. “Yes,” Alice nodded. If she noticed the struggled effort of Lydia’s breathing she didn’t react. “And we’ll save you.” That was all Lydia really needed to hear. She gave the woman a weak nod and told Georgina to start signing the paperwork as she sank back into the hospital bed. Georgina did as her sister told her without much thought, and as she handed the folder back to Alice, she noticed the woman had the faintest of smiles. “There’s not much more to the story than that,” Georgina said, studying Nailah’s face carefully for any signs that it had been too much to take. Nailah had been quiet for most the retelling and as she came to a close, it occurred to Georgina that it may have been too much for the girl to take. “You okay?” But Nailah only shook her head, only twelve but already understanding that the best way to process her mother’s situation and the ways it colored their relationship was to dutifully bear it whenever she could. “Yes, auntie. I’m okay,” she said — and she meant it. It was all too easy to picture her mother in that hospital bed. <><><> Lydia’s doctors agreed to a four hour furlough. Nailah hated that they called the trips furloughs, and hated even more that the approved time seemed to get shorter and shorter over the years. The clinic had one of the receptionists call instead of a doctor, and when Nailah pushed for more time, all the man on the phone could say was that her mother was scheduled for more procedures the following weekend and the doctors felt it would be better to keep the visit short. Rather than waste her efforts arguing with someone who likely knew less than she did, Nailah went ahead and scheduled the visit for the next day. When Nailah was a little girl, most of Lydia’s outside visits would happen at a sprawling public park not far from the clinic. They would go for walks, or picnics when they could. Nailah remembered how her mom would spread out on the blanket, her head resting in Aunt Georgie’s lap with her face turned toward the sky to catch the sunlight. For a short while they could feel like a normal family, and Nailah thought she might be able to recreate that feeling by bringing her mother back.

Aunt Georgie said she was working, but Nailah suspected that her aunt just wanted to leave room for her and her mother to really reconnect. It had been a little over a week since Nailah had been to the clinic and in that time she’d only called twice. The first call had been filled with the kind of awkward pauses that came out of forced intimacy, and the second had lasted only a couple minutes before Lydia had to leave for a round of tests she wouldn’t explain to her daughter. Baby steps, Nailah had to remind herself, baby steps. Even still, as she drove up the length of the clinic’s entryway, she couldn’t help but think of the next four hours as the final step in the thawing out of the frost that had grown between them in the months she’d been away. Their normal relationship had always weighed on her, but at least it was a reality she was used to. Lydia was waiting for her in the lobby of the clinic with Quinn and a male orderly. Lydia stood apart from the two employees, her expression detached and impassive. Before Nailah could say anything to her mother, the orderly stepped forward. “Nailah Bishop,” he said, acknowledging her with a nod instead of hello. “Can I see your identification, please?” “Do you understand that you are assuming responsibility for the care of Lydia Bishop for the next four hours as specified by the Bureau of Human Service?” he said to her after looking over her license. It was a question, but his bored deadpan made it sound like a statement of fact. “Should Lydia Bishop not return to this center at the end of those four hours you will be held accountable.” Nailah had listened to her aunt get this same spiel time and time again but it was jarring to have it directed at her. She said yes, and the orderly shoved a clipboard in her direction. “I’ll need you to sign and initial on all the highlighted lines,” he said. “When you’re done pass that over to Lydia and she’ll do the same.” She leafed through the paperwork, and he turned to her mother. “Lydia Bishop, do you understand that you’ll be leaving this center for the amount of time specified by the Bureau of Human Service?” Lydia nodded. “Do you understand that upon your return you will be subjected to a urinalysis and any other tests deemed necessary by the Bureau of Human Service?” He went on, taking no breaths between his sentences. “While out of the center you may not purchase, sell, possess, use, consume, or administer any narcotic drugs, marijuana, alcohol, or intoxicants of any form. You have not been cleared to operate any heavy machinery or engage in any activity that may put you unnecessary physical harm as outlined by the Bureau of Human Service.”

“Yes, I understand,” Lydia said, taking the clipboard from Nailah. She gave her signature without reading a single word on the page. With the warnings out of the way and the paperwork signed, the orderly left, and Nailah saw an immediate shift in her mother’s demeanor. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that lecture,” Lydia said, shaking her head. She brought Nailah in for a hug, and when she pulled away she had a cheeky smile. “Let’s get out of here.” Her mother looked worse for wear. She was smiling, but her eyes were bloodshot and tired. Gray bags had settled underneath them since Nailah had last seen her and her wrinkles seemed deeper set. She seemed frailer, too, when Nailah hugged her. Lydia was dressed in jeans and a gray knit sweater instead of the usual white linen uniform, but her clothes seemed to hang off her body. Clinging on her wrist was a BHS-issue metallic bracelet that would be tracking her mother’s vitals — and her location. “I heard we’re going to Tibbetts Brook,” Quinn chirped. The bracelet wasn’t enough, Quinn was clearly joining them as the clinic’s eyes and ears. “That should be fun! The leaves should be beautiful this time of year.” “Let’s get going,” Lydia said again, linking her arm with Nailah’s and ushering her out of the clinic. “The clock’s ticking, isn’t it?” They walked to the park, hoping to make as much use of their limited time as possible. Quinn was right about the leaves. The trees in the park were awash in brilliant golds and reds catching in the sunlight. They walked along the pathways chatting aimlessly about mundane things like how the cousins were doing and how Nailah was liking living on her own. Quinn trailed along a few feet behind them. In the gaps of the conversation Lydia would spread her arms wide like a cross and tip her head back to the sky to take it all in. “I can never decide what I miss the most but today I think it’s this feeling of sunlight on my skin,” she said to Nailah in a small, but rare moment of openness. “What kinds of things do you miss?” Nailah asked. “Going for walks like this, shopping, cooking my own meals,” Lydia answered without skipping a beat. “Georgina will tell you no Bishop loved being in the kitchen more than I did.” Nailah decided to take advantage of this small bit of vulnerability. She gestured to a bench nestled under a nearby willow tree and asked her mother to take a seat. Lydia led the way, and settled onto the bench with an achy sigh. Nailah was careful not to badger her mother

with too many questions about her health, but it was hard not to notice the way she deflated into herself as she sat down. “I have something for you,” Nailah told her mother, reaching into her pocket and pulling out an envelope. They’d had a ritual, years ago, of bringing Lydia a collection of photos with each visit. Usually snapshots of Nailah’s in her day-to-day life that Lydia could keep with her in the clinic. As Nailah had gotten old enough to make visits without her aunt, the photos had trailed off. Occasionally, Lydia would ask for more and Nailah would promise to bring her some without really meaning it. But for the last month, Nailah had made it a point to photograph nearly everything she did. She’d gotten them developed as soon as this visit was approved. They were her final peace offering. Lydia took them without a word and began to pour over them, spending several minutes taking in each photo. She would pause on photos of Nailah in her new apartment or one of her and Aunt Georgina and trace the outline of their faces with her gaunt fingers. Finally, she looked up at Nailah, her eyes unmistakably wet with tears. “Nailah,” her mother’s voice had an edge to it. “I want you to tell me why I didn’t see you for over nine months.” Nailah breath caught at her mother’s words. She felt the heat of embarrassment rise in her face, and though she felt as though her mind was racing, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She’d never expected her mother to be so direct with her, and certainly not now, when Nailah had been in trying to move past that time. “All that time and I didn’t hear from you once. At first I thought you were just avoiding that boy Christian, but then a month went by and even Georgie wouldn’t answer my questions,” she said in an accusatory tone. “I’m your mother, Nailah. I deserve to know what’s going on with my daughter.” “I just...” Nailah sputtered. “I just needed some time away.” “And then you come back with photos and no answers,” Lydia held up a photo Georgina had taken of Nailah sitting at her makeshift dining table. “How is that supposed to make me feel?” At this, Nailah felt the frustration she’d been trying to keep at bay for years start to rise up in her chest, and the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks turned quickly to anger. She knew if she bit her tongue now the moment would pass and she would have to let this anger wash over her again.

“How am I supposed to feel in all of this?” Nailah shot back with hot tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve tried so hard for so many years to act like none of this phases me, and eventually I just couldn’t.” Her mother tensed beside her. “And you think you’ve got it harder than me?” “That’s not what I’m saying,” Nailah stammered. “I don’t think—” “You get to come and go as you please, and you think you’ve it harder than me?” Lydia leaned in to look Nailah in the eye as she scolded her. “Every choice I made, I made as a mother! I’m here because I wanted a better life for you. And the first chance you got, you decided to leave me alone in there.” “Did you ever stop and think about what kind of life I might have without a mother?” Nailah demanded. “This life you chose for us, it doesn’t exist in isolation for me. The clinic has a hold on my entire life. It’s confusing and painful and it makes me feel helpless. Can’t you see that?” Nailah looked to her mother, whose face had softened from betrayal into something like understanding, empathy. Nailah felt the tears she’d been trying to hold back pouring down her cheeks and as she went to wipe them away, her mom held out a hand to stop her. She gave a gentle shake of her head, a sign to her daughter that it was okay to cry, and Nailah felt another wave of tears roll through her body. “I’m sorry, mom,” Nailah sobbed. “I’m sorry for all of it.” Nailah knew that her feelings of resentment were not for her mother, but for the clinic, which had stolen her away and left them to make sense of the holes they’d left in their lives. The weight of it all was heavy, but as she cried she felt as though everything in her emptying. Nailah pulled Lydia in and clung to her, letting her tears soak into her mother’s sweater. A moment of understanding passed between the two of them as they held each other. “I’m sorry, too, baby,” Lydia whispered in Nailah’s ear. It was meant to be soothing, but her voice came out haggard and breathless. Suddenly, Nailah noticed how her mother seemed to be crumpling in her arms. Nailah pulled away gingerly and came face to face with her mother, whose face was entirely drained of whatever little color it had. Before Nailah could ask if she was okay, Lydia doubled over with a hacking cough that shook her entire body. She could barely catch her breath between coughs. Just as the fit seemed to subside, Nailah jumped from the bench and crouched down in front of her only to find trickles of bright red blood staining her lips.

“Mom!” Nailah screamed, feeling fear run through her like ice in her veins. Her hands hovered over her mother’s doubled-over body, unsure where to touch. “Oh my God, oh my God!” Quinn, who had done them the courtesy of keeping her distance during their conversation, was next to them in a moment. Nailah had nearly forgotten she was there, but she was instantly glad to see her. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” Nailah said frantically. “What should we do?” Quinn forced Lydia’s body upward and brought one hand to her face as she used the other to check her pulse and breathing. Lydia’s eyes were glazed over, but she was at least able to say in a struggled voice, “I’m fine…” “She needs to get back,” Quinn commanded and Nailah could do nothing but nod. Quinn gave a shake of her head. “I knew she wasn’t feeling well this morning. They should’ve listened…” Despite her protests, Lydia was too weak to make the walk back to the clinic so Quinn made a call to have a car sent for them. As they waited, Nailah kept a close eye on her mother and tried to keep her panic at bay. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for bringing her mother out here when she’d known as soon she’d seen her that she wasn’t healthy. Her mother sat beside her on the bench with her eyes shut and her arms wrapped around herself, moaning softly until the clinic’s car arrived. “Nailah,” her mother said in a raspy voice as the car pulled up in front of them. “I love you.” An orderly, different from the one who’d signed them out, stepped out of the car without so much as a word to either Nailah or Quinn and carried her Lydia into the back seat. With Lydia on board, Nailah turned immediately to Quinn, grateful to let some of her anxiety show now that her mother was out of earshot “How soon can I see her?” she demanded. “You know that’s not up to me,” Quinn said with sadness in her eyes. She leaned in closer to Nailah then spoke in a whisper before climbing into the backseat with Lydia. “I’ll call you with an update when I can.” <><><> Nailah went home and waited for a call. There was nothing for hours, but she did nothing but worry and wait by her phone. When her phone finally lit up with an unknown number at midnight, Nailah was so restless she answered it after one ring. The phone call was brief.

“Hello,” Quinn’s voice came through low and close to the receiver. “Is this Nailah?” “Yes, yes,” Nailah replied. “How’s my mom doing?” “Better now,” Quinn said. “Her vitals are looking good.” “How bad was it? What was wrong with her?” “I don’t know, they don’t tell me more than I need to know to do my job,” Quinn admitted. “But I know she’d been fainting a lot, and complaining of migraines for over a week now. Before we left this morning she told me she’d been feeling numbness so, I can’t say I was surprised.” Nailah felt her heart sink. “But you said she’s better?” “Yes, she’s actually doing much better,” Quinn said. “For now it looks like she’ll be okay if she can get the time to fully recuperate.” There was a pause on Quinn’s end. When she spoke again her voice was hesitant. “She’s still scheduled for a procedure this weekend.” Nailah was incredulous. She’d watched her mother cough up her own blood just hours before. “How can they do that? You just said she needs to rest!” “I’m sorry, Nailah,” Quinn said and she sounded as though she really meant it. “The researchers feel she’s recovering well enough.” “There has to be something you can do,” Nailah began to protest. “They can’t just—” “I have to go Nailah,” Quinn said suddenly. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” The line went dead and Nailah was left with silence and a growing feeling of dread. The silence continued for over a week. She made fruitless attempts to call the clinic for information about her mother, but each time she was met with deflections and unanswered questions. She reminded every person who took her calls that she was her mother’s medical conservator and had a right to know what was happening with her care. When that proved useless, she’d go for sympathy. Nearly every call ended with her in tears, and the person on the line giving her a variation of the same line: “Someone will be in touch when there’s something for you to know.” She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going terribly wrong, that their silence was just a diversion from whatever horrible reality was going on inside the clinic. For days she would be up pacing the length of her apartment, picturing her mother being poked and prodded

by soulless men in lab coats, the life draining slowly out of her. At night, those images haunted her sleep. When the call finally came Nailah was already expecting the worst. This time, it wasn’t Quinn or any of the receptionists, but a researcher at the clinic. “Is this Nailah Bishop?” the woman on the phone said. “I’m calling from The Bureau of Human Service’s northeast center.” “Yes, this is Nailah Bishop,” she managed to choke out even as the reality of what she was about to hear began to suffocate her. “I’m calling to tell you that your mother, Lydia Bishop, died today in our care,” she continued, her voice impossibly steady. “Do you have time later today to collect her belongings and sign the necessary paperwork?” In that moment Nailah felt something deep inside her crumple and fall apart. She thought of her mother as she’d last seen her, slouched on the park bench, her eyes wet with tears and face contorted in pain. She wanted to scream or curse or do anything to take out the pain on someone, but she just felt empty. “Yes,” she muttered, sounding obedient and hating herself for it. “I’ll come by.” “The bureau is sorry for your loss.”

Nailah went to the clinic in a complete daze. It hadn’t even occurred to her as she’d gotten dressed and made her way slowly to her car that she should call the rest of her family to let them know what was going on. But as she pulled up to the clinic, there was a part of her that was glad she hadn’t. She wanted these first moments to herself. Truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to curl into herself in bed and let this nightmare pass her, but she knew she owed at least this to her mother. Or the memory of her. She came in through the back and waited in the visitation room until someone told her where to go and who to speak to. The woman who met her had graying blonde hair and pinched face that barely moved when Nailah introduced herself. She didn’t recognize her, but the name tag on her lab coat said “A. Temple” and Nailah knew right away who she was. The researcher who had pulled Lydia into the clinic would be the one to usher Nailah out of it. “My name is Alice Temple,” she said, stretching out her hand. “I worked very closely with Lydia.” “I know who you are,” Nailah said bitterly, ignoring the outstretched hand.

Alice lowered her arm, seemingly unfazed by Nailah’s rejection. Nailah watched her face closely for any sign of remorse or guilt about what had happened to her mother, but there was nothing. “We’ve put all of your mother’s belongings together for you. If you’d like I can take you to her room before we have you sign the paperwork.” Nailah nodded, and the woman led the way through a side door that would take them to where they kept their subjects. The woman was still talking about non-disclosure agreements, contracts, and whatever else Nailah would have to sign off on, but she was only half listening. She’d only ever been allowed in her mother’s room a handful of times and had met actual researchers from the clinic even less than that. As they walked the length of the hallway toward Lydia’s room, she was struck by how alien this place she’d spent so much of her life suddenly felt. They stopped at the doorway to her mother’s room and Nailah paused to take it in. The room was compact and the same stark white as the rest of the clinic’s interior. It reminded her in a lot of ways of a dorm room. Pushed up against the back wall was a twin sized bed and to the left of that was a reading desk, positioned so that her mother would have to face the door to use it. The only glimpse of the outside came from a small window, set too high up for her mother to see out of without standing on the tops her toes. Sitting on the bed was a box that Nailah assumed contained all her belongings. Other than that it was completely bare. Her mother had spent over two decades in this room, Nailah thought to herself, as her throat began to ache with the start of tears. Behind her, Alice was silent. Nailah took a step into the room and turned to her. “Will you tell me how she died?” Nailah asked. “You’re aware that the research this center does is government funded,” Alice said without missing a beat. She kept a cold, unwavering gaze on Nailah. “Unfortunately, your mother’s role in that research is privileged information.” The question had been a gamble. Nailah knew enough to know that she might never learned what it was that killed her mother. In a way it didn’t matter. No matter the cause, the clinic was at the root of it. She hated the place. She wanted to leave and never have to see it again. “I’ll give you a moment,” Alice said before disappearing down the hallway. Alone in the room, Nailah sat down on the bed, took her mother’s box in her lap, and let herself cry. Through watery eyes, she leafed through the contents of the box. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of photos all kept tidy in white envelopes. A small selection of clothes, cold to the touch but still smelling of her. She hadn’t known that her mother kept journals but there were a handful of them, all full of her handwriting. As she looked through Nailah had to

press her shut in a vain attempt to stop the floodgate that had opened up inside her. Violent sobs shook her body, and she felt every ounce of vulnerability and exhaustion she’d been hiding away hit her at once. Knowing Alice would be back any minute, Nailah gathered any last shred of self-restraint she could find in her and willed herself to stop crying. She stood, taking a deep breath and wiping at her tear stained face before she stepped out of the room and into the hallway. Alice was waiting for her. Wordlessly, she handed Nailah a stack of papers, several inches thick, each engraved with Bureau of Human Service in blue and gold. Nailah went through the motions of signing where she was meant to without reading any words on the page. When she was done, she went for her mother’s belongings and turned to the researcher. “How soon until we can bury her?” Nailah asked. She figured her mother would want to be buried next to her father in the local cemetery. At this, Alice’s face showed the first sign of emotion since Nailah had met her. It was only for a moment, but Nailah saw pity flash across her face. But by the time she answered, it was gone. She spoke slowly as if searching for the right words. “Your mother’s body is still an important part of this research. I’m afraid you won’t be able to bury her.” This was the final straw for Nailah. They had taken and taken and taken from her, but even in death she was indebted to these vultures. “Lydia helped us cure diseases and develop life-saving medicine,” Alice continued. “You should be proud of what she’s be part of. This country is grateful to her and the others like her.” “I have to go,” Nailah said, storming past the woman to leave the clinic. “I have to go.” The woman made no move to stop her as Nailah quickened her pace to escape the walls of the clinic. She felt as though they would come crashing down on her if she didn’t leave as fast as she could. But just as she turned the corner toward the front door, she heard her name being called out from behind her. Against her better judgment, she stopped and turned to find Quinn coming toward her quickly. She turned her head from side to side as if to check for anyone who may be following her, even though the two were alone. “I wanted to call,” Quinn said sheepishly when she was face to face with Nailah. “I wish that I could have. I wish could’ve done something more to...” Quinn trailed off and Nailah did nothing to fill the silence she left. Nailah wasn’t about to make Quinn, a woman who knew her mother only through this clinic, feel better about whatever role she may have played in her death. She’d have to live with that on her own. She moved to say goodbye, but Quinn moved closer to her, all but closing the space between them.

“I have something for you,” Quinn whispered, pulling out a small vial from the pocket of her scrubs. It was no bigger than Nailah’s index finger and filled with a thick red liquid. A sticker along the side of it read in block letters, L.B. “It’s one of the last blood samples I took from your mother. I think she wanted me to take it.” She reached out for Nailah’s hand and slipped it inside. The vial was cool to the touch in Nailah’s hand but her skin tingled where it touched. “You and your family deserved something out of this,” Quinn lamented. “I’m sorry this is all I can give you.” Nailah closed her hand tightly around the sample and placed it gently into her pocket. “Do you know what killed her?” Quinn shook her head apologetically. “I don’t know much, I’m sorry. I know a lot of the patients were being used for some new big study. I’ve heard whispers they’re trying to develop some intelligence boosting brain implant. It hasn’t…it hasn’t been going well. She was already so weak, my guess is they gave her a stroke.” Nailah nearly laughed. What a useless pursuit. Instead, she nodded through Quinn’s explanation. “Thank you for telling me,” she said curtly. Quinn watched her with sad eyes, her frown deep and telling. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Quinn called after her as Nailah walked out the front door of the clinic. “Your mother was a wonderful woman.” Once she was through the doors, Nailah let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Outside clouds were starting to gather in an otherwise clear sky. It was the kind of day that might’ve made her mother tip her head back to catch the sunlight. Again, there were protestors, lined up in rows around the exterior of the clinic, holding signs and yelling out so many variations of chants that she couldn’t make them out. From where she stood, she was surrounded by them and she felt engulfed. They were so involved in their work that at first it seemed as though they hadn’t noticed that she’d walked out of the clinic. She only saw a few religious signs so she assumed this crowd seemed to be made up mostly of the disability rights activists and their allies. They wouldn’t bother her, she knew, so she began silently maneuvering through them to head for her car. Just as she’d made it to the outer edge of the collective, she heard someone trying to get her attention. “Would you like to hear about why we’re gathered here today?” a woman’s voice to the right of her asked. Nailah turned and found May holding out a pamphlet in her direction. Like with their last brief encounter, only took an instant for the two to realize they knew one another.

“Nailah!” May smiled brilliantly at her, as though they’d never drifted apart. “I wasn’t sure if it was you.” Nailah returned the smile with a tense one of her own. “I was actually just leaving.” May’s eyes moved down to the box in Nailah’s arms and her smile fell from her face. When their eyes met again, her face was grim. “Did your mother just—” Nailah nodded quickly so she wouldn’t have to say the words out loud. “They killed my mom a little over a year ago,” May said matter-of-factly. “They had me come get her things, too. Wouldn’t even tell me which one of their tests was the one that did her in.” May’s face hid nothing. Nailah could see that she was seething with resentment as she spoke, and she felt herself softening toward her. It wasn’t lost on her that after all these years, May was still the one person who could understand exactly what she was going through. For the first time she didn’t want to hide from the people around her. She felt she was one of them. “What do you do here?” Nailah nodded toward the papers in May’s hands. The pamphlet she was holding out to Nailah was clearly handmade, and Nailah recognized the handwriting as her old friend’s. “I’ve been organizing against the clinics for a couple years now. People think it’s useless to fight against them, but I don’t see it that way. We built this institution up and we can tear it down, too,” May told her. Nailah got the sense that it was a speech she’d given many times before. Still, it didn’t feel rehearsed. “I want people to see what it really means to treat people like subjects before they’re human.” “I try to be part of as much as I can. There’s a lot of work to do educating people about what’s going on, but I also run a support group for people like us,” she continued. “They take so much from us. What little I have left, I want to give.” “I hate the clinics,” Nailah said almost involuntarily. She thought of Christian and the thousands of others who, months from now, would line up to get the implant that had likely killed her mother without ever giving it a second thought and it made her sick. “It’s stories like ours that’ll change this system,” May said emphatically. She reached out to touch Nailah arm. It felt like a comfort. “I’d love to tell you more about it.”

“Yeah,” Nailah nodded, feeling a flicker of hope rising in her chest. “I think I’d like that too.” May flashed an infectious smile at Nailah and reached into her back pocket for a pen. She flipped over one of the pamphlets and wrote out a number before handing it over to Nailah. “Think about it,” May said. “And call me if you want to be part of this movement.” Nailah took the pamphlet from her hand and put it in her pocket with the vial of her mother’s blood. The clinic had defined her life in ways she could never really escape. But, finally, felt she was on the brink of deciding what her relationship to it might look like. That possibility, as far off as it was, was thrilling. As she turned from May, she felt the weight of her pocket against her thigh and knew even as she walked away that she would be back.

Listen to Me Amanda Barbour PART ONE “The patient in room 435 is being difficult. I’m not telling her again that she can’t have more pain medication. The last nurse who was with her was too sympathetic and didn’t make it easier for me--don’t let her guilt you too.” The nurse at the desk looks up, and sees the doctor looking at the patient file. She knows he was talking to her, even though he never even bothered to look in her direction. “No, it’s just like we always see. ‘Something is wrong, doc! It hurts so much!’” His mocking tone makes her clench her jaw, but she doesn’t respond. She’s tried before. He leans in close over her desk, with an air of fatherly wisdom and she quickly rolls her chair back to reach a file she doesn’t actually need. “You listen to me, Maria” the doctor says. “You’ll learn soon enough anyway. They always want more. More attention, more pain meds, more whatever. Don’t you give in.” He stands back up and slapped the desk. She resists flinching, and stares at him, a hardened neutral look in her eyes. The man continues, “Sometimes you just gotta say, ‘Lady, that’s just childbirth.’” Maria finally gets up, and walks around her desk towards the door of 435. “Thanks for the update, Dr. Smith. I’ll go check on them.” *** Maria knocks on the door before pushing it open. “Hey there Aryn,” she says softly. “How are you doing?” She crosses the room and stands next to the bed, checking on the IV bag as she waits for a response. The young person on the bed has their eyes trained on her. “Are you going to actually listen to my answer, then? Because the last person who was in here certainly didn’t.” Maria stopped what she was doing and sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I’m listening.” “I’m a fucking public health educator. I teach parents about pregnancy and pregnancy complications and what to look out for because I know the stats about Black mothers in America.” “You don’t have to defend your credentials for me to take you seriously.” “I’m just saying, because your coworkers clearly don’t. This is me telling you that something is seriously wrong. I had preeclampsia so the doctors decided to do a preterm delivery, and now I have nausea, a headache, upper abdominal pain—it’s basically a checklist for HELLP syndrome.”

Maria stands up, the suddenness of her movement surprising Aryn. “I’m going to get Dr. Smith right away.” *** She all but runs after Dr. Smith, who is taking long strides down the hall, barely giving a glance to the nurse beside him. “Listen to me. They basically show all of the symptoms for HELLP syndrome. We should do a platelet test asap and get them ready for a transfusion.” “HELLP normally presents in white women before delivery. She’s Black, and her baby is already doing fine in the NICU. Nausea and headache and abdominal pain, you say? Were you even listening to what I was saying before? The woman’s just had a c-section, that’s all normal.” “Not if it’s sudden onset. Dr. Smith, just test their blood counts, and then we can decide what to do next.” “Are you an MD now? She’s been wanting attention all day, and she keeps coming up with these crazy ideas. I told her to not worry about what WebMD tells her—it’s all scaremongering anyway—I told her that if there was a problem we would have already known about it, and that’s she’s just going to be fine.” “It’s not WebMD that’s—anyway, that’s not the point. They need care, right now, before they’re at risk of liver failure.” “I told you, it’s not a problem. I was just in there evaluating her, and she’s completely normal. Doing anything else would be irresponsible and waste my time and hospital resources. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another patient to see.” He walks into another room and shuts the door behind him. *** Maria’s breath is determinedly even as she shuts the door behind her and pulls the syringe from her pocket. “Aryn,” she says as she find the port on their arm, “I’m going to take some blood to do a few tests. I’m going to check your platelet and red blood cell counts. I’m worried that they’re dangerously low, but I need to get the data to prove it. I’m also going to take a bit extra to test your ALT levels, because if you’re right about it being HELLP syndrome, we’re going to need to know how distended your liver is as soon as possible.” Aryn nods. It doesn’t take more than a minute to draw the blood that she needs, and as soon as Maria has the vial capped she strides off towards the lab. Thank god one of the lab techs is also part of the community. *** “Fucking hell.” Mies, the lab tech, spins around in her chair and pulls Maria closer to read the numbers on the receipt the machine is churning out. “Those ALT levels are rocketing. Get

upstairs as fast as you can, get the patient ready for a transfusion, if it isn’t too late already. I’ll come with you and grab the nearest doctor we can get.” The two women ran their way towards the door, Maria clutching the small piece of paper with the damning numbers in her hand. “Come on!” she groaned in frustration, punching the elevator door button closed. *** Aryn is unconscious, and Dr. Smith is standing beside their bed. He whirls around as Maria bursts into the room. “Where have you been? She’s unconscious. We’re taking her in for an ultrasound to see if there’s any internal bleeding.” “Dr. Smith, listen, their ALT levels are dangerously high and their platelet counts indicate class I HELLP.” Maria raises her hand as the man sputters back at her. “Don’t look at me like that, I needed something to confirm that this patient needed help.” “I’ll be speaking with your supervisor later.” Maria registers the threat but doesn’t care, she knows she was right. She leans in to see the ultrasound monitor. It looks like Aryn’s liver has ruptured, and there’s severe abdominal bleeding. “She’s not going to make it.” Dr. Smith was looking at the same monitor, a resigned look on his face. “She’s already in hypovolemic shock, and any surgery that we can do now won’t save her.” He turned to look at Maria again. “Bring her bed back to her room. I’m sorry.” His voice sounds as robotic as ever. *** Maria wheels Aryn back into room 435. They’re still breathing. Good. Maria pulls a pocket watch out of her scrubs, flips it open, and begins to speak. “Rescue number 637. Name: Aryn. Age: 36. Pronouns: they/them. Cause: HELLP ignored by doctor.” Maria finishes transmitting the information and glances around the room, quickly checking that everything is in place. Door shut, machines frozen. It’ll go back to normal once she leaves. Dr. Smith will be blissfully unaware. She’ll only be gone for a fraction of a second, anyway. Nobody will notice. She looks quickly at Aryn again. It’s killing her that Aryn was right, and she knows that as much as she tried, she took too long. She also knows they aren’t going to last long. She grabs their hand, checks her watch one more time, shuts her eyes, and pulls them upwards and out of sight.

PART TWO

“Damn it, Raquel, you need to go to the hospital for this. It’s past my ability to help.” A grey-haired woman was speaking, her voice quavering slightly beneath a mask of determination and strength. A younger woman stared defiantly at her, arms crossed and refusing the move. “You know I can’t afford a hospital bill. What are they going to do, save my life so that I can be bankrupt and homeless with a newborn? Just the ride in the ambulance will kill me.” “Fine, then we won’t take you in an ambulance, I’ll take you in my car. We’ll figure out a way to make sure you survive this. Go fund me or some shit. And don’t talk nonsense, you won’t be homeless while I have anything to do about it. But we don’t have time to—don’t you roll your eyes at me. Look at you, you’re bleeding and I can’t stop it.” She opens the front passenger door and lays the seat all the way back. The younger woman watches her dubiously, her face clearly in pain but her eyes showing a steely determination. “Since when are you a gofundme fan?” “That’s not the point, I’m here for you and they might be my best bet. Your face is young and sympathetic enough that it might work. But that’s a later problem—shut up and get in the car.” Raquel shook her head, but she was too afraid and in too much pain to protest more. She grabbed the older woman’s arm for support and lowered herself onto the towel spread over the seat, lay back and closed her eyes. The older woman ran around the car, turned the ignition, and sped off.

The roads were empty, and the only company they had were the flickering street lights that cast shadows as they passed. It felt like hours had passed, but soon they were stopped in front of the bright, constant lights of the ER. The older woman ran around the car again and lifted Raquel onto her feet, and as quickly as she could manage, half carried, half supported her into the room. Her bleeding was worse, and the woman hoped fervently that it would be alright. *** “You’ve miscarried. When did the bleeding start?” “Earlier this evening, around 7:00.” “This much bleeding, this late into your pregnancy, you should have come much earlier. Why did you wait so long?” Neither Raquel nor the older woman answered, but the doctor pressed on. “Did you induce this?”

The older woman stared at him. “How dare you,” she said, her voice quiet and deadly. The doctor turned to her, acknowledging her for the first time since he entered the room. “What’s your name?” he asked sharply. “Liza.” “Are you her mother?” His eyes narrowed. “No,” she replied truthfully. “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room,” he said. “No,” she replied again, with more force to her voice. “She needs me, and I’m not going anywhere.” The doctor rolled his eyes, but decided not to argue. “Alright, well, you’ve had a miscarriage. I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll have to do a surgical evacuation, I’ll send a nurse in to answer your questions and we’ll see when we can get you into the OR.” “How soon will that be? She’s bleeding so heavily.” “When there’s space.” “When will there be space?” The doctor smiled patronizingly. “I assure you we’ll do our best,” he said, and turned and walked out of the room. *** Liza waited, knitting, grateful for something her hands could do. If only she could find something to occupy and distract her brain in the same way. They had finally taken Raquel into an operating room, attempting to find a cause and a cure for how much she was bleeding. She was bleeding so much. She had already lost so much blood. She forced herself to watch the yarn running through her fingers. What if she had to rescue Raquel? She had done it so many times before, but always with strangers. Never with someone she knew. What if she had to make that call? No. She wasn’t ready to think about that. Did she have to be ready to think about that? Fuck, her stitches were all uneven because she had been pulling the yarn so tightly. Whatever, she thought. That was the least of her worries. Would she be able to get to Raquel in time if she needed it? Usually she was right there with patients, but this time was different. She hadn’t been prepared for Raquel to go into labor so early, and wasn’t prepared to deal with the hemorrhaging, which is why they had to go to the hospital. And it was going to be so expensive. She silently cursed herself for worrying about the money when Raquel was in danger.

Being an Earth coordinator was usually a lonely job. You didn’t really have a community on Earth—it was so difficult, given the requirements of the job. You were constantly reappearing and disappearing, and you had to keep everything secret. It was hard enough keeping jobs to stay useful and well-placed—that was part of the reason why she became a midwife. Most of it was so that she could access people who were pushed out of the hospital system for any reason— insurance and money was a main one, but she also saw lots of people pushed out for racism. But it was nice having the flexibility and the independence to travel back and forth as she needed to. And as for her own needs, she had the community. Which is why she didn’t need to stay connected to Earth, and why she didn’t normally have these bonds with the people she was helping. Raquel was different, though. She was the child of one of the first people that Liza rescued. Raquel was only 9 years old when she and Liza met, and her mother was pregnant with her younger brother. Her mother had also been uninsured, and reluctant to go to the hospital because of the devastating costs, but like Raquel, had no other options. Liza had been working as an ER nurse at the time, and she was pulled onto Raquel’s mother’s case because of her previous experience working with the ob/gyn department. The baby survived, but their mother didn’t—it was the second rescue that Liza had to perform, and she immediately returned to comfort the child left behind. That was one of the most tiring nights of her life. Liza had thought that she would never see Raquel again, but years later, they reconnected by chance, when Raquel was taking a midwifery class that Liza was guest-teaching for. Liza recognized Raquel right away—she was the image of her mother—tall, with tight curly hair and bronze skin and kind eyes. But she didn’t expect Raquel to recognize her too, and was even more surprised when Raquel wanted to talk more with her and get to know her. She didn’t expect that she would develop such a close friendship with the younger woman. They didn’t see each other often—as expected, because of Liza’s comings and goings—but when they could, they would sit together in Liza’s tiny apartment, curled up on the couch with mugs of tea, and catch up about everything that had happened in each other’s lives since the last time. Well, almost everything. Liza couldn’t tell Raquel about the community, of course. It was a strict rule, no Earth-bound people could find out the truth. So Liza always held onto that secret, that she knew Raquel’s mother was doing well in that other world, far away from her daughter and the rest of her life on Earth. Her thoughts were suddenly broken by the hallway door swinging open, and a man’s voice echoed throughout the waiting room. “Is anyone here for Raquel?” Liza stood up so quickly that the ball of yarn she was knitting fell to the ground and rolled away. She hastily scooped it up, shoved it in her bag haphazardly, and all but ran up to the nurse. “Yes, I’m Liza. How is Raquel doing?” The man’s voice softened a bit. “She’s not doing well. She lost a lot of blood very quickly, and there’s a large chance she won’t recover from that.” Liza’s breath caught, but she recovered quickly. “How likely is it that she’ll live?”

The nurse hesitated for a moment, but her eyes bore into him and he answered, “Not likely. I was sent out here to get you, in case there was anybody waiting here to say goodbye.” Her heart crumpled. She never expected that she would be in a position to rescue someone she loved. She was so….glad? No, that wasn’t the right word. Grateful, that she could give Raquel another chance, in another world. But even knowing the future possibilities didn’t make the death on Earth any easier. She walked quickly behind the nurse. He talked nervously, as if to fill up the silence. He must be a newbie, she thought. Nobody who’s walking in to say goodbye to someone wants to be babbled at. “You know, I was surprised you were here. Normally when this type of person comes in, pregnant, uninsured, no husband, there isn’t anyone there to meet them. They’re on their own. It’s so sad, you know?” This was too much. “They’re on their own? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Liza stopped dead in her footsteps and faced the man. She stared at him for a moment while he sputtered an apology, then whirled and sped away again towards Raquel. “They’re on their own? How dare you.” The man tried to interject but she cut him off again, pointing her finger in his face. “No, don’t you dare interrupt me. Listen to me closely. Every minute I’ve been in this hospital, nobody has treated her with respect. She has community. It’s you, every one of you, who’s let her down. The fact that she doesn’t have access to medical care without financially ruining herself, that’s let her down. The fact that the intake doctor suggested that she was faking her pain, killing her own infant, that’s let her down. Your idiotic assumptions about her—her relationships, her community, everything about her—have let her down. And you know what? That’s what killed her.” For once, the man next to her stayed silent, if only because he was stunned. She was grateful for the silence. Surprised, but grateful. They reached the room where Raquel was lying shortly after that. She was unconscious. The doctor was standing next to her, his eyes on the monitor beside her bed. “Ah, good, you’re here,” he said. “You’ve heard her status, then?” He looked to the nurse behind her for confirmation. “I want you to tell me everything,” Liza said firmly. “Raquel, as you know, had a stillborn, and started hemorrhaging before she was admitted. The cause of her hemorrhage and the death of her baby was a placental abruption. Was Raquel a drug user?” Liza closed her eyes and prayed for the patience not to strangle him right there. “No.”

The doctor looked skeptical, but continued on. “In her case, it was a complete abruption. The baby didn’t have a chance of survival, because he was completely deprived of oxygen. For Raquel, she lost too much blood too quickly, and her heart couldn’t deal with the shock. She’s in a coma now, but it’s not stable, and there’s no chance of resuscitation.” The doctor paused and took a breath. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “Can I have a moment? Alone, with Raquel?” Liza asked. “Of course.” The two men nodded and left the room. Liza looked around the room and breathed for a moment, taking in her surroundings. It looked exactly like every hospital room she had ever been in. She knew what she had to do, she had done it many times before. She pulled out her pocket watch. “Rescue number 638. Name: Raquel. Age: 27. Cause: placental abruption and subsequent hemorrhage.” She snapped the watch shut and shoved it back into her pocket, moving around the bed to stand next to Raquel as she did so. She reached for her friend’s hand, warm but lifeless, and closed her eyes, focusing, grounding herself. She pulled herself upwards, and in an instant, the two were gone.

PART THREE

“Have you been tested for gestational diabetes yet?” “Yes, the last time I was here.” “Oh good, I’m glad the last doctor caught that, it can wreak havoc if it goes undiagnosed. How have your blood sugar readings been?” Maya stared back at the doctor. “I did not get diagnosed with gestational diabetes.” “Oh, really?” The doctor raised her eyebrow and gave a long pause. “Let’s just check again then. Never too cautious. You know, it may have developed in the meantime. I’ve seen cases that develop even in the last few weeks of pregnancy!” Maya rolled her eyes. It’s not like she ever had a choice in the matter. She stuck out her finger. The doctor pricked her outstretched finger and hummed absentmindedly to herself while she stuck the chip into the reader. They waited a few moments in silence, then suddenly the machine emitted frantic beeping. The doctor leaned over to read the numbers.

“Hmm. Your blood sugar is normal, and your insulin levels seem to be normal as well. Huh.” The doctor frowned, glancing at Maya quickly before returning her eyes to the instrument. “Well, I guess that’s so. Count yourself lucky! To not have developed diabetes yet in your condition…” The doctor trailed off as she collected her thoughts, and with a renewed wave of energy, brightened again and turned to Maya. “Well, then. You seem to be all set. I will make a note in your file to test again the next time you come in—I’ve seen it develop really late in pregnancy, as you know. Never too cautious!” She looked at Maya, expecting a chuckle of appreciation. Maya raised her eyebrows. The doctor hastily moved on. “You seem to be all set then. Do you have any other questions for me?” “Not really.” Maya shrugged. She felt fine, and the doctor had confirmed that the baby was growing at a healthy rate. So far all her prenatal tests had been completely fine, but the doctors seemed determined to find something wrong with her. Last time, the doctor had been concerned about her weight gain. I’m growing a fucking child in my body, she had thought to herself. Of course I’m going to gain weight. And this appointment, she had been tested for gestational diabetes for the third time. Clearly, no amount of “trust me, I’m fine” was going to help. *** Maya got home and flopped on the couch. Her partner, Alex, came over and sat down beside her, putting her arm around Maya. “What’s going on? How was the doctor?” “Fine.” “Maya, I know what your face looks like when you’re not fine. Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to distract you with inane work troubles from my day?” Maya sighed. “It’s just that fucking doctor whenever she looks at me. And all the nurses, and even the receptionist at the front desk who checks me in. It’s like they’ve never seen a fat person pregnant before.” “I’m so sorry Maya. What do you need?” She tried to make eye contact, but Maya stared resolutely ahead. “Nothing you can do,” she replied wearily. “Unless you can get rid of fatphobia right this minute. Or if you can make them listen to me for once” She sighed. “I mean really, though,” she sat up, gesturing impatiently. “I’m literally a perfect model of health. But ever since we started fertility treatments, they’ve been so determined to find something wrong with me. Remember when they tried to convince you to carry, instead of me?”

Alex nodded. They had tried to make her carry, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being pregnant. And Maya had always wanted it. They only let up when they figured out that Alex physically couldn’t be pregnant. Maya sighed again. “It’s as if my very existence is causing them an existential crisis, and they just need to figure out what my problem is so they can go back to being comfortable hating fat people.” *** “Alright! All your prenatal tests are looking good, and your baby seems to be gaining weight at a healthy rate. Do you have any other questions for me before we wrap up?” Maya shook her head. “Not at the moment, no,” she replied. The doctor smiled. “Great! Last thing on my list before I let you go—since you’re getting to 7 months, let’s think about scheduling an appointment for a C-section.” “Oh, I—” “I know, I know, it seems so early! Another two whole months to go! But trust me, it sneaks up faster than you think, and it’s best to have something planned.” The doctor’s voice was full of unearned enthusiasm. “Yes, but—" The doctor turned away and started typing in her password as she interrupted Maya. “Now Csections obviously are subject to last minute changes—if you develop hypertension, for example, we’ll have to push up the date. Actually, it’s fairly likely in your case. But regardless, it’s good to get an appointment ready for week you’re due, just in case everything goes normally. Now, let’s take a look at my schedule. Hmmm…the best day for me would be Tuesday, December 6th. How does that sound for you?” She spun around in her chair to face Maya again, her hands clasped in her lap, looking expectant with her eyebrows raised. Maya stumbled over her words, disoriented by the sudden information. “I—well—I didn’t think I would have to commit to a birth plan quite yet. I wasn’t really thinking of having a C-section, I was really more interested in a natural birth.” The doctor’s face took on a mixture of surprise and pity. “Ah, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it would have been more obvious, but I see that I do have to explain.” The doctor paused and took off her glasses, sighing as she did so. She leaned forward and spoke again, “At your weight, it’s not safe for the baby for you to have a natural birth. Obese women tend to have longer labor times than women with normal weight, and it becomes harder to monitor the baby’s health during labor. It’s a tough situation, I know, but we can never be too cautious.”

“But I—” Maya started, before the doctor interrupted her again. “So at the hospital, we have a cut-off for BMI and caesarean requirements, and since you’re in the high risk BMI category, we need to do a C-section. It’s best for the baby, I’m sure you understand.” “I’m not interested in surgery though. I know plenty of other people who have given birth at high weights.” “Well obviously, there are exceptions to everything! But as I always like to say, never too cautious! So we’ll be doing a C-section here. Even if we did try a natural birth, there’s a high likelihood that we would have to switch to c-section, and having an emergency one is always more risky than a planned one.” She spoke as though Maya was 9 years old. “So I don’t have a choice here?” Maya asked bluntly. She already knew the answer, but she wondered if asking would change the doctor’s mind. The doctor chuckled. “You always have choices! It is your body, after all. If you want to go somewhere else where some other doctor might decide to let you risk it, you could try to have a natural birth. But it’s our recommendation that you stay here and have a c-section with the team who has been working here for your entire pregnancy. We have your best interest in mind, remember, and we know your medical history. Don’t underestimate the power of that.” She wagged her finger knowingly, and spun back to look at the computer again. “Alrighty,” she said. “I’ll book a time for you on that Tuesday, then. December 6th, make sure to mark your calendar!” She clapped her hands enthusiastically, willfully oblivious of the harm she was creating. “Birthdays are always so exciting!” Maya forced a smile back. *** “WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S GOT AN INFECTION AND YOU’RE NOT SURE IF SHE’S GOING TO MAKE IT” The nurse looked positively terrified. He held his hands out in what he thought would be a calming gesture. “Please, ma’am, stop yelling. I can explain—” “DON’T MA’AM ME. I HAVE BEEN HEARING FOR MONTHS NOW ABOUT HOW YOU’VE MISTREATED MAYA AT EVERY POINT OF THIS DAMN PREGNANCY.” “I—I can get the doctor, if you’d like, ma’am” “YES, PLEASE. AND I SAID, DROP THE MA’AM.”

“Yes, ma—sorry, yes, I’ll get her now.” He scurried away. Alex stood, pacing the hallway. This damned pregnancy. All she and Maya wanted was a chance to have a family of their own, something everyone seemed determined to deny them. Maya hadn’t even wanted a C-section. What if she had been allowed to go through labor and give birth the way she wanted to? Everyone kept saying over and over that it would have been even more risky, but she couldn’t help but wonder anyway. What if they had tried? She paced back and forth in the hallway, sick with worry. And where was that damned doctor? It felt like ages since she had yelled at the nurse unfortunate enough to be the messenger. The door opened, and Alex rushed up to her. “How is Maya doing? Have you managed to control the infection? Could this have been avoided if she did a natural birth instead of a csection?” The woman held her hand up to slow the barrage of questions. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m not Maya’s doctor. I won’t be the best one to answer your questions.” “Shit, I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I was just hoping—I mean—I just want some answers. And I want to make sure they’re treating Maya well.” “I know,” the woman said kindly. “I’m sure they’re doing their best, you know.” “Are they though?” Alex asked. “It seems like every part of this pregnancy has been a battle to be respected and to get treatment that actually works for Maya.” The woman paused and crossed her arms, looking intently at Alex. “Tell me more.” Alex looked surprised that someone was willing to listen to her. “Every doctor, nurse, assistant, whoever in this place has been awful to Maya because she’s a fat woman,” she said. “Every visit from the very beginning of this pregnancy has been degrading and shaming and stressful, and nobody will ever listen to Maya—what she needs and wants. They’ve just been assuming since day one that this pregnancy is a terrible idea, that Maya is some terrible health problem that they need to solve…it’s been awful to watch, and I can’t bear to imagine what it must be like to live through.” She paused and wiped tears away. “And now, she’s got an infection from the C-section that they forced her to have, because they wouldn’t listen to her. And the last nurse they sent to update me said she might not make it. And I can’t think or focus because all that’s running through my mind is that I might lose her, and they’ll blame it on her weight and it will all be their fault.” There was a pause before the woman spoke. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry that you and Maya have had to deal with this, and I’m sorry that it’s escalated so badly. I can connect you and Maya with an alternative heathcare group that advocates for non-weight based healthcare—” she stopped herself suddenly and redirected. “But that’s something for you to think about later, not now, I’m sorry. I don’t know the specifics of Maya’s case so I can’t tell you the answers you

need to know, but I do know that antibiotics can be incredible lifesavers, and most infections have a good chance of being cured.” Alex nodded quietly, desperately hoping this strange woman was right. She must be right. She couldn’t bear to think about the alternative. “What’s your name?” she asked. “Morgan.” The door to the waiting room swung open, and another woman came out. “Alex?” she called uncertainly. “Go on,” Morgan said to Alex. “I’ll be thinking of you.” She placed her hand on Alex’s shoulder for a moment, and then turned and headed back through the swinging door. Alex nodded and turned away towards the doctor, who was watching Morgan leave. As she disappeared, the doctor turned back towards Alex. “Hi Alex,” she said. “I’m on Maya’s team. The others are still back there with her, monitoring her health and making sure the infection doesn’t get too much worse.” “How bad is it?” “Bad. I’m so sorry, Alex. Infections like this are hard to manage in Maya’s condition. It’s a dangerous position to be in.” “Then why did you force her to have a C-section?” Alex asked fiercely, feeling her body tense up again with anger. “Making a birth plan is a very difficult decision that has many factors,” the doctor said slowly and carefully. “Maya and I discussed the benefits and dangers of each plan, and this is the course of action we decided to take. I’m sure you know that childbirth and pregnancy have risks, especially in Maya’s condition. I assure you we did everything in our power to minimize those risks before they happened, and we’re doing everything we can to make sure she’s going to be okay at the end of all of these complications.” “Bullshit. Bull. Shit.” Alex retorted. “Maya never decided anything. You never decided anything together. From the very start, you decided everything because you thought you knew better.” “I am a medical expert, and I did what I was trained to do and what was best for both Maya and the baby,” the doctor replied. She was still smiling, but it was clenched. “I assure you again, we did everything we could to minimize risks for Maya’s health, and we’re doing our best to help her now as well.” “But—” Alex started, but the doctor cut her off again.

“I need to go back and check in with the rest of Maya’s team. If there are any updates, someone will be sent to let you know.” She turned and walked back through the doors, leaving Alex angry and alone. *** Morgan was walking back towards the nurses’ desk in the center of the floor. “What room is Maya Jansen in again?” she asked the woman at the desk. “403. Why?” the woman responded. “I need to check in with her doctor about something.” The vaguer, the better, she thought to herself as she headed towards 403. She needed to figure out how bad Maya’s infection actually was, and if it was bad enough, figure out an excuse to get everyone to leave her alone. Usually it was pretty straightforward, because the rescues she normally did were cases that she was working on. She didn’t usually stumble across unexpected cases from relatives in the waiting room. But she couldn’t just let Maya be, either. She’d come up with something to distract everyone. She reached 403 and poked her head in the door. There was only a nurse in there, watching Maya’s monitor. He turned his head as the door opened, and she realized it was Jack. Good, she thought. Jack would be easy to fool. She stepped fully in the room and closed the door behind her. “Hey Jack,” she said, moving towards the bed. Maya was sleeping, her forehead sweaty from fever. “How is she doing?” “Not too well,” Jack replied. He didn’t question Morgan’s presence. “We keep thinking she’s stable, but the infection spread really quickly. We’re having a hard time controlling her fever, but there isn’t much left that we can do to intervene. Dr. Englesberg went to check on another patient of hers, and left me here to watch her vital signs and call if anything goes seriously wrong.” Morgan nodded, taking in all the information and watching Maya. “What’s her blood pressure like?” she asked. “Haven’t checked it in a while.” Jack responded. “Her heart rate is elevated, though.” “Let me check it again,” Morgan insisted, pulling the blood pressure cuff from the wall and wrapping it around Maya’s arm. “Damn it, it’s too low.” Morgan cursed under her breath, unwrapping the cuff and throwing it on the counter. “Jack, page Dr. Englesberg and get another unit of blood. I think Maya might be going into shock because of how little oxygen is reaching her heart.”

He ran out of the room towards the blood bank, and Morgan moved quickly into place. Her heart monitor was increasing rapidly, and Morgan knew that the extra blood wouldn’t actually be of any help. The infection had taken over her body and there wasn’t much time left. Morgan grabbed Maya’s hand and pulled them both away. PART FOUR

You’re suddenly in silence. It’s warm, and soft, and you’re not sure where you are but you don’t feel disoriented. The weight of your body is thoroughly pulling you down, and the thought of moving is absurd. As you lie still, sounds slowly crawl towards you and you realize that there are voices in the distance. Where the hell am I? Your mind blinks more awake, and you’re more aware of the feel of cloth against your skin and the smell of wool. You curl your toes and clench your fists, and slowly regain feeling and motion. A sharp crack suddenly fills the room and your eyes fly open, wildly searching for the source. “Sorry about that!” a voice whispers. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. I was just coming to check on you.” Your eyes focus on a woman in the doorway. She’s wearing a knit purple sweater and soft pants, and her eyes are kind. Check on me? Who are you? “You should try and rest. I imagine you’re exhausted.” She smiles, and turns to close the door again. “Wait!” You try and form the words, but your throat resists. Your mind is anything but peaceful now, and you try to sit up but this time it’s your muscles that won’t cooperate. You flop back, resigned, and let your eyes wander instead. There’s light coming in through the curtains on the window, quietly illuminating the room. It’s small, and the walls are plain. A small bookshelf stands under the window, and you see a small pile of your belongings folded neatly on the top shelf. How did those get there? But just as you start to feel restless and disoriented, your mind gets cloudy from the effort and you drift back into sleep. *** “Good morning.” Your eyes blink awake, and you roll over, delighted that your muscles don’t resist. The same woman pushes open the door and enters carrying a steaming bowl. “Here,” she says quietly, handing you the bowl. “You should eat.” She helps you sit up and pulls a chair up beside your bed. “Just eat,” she says, cutting off your stream of questions before you even begin to open your mouth. “I’ll talk, you eat.” She smiles and you don’t protest, putting the spoon to your mouth and realizing that she’s right.

“You’re probably wondering where you are and why you’re here and how you got here and a million other things right now.” Yeah that’s about right. “You’re in a community right now, a collective of sorts. We’re a group of people who rescue those in danger and bring them to an alternate world.” “So I’m dead?” “No. Well, you should be dead. On Earth you would be dead.” Hold up. What the hell is happening. “You were about to die of childbirth, when one of our Earth coordinators brought you here.” Holy fuck. “So I’m in heaven? Hell? Whatever else happens in the afterlife?” “I guess you could call this the afterlife. We’re not sure if there are other versions out there—I’m guessing there must be, because we can’t be the only ones to have discovered this magic. And then again, sometimes people leave from here. They’ve never come back, but they must have gone somewhere.” “So no eternal damnation for me?” you ask, half-joking. “No eternal damnation. No damnation at all. We’re here to love you as best we can.” She reaches out and takes your hand, and her hands are strong and caring. You squeeze her hand back for a second, and then lay back and close your eyes. A moment passes, and then you quietly open your eyes and ask, “What’s your name?” “Sarah,” she replies. Thank you Sarah. You shut your eyes again and wonder how you’re going to ask the next question that’s burning inside you. “What happened to me?” you blurt suddenly. Sarah pauses before continuing. “You died because you were ignored. There is no good reason for you to have died. I’m so sorry.” I fucking knew it. God damn it. “But I…” you trail off, not sure what you meant to say next. But I knew better? But I did everything right? It didn’t matter.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Sarah responded gently. “If it was going to be easier for you to be shielded from all of this information, I would do that in a second. But you’d insist to know what happened. Not just the diagnosis, but all of what happened. You shouldn’t have died and you did, and I am so, so sorry.” She shrugs and says, “Well, you know what I mean. You didn’t technically die, you’re here because we brought you here before your heart stopped, but you certainly aren’t on Earth anymore. And you definitely would have been dead if we left you there.” “What would have happened if I did die?” you ask. “From what we’ve studied, when people actually die everything ceases. Consciousness, everything goes blank. This place gives people a chance to reconnect, to heal, to form a community that cares for each other in ways that we weren’t cared for on Earth.” You look hard into her eyes, as if determined to catch a smirk, or a hint of suspicion. “How do I know to trust you?” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “I think you can tell that for yourself, can’t you? Knowing when to trust people is how you stayed alive as long as you did.” You can’t help but smile wryly. She’s not wrong about that. She smiled knowingly, and then leaned forward reassuringly. “Don’t worry about that—there’s a trial period before you commit to us—wow, that sounded like a salesperson, I’m sorry.” She laughed and composed herself. “Take two. We’re already committed to you and would welcome you into our community in a heartbeat. But you also need to make sure you want us. Some people know immediately that this is not for them, and that’s alright. Some people have stayed with us for years and years before deciding one way or another. While you’re deciding, you are still welcome here. You can participate in everything, but in major community decisions, you’ll be asked to hold back.” “So you’re saying I don’t have to trust you immediately?” “I’d be surprised if you trusted anybody immediately. You’ve just been whisked away into a magical otherworld when you should have died. For some, the fact that they were rescued is enough for them to trust. For others, they actually have to see this community in action, and see how we function and treat each other. There’s nothing wrong with either way, and it doesn’t matter how long you take to decide. You can walk away right now—there’s a portal on the other side of the building, and your memory will be wiped and you’ll go back to Earth, just the same as if we’d never interacted at all. Or you can stick around and see if this is something that you want to belong to.”

*** You open your eyes and you’re alone again. You sit up slowly, and you’re delighted to discover that your head is no longer pounding. You swing your legs over the bed and cautiously stand up. Your legs are strong again, and you pull on your jeans and flannel and lace up your boots. The clothes are familiar and comforting, and you wonder how the community acquired them. Are they really mine? Or did some magic spell recreate these? You decide that it doesn’t matter, and file the questions away to ask Sarah later. Nerves tingling, you push open the door and step out into the hallway. The air is pleasant, and there are other doors lining the hallways. Some are ajar, and you wonder if the occupants are also new rescues. Is that what I’m calling myself now? Whatever. You take a few steps forward before getting dizzy and you reach instinctively for the walls for support, but your hand closes on a cane instead. Huh. You didn’t see that before. Must really be magic then. You venture forward again, steadying yourself as you go. The end of the hallway opens up into a garden. Well, some of it’s a garden at least. There’s an area to your left that has rows of vegetables—beans, tomatoes, squash, onions, potatoes—and the rest of the green is wild. It’s speckled with wildflowers thrown here and about. You’re not quite sure what season it is. You never paid enough attention to know what’s supposed to be growing when, but the air is pleasantly warm, there’s a soft breeze, and the sun is shining down through the leaves on the trees. It’s so different from the weather you left on Earth. It was cold and rainy, and it would seep into your bones and leave you shivering forever. There aren’t many people about, but there are a few women kneeling between rows. Their sleeves are rolled up and their strong hands are tossing beans into their baskets. It seems like they’ve made a game out of the whole thing, and they’re laughing uproariously together. You can’t help but smile. There’s a playground to your left beyond the rows of vegetables. You do a double-take—are there kids here? No, Sarah said there weren’t any. It dawns on you that the playground must be for adults. Sure enough, it’s far larger than any playground you’ve ever seen before. It’s been ages since you’ve been down a slide, or been on a swing. You’ll have to come back later. There’s a large notice board in the middle of the open area, and there’s a sign tacked to the middle. NEW MEMBER ORIENTATION it said, in large block letters. 6:00 IN THE MEETING HOUSE. COMMUNITY DINNER WILL BE SERVED. ALL ARE WELCOME. Huh. What time even is it? You haven’t seen a clock yet. But the sun is still high, so it can’t be time yet. You figure you’ll see other people around, and you can always follow them. Surrounding the large sign are several smaller ones, haphazardly tacked onto whatever bits of cork remain showing. You pause to look at them all. Food Lessons: how do we farm, preserve, and cook for our community? Community Resource Center: Always open for your questions. Group therapy: Wednesday mornings in the meeting house. Community Dance! This week’s

leader is: Suhina. Bring instruments, or just yourselves! Election Discussion Tomorrow: How can we improve our community? Rescue Training: Do you have medical experience or interest and want to learn how to join the rescue team? Pickup soccer (or whatever!): meet on the field Thursday afternoons! Discussion Group: This week’s topic is addressing communal living and dismantling capitalist expectations of productivity. There are more, too—more than your mind can take in. You’ll come back to this later, as your mind settles and you become more oriented. But for now, you make your way back over to the playground and find a swing, letting the ropes support your body as the wind rushes past. *** The sun is setting behind the meeting house when you recognize Sarah walking past, carrying a big steel pot. Your heart leaps at seeing another familiar person and you run over to her. “Need a hand with that?” you ask, eager to be useful. “Not at all,” Sarah replied. “I see you got a chance to explore a little today. Are you coming to the community dinner at the meeting house?” You slow down your steps to fall into pace with her. “Yes,” you reply, catching a whiff of steam coming from the pot. It smells delicious, warm and spicy. “Is that soup?” “No, it’s lentils and rice—adas polo, it’s called, and it’s a new recipe I’m trying, actually. You’ll have to tell me how it is. One of the other women here, Tara, has been teaching me about Persian cooking. I’m sure it won’t be as good as her food, you’ll have to make sure you’re around whenever she’s cooking, but I’m always excited to try making new food.” The two of you walk together in companionable silence the rest of the way to the meeting house, where you hurriedly go to grab the door for Sarah. She laughs warmly, “Oh, thank you,” she said. “But there’s no need. All of the doors here, if we have them at all, are automatic. It makes it easier for everybody to move around.” Sure enough, the door swings open as you approach. “Will you do me a favor, and clear a space on that table for me?” Sarah asks. You push aside a stack of bowls and Sarah thumps the pot down on the table. You see that other people have brought food too—the smells are mixing pleasantly in the air and you realize how hungry you are. “Go on,” Sarah encourages, grabbing a bowl herself. “Help yourself. You must be hungry, you haven’t eaten anything since those oats this morning. We’ll be starting with the orientation in a moment, but for now, we’re all just taking a chance to eat with each other.” You nod, taking a bowl off the stack and reaching for the adas polo. “Am I the only new person tonight? Or are there other people just as confused and new as I am?”

“There are three of you tonight,” Sarah replied. “It’s actually quite a big group, all at once. Normally we’ll just have one, maybe two at a time, and there are often days that pass without any new people arriving. We’re trying to change that, of course. We’re looking to expand our team of Earth coordinators so that we can reach more people, but it’s hard work setting up the necessary infrastructure, and finding people who are willing and able to be Earth coordinators. It can be very rewarding but also very lonely, so we try and limit the amount of time anyone has on Earth at once.” She grabs two spoons and led the way towards a circle of chairs in the middle of the room, and you follow her. There’s something about Sarah’s unassuming nature, her easy presence, her warm laughter, that makes you trust her already. You didn’t use to be this trusting on Earth. You knew better. There’s still a little voice in the back of your head, reminding you to be on edge, but you feel yourself resisting it a little, calming your body down. It feels good to relax. You curl your legs up onto the wide chair and lean back, feeling the warmth of the food in your hands. There were still a million questions buzzing in your mind, but you feel okay about them, for once in your life. Maybe you could get used to this. There are about thirty people in the circle, and you watch them curiously as you eat. Most are talking to each other, some, like you, are also watching, taking everything in. You make eye contact with a few people across the circle, and smile cautiously. They all smile back. After a little while, Sarah stands up. “Welcome, everyone,” she says, her voice soft but filling the room. “Welcome! We have three new people in our midst. Aryn, Raquel, Maya…welcome especially to you. I know you all must have so many questions, and we’ll attempt to answer many of them tonight. No doubt that we’ll miss things, but please, always feel free to find any of us at any time to ask more. I assure you that we’ll listen and help as best as we can. In the meantime, though, some important things to know.” “This community takes care of each other. We work to build each other up, to support each other, to make sure that each of us is nourished in all of the ways that we need. We all come with our own stories of how we got here, we all have our own pain and joy and everything that comes with being human. We all have grief for what we left behind on Earth, hope for what we can create here, and a myriad of all the other emotions that make us human. And each of us experiences that differently.” “You don’t have to be ready to commit to us now. You don’t ever have to be ready, in fact. We’ll still take care of you in the ways that you need, because you need it. We welcome you to participate in our community, to help us grow and nourish each other. And we try to get better— individually, collectively—there’s a lot for us to unlearn together from our time on Earth. This is not a paradise. Things are not perfect here. But we’re trying, and we welcome you to try with us.”

“And as we’re trying to get better, we want to make sure to center you as we grow. What are your goals here? What do you need? Our goal as a community is to meet you wherever you’re at—help you find a space here, help you heal in whatever ways you need, and help you learn in whatever ways you desire. There’s no need for reciprocation either. Believe me, your worth here is not tied to how much you produce, or how much you can give to this community.” Sarah paused and looked around the room, making eye contact with you for a moment. “So let’s begin, shall we?” The three of you, the newest in the room, make eye contact. There’s so much to say, and think, and feel, but in that moment of connection, you know all three of you are going to join. What else do you have to lose? And how much is there to gain? What can you create, together?

The Leftovers by Kaitlin Moua ---------------------------------------------------------------------Mom has entered Ethernet chat. 5:26pm Mom: Hi! Mom: U there? Mom: …..?? hi? Mom: How are you? What’s going on? i just got home from work Mom: I can only talk for a Mom: bit Mom: There’s a sunset I have been but i think i’m gonna rewatch the lion king Mom: dying to see Mom: Oh that sounds fun good for you Where are you? Mom: Oh wait no it’s starting! Mom: I’ll talk to you soon!! is dad with you? Mom: Victoria Falls!! Mom has logged off chat. 5:32pm ------------------------------------------------------This was the first time in two months that we’ve spoken and to be honest I was surprised she stayed online for that long. The past few chats didn’t make it past five lines and she usually forgets to tell me she’s leaving. I check my father’s chat and he hasn’t logged in in about 7 months. I wonder what I’d do if I could travel anywhere in the world like they do and not have to worry about money or feeding myself or being attacked by any animals or humans. But instead I am here in my crummy studio apartment. The floorboards creaks and are so crooked that if I set a can down on its side it would roll across to the other side of the room. The walls were once beige I think, but over the years they’ve now become blotchy, parts of the paint chipping off to reveal the cinderblock behind it. Where the walls meet the ceiling are dried out dark clouds of whatever liquid spilled in the apartment above mine and was never mopped up. God I hope it wasn’t piss.

Moua I tried painting the walls a bit to brighten things up a few years ago. Dreamy purple and blue swirls filled up a corner of my room. That’s all I got finished. And I never seemed to pick it back up again. There’s no one to mind, since I live alone. My younger sister is in DC where she goes to pre-med school. She’s the ambitious one. I haven’t seen her in a few years but we talk consistently on the phone and in the chat at least. My mom is, well, I guess in Victoria Falls, and I hope my dad is with her but honestly at this point I doubt it. They’re not dead. They’re just gone. That’s what I tell myself at least. Luckily I don’t have to explain this situation to anyone else. Everyone I know that has been left behind like me is in the same boat one way or another. My coworker at the Blockbuster, Sam, hasn’t seen or heard from their mom since she decided to get Etherized two years ago, even though the Etherized could easily still contact those that were left behind through the Ethernet. The Etherized always claim that there’s so many more things to do in the Ether that they’re too busy to keep in contact. Always another waterfall to roam around in or another sunset to see. When Etherization was first introduced fifteen years ago, everyone was horrified. Imagine, being put into a machine that separates the energy parts from the physical parts of your molecules so that you can exist without a body. We’re all still on the same planet and can see all the same things, but it’s different they say, when you don’t have to drag a body around anymore. Some call it being an energy. Some call it a soul. Some call them ghosts. It’s the Ether. They went into the Ether. Now it’s all the rage. People are working up their entire life savings to join the Ether. I don’t remember any other trends however that have been this irreversible though. ⬩⬩⬩

Moua I wake up. I get dressed. I put on the blue Blockbuster work vest with the plastic “Hi My Name Is” tag on it. Mine’s reads “Z” scribbled in with Sharpie. My name was longer before, but over time it rubbed off and I never bothered to fill it back on. Having a name doesn’t really matter anyways when three fourths of the world’s population is gone, you don’t go to school, you don’t really ever have to fill out any forms anymore, and your job is less of a way to make money and more of a way to fill up your days with a sense of normalcy. On my way downstairs I know which steps to skip over so they don’t squeak and alert the landlady. I don’t make enough to pay full rent, but she can’t evict me anyways since I’m one of her few residents left and therefore only sources of income and human interaction. I avoid her anyways. I wish she was one of those people who wanted to get Etherized but she blatantly refuses. I guess you can’t be a tyrant if you don’t have a body. You also can’t be a prisoner if you don’t have a body as well, and I guess that’s why all my neighbors left. I pick up some soup from the corner store so I can eat it cold and straight out of the can for lunch today. I try to grab the one that’s least expired which is the one that says it went bad 9 months ago. I greet Alan at the cash register with a nod but don’t pay because we both know he’ll stop by Blockbuster later and borrow a 70’s action film or maybe Planet Earth again and I won’t charge him then. He nods and goes back to his collection of newspapers. Every day he goes back in time one more day since they’ve stopped making new ones. Then I walk down the street and go to work. These are my mornings. At least I’m still here, I tell myself, even though I’m not sure if I want to be anymore. ⬩⬩⬩ The Blockbuster isn’t an actual Blockbuster building. I haven’t seen a real Blockbuster since I was five and that was about twenty years ago, even before 3

Moua the Ether was a thing. It’s an old public library. When most places started going out of business because there weren’t enough people to keep them operating, a lot of stores got looted and buildings got ransacked but no one really cared about the library. I visited a lot during the day time because I had nothing to do, and over time became friends with a few others who were also doing the same thing. Over the past few years, we started renovating. I now have two full shelves to myself of books that I’ve read or want to read. Sam has three, but put their books and films in color order. Seth, my other coworker has five but most of his shelves are films. After some time knowing that many apartments were empty, we started scavenging them for DVDs, VHSs, CDs, vinyl records, and books. Eventually, people who knew they were getting Etherized or had friends or family who had been Etherized started bringing us boxes of their old things for us to sort through. We now had enough copies of Shrek 2 DVDs to make a small fort out of. Work is slow. I don’t even think that’s the appropriate term for it. “Work.” We don’t get paid unless someone wants to donate to us, and even then, it’s a bit useless. Sam uses hundred dollar bills as bookmarks because they’re essentially worthless now. Once in a while someone stumbles in and describes what they want and the three of us compete to get them to go with our choice. We keep track of who wins with a monthly tally scoreboard.

“I just want to laugh for a few hours.” Sam gives them season 4 of The Office. I insist on season 7. Seth offers an old Buster Keaton film and tells them the tape will snag around thirty minutes in but to just fast forward it until it’s normal again.

“Give me something scary. Scare me shitless. Try me.” I hand them the book Coraline. Seth offers Psycho. Sam gives them a middle school level US history textbook.

Moua

“I feel like crying about something different tonight.” Sam gives them a vampire rom-drama and says “Ok but approach this with an open mind.” I give them a nature documentary about baby sea turtles being led astray onto open traffic. Seth says “Just read Z’s diary.”

“I want to forget that I’m alive at this moment in time.” Sam gives them a blank notebook and a pen. Seth points them to the abandoned liquor store down the street and says “Good fucking luck.” I pass because I can’t think of anything. ⬩⬩⬩ “How many times do I have to fucking say it??” Sam shouts from somewhere in between the shelves. “Clint Eastwood films go in the back!” I see a DVD being flung like a Frisbee across the library and land in the corner that’s a mountain of films and DVDs labeled “Yuck.” Somewhere in our renovation design, we decided we wouldn’t trash books and movies just because we didn’t like them, but that didn’t mean we were going to shelve or display them either; hence the “Yuck” mountain. “Why is it that we can Etherize him, but not his films?” they come over to the front desk where I’m sat. I shrug, “And yet you still want to go into the Ether? What if you run into Clint there?” They flex a scrawny arm and say “Clint better be happy I don’t have these guns at the time then.” “Your muscles are as visible as the Ether.” Seth says from another part of the library. Sam scowls in his general direction but then sits down. I continue doodling in an old copy of Hamlet, blacking out certain lines with a permanent marker and making poetry out of the words that are left over. We have about 17

Hamlets so it’s not a big deal that this one gets marked up. 5

Moua “No offense,” Sam says, leaning back in their chair “like this is great and all,” they motion towards the general area of the room. “But I’d really like to see shit like whatever’s left of the rainforests or like the Grand Canyon or whatever the Etherized are always gushing about. God knows what that’s like because MY OWN MOTHER WON’T EVEN TALK TO ME...” they raise their voice as if their Etherized mom is hanging out invisibly around us instead of enjoying the Etherlife like the rest of them. “Anyways, I just think it’d also be nice to like, walk around past sundown and not get murdered because I look like this” they motion to themself, “as if like I’m in danger and it’s somehow my own fault. No body, no problems.” They sigh and smooth out an old flyer from the Ether bribe days that reads JOIN THE ETHER! Most of the posters from the Ether bribe days looked like World War I posters of Uncle Sam shouting WE WANT YOU! but instead of “we want you to die in a war,” it’s “we want you to give up your body in exchange to pay off your family debts!” Unfortunately, it was quite effective. A bit too effective now, since Etherization has become a luxury and people are now paying their life’s savings to get Etherized instead of the other way around. “Doesn’t it freak you out that no one really knows how it works though? Or that your body’s going to end up in a landfill just so companies can extract more oil for us to burn and overuse which got us in this problem in the first place?” Seth says, appearing from behind stacks of books. Here we go again. They’re always bickering about this. I stay out of it. “Is that what your PhD is for, Mr. Scientist?” Sam taunts back. “For destroying my dreams? Like yours were? Piss off.” They cross their arms and turns the other way. Seth sighs tiredly and plops down on a chair across from me. Seth is around my age. We’re both about five years older than Sam, but Seth still wears khakis and a button up shirt and looks like a grad student preparing for an 6

Moua internship interview while I’m hunched over in a hoodie and the same pair of jeans I wear every day. “I never got to finish my PhD, Sam. You know that.” After some silence, Sam turns around and apologizes. “I’m sorry. That was low.” Seth nods and apologizes too. A few moments pass and we’re back at it again, taking turns playing records and trying to argue over each other who’s tastes are better. It’s not work. I don’t get paid. If I don’t show up, there aren’t any penalties. But I do show up every day and this is just what we do. What’s that called? ⬩⬩⬩ We start closing up shop as the sun goes down. Though anyone can probably just break through the glass door, we lock it anyways. Who’s going to rob a Blockbuster? It’s one of the only last sources of entertainment we have. No one’s that miserable in this town yet. Seth has to walk us home because the pollution in the sky somedays makes it darker than usual. Seth’s not even particularly tall, or muscular looking but him being a man is enough for other people to leave Sam and me alone after dark. We all live within a few blocks together so Sam gets dropped off first. They live in a small apartment building with several other people around their age, and we can hear them chatting loudly or running around the floors from the front step. I don’t know what the rest of them do to pass the day but Sam seems to be fine living there. As for me, I like being alone at the end of the day. The same probably goes for Seth as well since he lives alone in a two-person apartment down the street from me. We make our way on over towards my place next. “So do you know why the clouds looks like that sometimes?” I look up toward the angry dark purple swirls above us. 7

Moua Seth doesn’t look up but explains anyways. “Those aren’t clouds. It’s smog. It’s pollution mixed with all the fog we’ve been having. It’s why everything’s so sticky.” He glances down at my wrist that have been scratched raw over the course of the day. “That’s why you’re so itchy.” “Uh huh…” I say, tugging my sleeves over my palms. “It’s cool that you know that.” I don’t know what else to say. I just know that Seth, once upon a time, cared about something, and that was his studies. Everything fell apart after everyone decided they wanted to go into the Ether. Originally it was just a bribe set to reduce the population and solve issues like running out of resources, and eradicating joblessness and homelessness. People were paid to get Etherized and often parents would do it so their kids could have some sort of future or pay off generations of debt that built up over time. When everyone started finding out that the Etherized were actually having a great time in the Ether and enjoying the freedom to roam and explore and not have to deal with the stresses of having a body to care for or an identity to protect and project, the switch flipped and the Ether slowly became a luxury. If the world feels like an apocalypse now, it’s not because we survived. We were left over. What do we do? Bitterly pick up the pieces and try to make sense of this all on our own? Hope to get into paradise like the rest of them? Seth was a part of the former group of leftovers. Sam was in the latter. I don’t know where I am. “I was so close.” Seth said quietly. “Just one more semester and I would’ve gotten that degree.” Seth had told me before about what happened but I listened to him tell me again anyways. About how his school ran out of funding. How the funds

were

directed

towards

Etherization

technologies

instead

Environmental studies and no one cared to listen to his dissertation. Most of us lose our families to the Ether. Seth lost his future. “’Get into STEM,’ they say.

Moua ‘You’re guaranteed a job,’ they say. Fuck that. Nothing’s guaranteed in this world.” I say nothing but lightly put my hand on his arm to let him know I’m listening. “Why didn’t you finish? Ether too, I’m guessing?” He was talking about my degree now. I just nod. He nods back. “Sounds about right.” When we get to my front door, Seth thanks me for listening and I tell him anytime. “My neighbor’s moving out soon. He’s got a liver problem so he needs to move to live with his daughter but he’s been saving a few bottles of wine for a few years now. They’re not great but I bet I can trade something for them, and you me and Sam can have a movie night or something. That kid’s obnoxious, but they can make us smile every once in a while.” “That’s the only thing that’s worth anything these days, huh?” Seth nods and we agree to make movie night plans sometime in the near future. ⬩⬩⬩ I check my computer when I get home. No new messages. ⬩⬩⬩ I disappeared once. Not in the Ether way though. Before all of this Ether rage. But after the Ether bribe. After we all decided that there were too many humans out there for our atmosphere to be sustainable and that the best way out without changing our habits was to convince the most desperate of us to Etherize their bodies so their souls and consciousness could still exist without their bodies. That if they were Etherized, they could still live amongst us, and that their souls would still deteriorate at the same pace as their bodies would. That they would still be just as human, just without a physical form, and their physical forms could be placed in special landfills that turned their bodies into oil just like the dinosaurs, but 9

Moua instead of taking thousands of years, just about a decade. Before the Etherized realized just how great it was to live without a body. Without having to pay to just exist via rent, food, healthcare, and told everyone so the Etherlife wasn’t a bribe, but a paradise. Before all of this, when I was in college, I was trying to work on my Master’s in English. Keyword trying. I wish I could blame it on something. Greedily, selfishly, pathetically. Like I was born with an impairment. I wasn’t. Or I got hit by a two ton truck and never really recovered. That didn’t happen either. Or that growing up as a first generation college student was too difficult for me. It wasn’t. Aside from the fact that my younger sister knew she wanted to be a doctor from the start, and when people asked me what I was going to do with my life, all I could mumble was “well…. I like books….” and leave the room. Anyways. In one of my many sessions of lying on my back, staring blankly at my brown stained ceiling, books I supposedly liked and was supposed to be reading strewn all across the floor, and avoiding the footsteps of my landlady pacing the hallways looking for someone to yell at, I realized just how much I did not want to get up. So I didn’t. They say when a person is stressed, their fight or flight reflex kicks in. Mine didn’t. Mine found a third option. Freeze. And that’s what I did. And I stayed like that for months. Until I got a call from my sister from her college. She said the parents were gone. They chose to get Etherized. With their savings they could only afford college for one of us, and they chose my sister. What was leftover, they spent on an extra ticket for one more person to be Etherized. I got that ticket in the mail three days later and haven’t touched it since. ⬩⬩⬩ 10

Moua My landlady’s knock sounds like a woodpecker and that’s how I know it’s her on the other side of the door before I even have to open it. Without greeting me, she just jumps straight to the point, frowning. “There’s something wrong with my TV.” She beckons me to follow her down the hall and I do. Oftentimes, it’s just that a wire gets unplugged or her antennae needs adjusting, but since her wrists are shaky and arthritic, she needs help. Her apartment, though much larger than mine, is cramped and piled with mismatched furniture, probably collected from residents who’ve left. I squeeze past dusty wardrobes and sofa chairs with faded upholstery to get to her television. “I don’t think it likes Mrs. Camacho’s old lamp,” she sighs and motions towards the least dusty thing in her apartment. “It’s been acting up and getting all staticky since I put this there.” Though I’m no expert at fixing televisions, I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason why her TV isn’t working. I don’t argue though. “Did she give that one to you?” I motion towards the lamp. Landlady nods and says “Yes, I’m afraid she moved away last week to take care of her sister’s family.” “Oh man,” I say sympathetically while trying to sort through the tangled wires of her things. “Hope her sister is alright?” She chortles, “Oh more than alright. Sold all her things and took the family savings to get etherized. Those poor kids. The youngest one is still in elementary school. That’s why Mrs. Camacho has to go help out now.” It happens more often than enough, but it still makes me a little sick inside to hear. “Shouldn’t there be some sort of background check or something before people get etherized? Like just to make sure a person isn’t screwing over their whole family?” I know it’s pointless to ask. It’s something all of us leftovers have asked a thousand times already.

Moua Landlady answers anyways. “Of course, but don’t nobody who’s running things ever gives a shit. They want all of us gone so they can take whatever we leave behind.” I look uneasily at her apartment, filled with the belongings of her previous residents, unsure if she’s aware of the irony of it all. “The less space we take up, the more they can have. Then they’ll tell us that it’s what we wanted.” The last sentence she says very quietly, almost as a whisper, and she stares distantly out the window, her fingers still rubbing the lampshade next to her. I try to hurry fixing her television so I can leave the stuffy apartment, but a picture frame on her TV stand catches my eye. The glass on the frame is fuzzed over with dust but I can still make out the scene in the photo. It looks like it was taken in the space behind the apartment where the parking spaces and a picnic table is, but a few decades ago. The apartment building’s paint was less chipped and the graffiti that’s there now is absent. In the photo I can see a younger version of the landlady, her hairstyle the same as now but bright red, and not faded at the roots. Around her is a happy barbecue scene with people eating hotdogs and hamburgers from paper plates. I can even make out a young Mrs. Camacho and a few other residents who used to live on my floor. I look back at the landlady who is still staring absently out the window, surrounded by the museum she’s built herself out of the things her old residents left behind. I briefly wonder what she would keep of mine if I left. What she’d take as an artifact to remember me by. She snaps back to life as the TV static breaks and cuts back into whatever movie she was watching before it broke. “Oh god bless,” she says, hand over her chest. “Thank you.” I nod. “Yeah, no problem,” Navigating out of her maze of furniture, I say “Just ask anytime, it’s really not a problem.”

Moua She shakes her head, “No, I meant thanks. Thank you for not leaving me just yet.” She looks so small, buried behind all her furniture in the dark, the only light bouncing off her from the TV and the lamp behind her. I nod again. I feel like crying but I also feel a bit of warmth well up inside of me. “Don’t worry. I don’t think I’m going anywhere, ma’am.” She smiles as I close her door. “Rent is due Friday.” “I know,” I say even though we both know I’m not going to pay it. ⬩⬩⬩ It’s weird how sometimes you meet someone and immediately they feel like family. I never met my grandparents as they chose to stay in Vietnam because to them, the refugee camps they were in would feel more like a home than anything the States had to offer them. However, if I did have a grandparent, Alan is what I imagine it’d be like. We aren’t the same ethnicity, and even if we were, I don’t think I could talk to him in my language as it’s something I lost over time growing up. Even though I didn’t grow up too far from here, I’ve only known him for a few years since I moved to my current apartment where he works at the corner store across from me. I was afraid to tell him, who loved his own culture so much, that I couldn’t even speak my own language while at the same time I was paying thousands to major in another, but when I did, he just smiled and told me that just having the will to learn anything was what mattered. I only knew his wife for one year before she took all their savings and spent them on her own Etherization. Alan didn’t see it coming. He loved her. He still does. This afternoon, I help him sort out whatever’s left of his store, pushing the oldest, most expired items to the front while keeping the ones with a longer shelf life towards the back. Occasionally, the supplies truck comes with more items, although most of those are also near or past expired as well. 13

Moua After the Ether surge, giant superstores shut down as they needed more customers to function and more employees to supervise customers and prevent theft. Smaller corner stores however survived because these problems didn’t exist for them. Even still though, corner stores are barely surviving. As I help sort out dented cans of sardines and amorphous soups, Alan reads out the newspaper. Today he has reached the issue that was published exactly 5 years from now, marking the five years since the local newspaper stopped publishing. He laughs at a movie review and says that his wife should have read this one before she had dragged him off to see it in theatres. I don’t ask much about his wife, though he talks about her all the time, even though she’s been gone for years now. The only time I ever really asked about her was when I found the pile of blankets on the cold tile floor of the store’s back room and realized that that was where he lived and slept now. “Why aren’t you mad? Why don’t you resent her?” It was only a few weeks since my own parents got Etherized. Alan had just looked at me sadly and shrugged. “Because there’s no point. She’s gone. I can either hate her. Or love her. One makes me angry and sad with no resolution. The other makes me happy.” And he went on to read me the comics of the newspaper he had that day. Every day going one more day into the past. I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to be angry or sad. But I knew I couldn’t be happy either. So instead, I settled for nothing. ⬩⬩⬩ -----------------------------------------------------------------------Noel has entered Ethernet chat. 11:47pm Noel: I know we’ve grown up together since we were kids. Noel: And I know how much you needed me. Noel: I still miss the times we hid in the fire escape of your apartment and the times I leaned my head in the crook of your shoulder. 14

Moua Noel: We painted each other’s nails and complained about how our parents didn’t let us do anything. Noel: And I’m sorry I left you. Noel: Before the Ether became a luxury, before people were fighting in line to be Etherized, before our parents abandoned their ‘you must become a doctor or lawyer or bust’ ways, and adapted to the glories of being able to be free of the elements by going into the Ether. Being free of hunger. Free of competing for jobs. Free from gasping at the air conditions and deciding if it was worth going to school. Free of pretending that getting a PhD was going to guarantee salvation…. Noel: I know you can hear me and can see this. I know your parents set aside the funds for you to join us in the Ether. Noel: So stop suffering. Stop pretending that it’s worth living with the others. The left behind. Are you really happy sneaking around at night? Pretending that your job at the book rental store is worth anything? Noel: You don’t have to pick up all the mistakes that humanity has left behind in the world. It’s not your fault. You don’t have to live on the scraps everyone left behind. Just get Etherized. Then you can escape and see the beauties of the world like the rest of us. Read 12:02am -----------------------------------------------------------------------⬩⬩⬩ It’s my day off. Mostly just because I say so. It’s not like the Blockbuster suffers if one of us doesn’t show up. I message Sam and Seth anyways so they won’t be expecting me and tell them I’m taking a personal day. Sam replies “Ok but we’re taking it out on your paycheck. You’re on thin ice, Z. One more strike and we’ll have to

Moua have a meeting about your work performance.” Seth just leaves me on read as per usual. I consider looting the Walmart again as if it’s going to be new this time, but decline because I know it’s not. Most of the canned goods in there are gone now and the perishables have been either taken or, well, perished. Other things like toilet paper, first aid kits, batteries, and bikes are definitely gone. The last time I went was with Sam, and all that was mostly left were walls mounted with useless flat screen TVs, shelves and shelves of cosmetics, and office supplies that leftover from a back to school sale. “To think that we all believed we needed this shit once,” Sam said smearing a bright purple lipstick on their lips. We ended up giving each other makeovers and spent the rest of the night doodling on the walls with the leftover Sharpies. A modern day slumber party in a near post apocalyptic world. Lost in my memories of that time, I find myself at Noel’s old house. I don’t think of her anymore, but last night’s message, one of many, threw me off and I wind up at her front step. I unlock the door with the spare key from under the rotten bird feeder on her porch even though a side window has already been smashed in over the years the house has been empty and wander in. Though the town I live in isn’t as dangerous as most places, I’m still cautious as most of the furniture is turned over and the place is ransacked. Before I can even sink into a quiet nostalgia over the photos of her family on the wall, my heart freezes over as I hear the bubbling of a coffee machine in the kitchen indicating that I wasn’t alone in the house. A million worst case scenarios flash through my mind and my blood feels like static as it courses through my veins. It’s not safe to be alone. It’s even less safe when you realize you are not. I shouldn’t have come.

Moua I turn on my heel back where I came from and run straight into someone’s chest. The blow knocks us both back and we fall on the floor. It takes me a while to recognize who it is. Noel’s brother, Nigel, who I haven’t seen in years. He scowls, confused as to why he’d been knocked over then looks at me and his face softens. It takes him a moment to recognize me as well. Nigel is actually my age, and a year older than Noel, though they look nothing alike. At least from what I remember. I can barely remember her face at all anymore, even though we grew up together as best friends. In front of me though, Nigel’s face slowly aligns with my memories of him. Small flashbacks of him pretending to be reluctant about pushing Noel and me on the swings even though I knew he didn’t really mind. Swapping books with him when I visited Noel after school. All of us falling asleep next to each other on their living room couch after a TV marathon. The way he just disappeared immediately after their mother left to get Etherized without telling anyone. We stared at each other confusedly, still flat bottomed on the floor from the collision, until Nigel broke the silence. “I thought you were dead?” “Dead???” “Etherized, like Noel.” “That’s not dead.” “Isn’t it though?” “I thought you were dead, like for real actually dead.” Nigel pursed his lips. “No. I was just…” He didn’t have an answer. “Well why didn’t you get Etherized?” I ask, even though I think I know the answer. “ Your sister said there was enough for both of you.” “I’m too pretty to let my face go to waste,” he responds, scowling again. That wasn’t the answer I had in mind. He gets up and offers me a hand. I get up on my own, repressing a wince from the pain of falling on my butt. He shrugs 17

Moua and makes his way to the kitchen like nothing’s happened and like he hadn’t disappeared for the past ten years. “It’s not coffee, don’t get your hopes up,” he says from the kitchen. “It’s the next best thing though. Good old fashioned hot water.” I follow him into the kitchen cautiously. He’s taller now, and I had always hoped that one day we’d be the same height but that still isn’t the case. His black hair is a mess atop his head and the back and sides of it have been sloppily buzzed short. He walked lazily, swaying a bit with each step as if he was letting gravity do most of the work. As he swayed, I could see the outlines of his spine and collarbones through his white t shirt with mysterious dark red splotches. I can’t imagine I look much better though, minus the blood stains. He pours the water into two severely chipped mugs and hands me one. “Cheers, you.” I know at this point my inability to react properly to anything is getting annoying, but I can only stare blankly at him as he leans against the counter sipping hot water with his pinky up like it’s a luxury beverage. “Read anything good lately?” His question reminds me of when we were kids, but it’s not applicable anymore. “No one’s writing anything anymore. You know that.” He shrugs, “I thought you would be.” “I have nothing to say.” He raises an eyebrow though he’s peering into his mug still, “You always had something to say.” “Well people change.” I shoot back. “ You always---” I cut myself off. He doesn’t move but his eyes meet mine, eyebrows still raised. “I always what?” Something bubbles up inside of me, hotter than the water in my mug. His casual indifference infuriates me. His casual indifference looks so much like my 18

Moua own. “Always….” I clench my mug. “Always were supposed to be around. Now everyone’s gone.” Nigel pauses for a while. I’m not looking at him but I feel him looking at me. Finally he says “You’re right. People change.” We sit in silence for a few minutes until he breaks it again. “Are you mad at me?” I’m not. I don’t think I am. But I haven’t felt mad in so long and I don’t know why, so I can’t answer. Instead, I get up and push my mug towards him. “I have to go,” and I leave, feeling him still looking at me as I make my way out the front door. ⬩⬩⬩ I take a route I know that won’t let me run into Sam or Seth on my way home. I don’t feel like explaining anything to anyone. I just want to beeline straight to my bed and disappear again and forget everything, but Noel’s message from last night is running through my head. Then echoes of all the times Sam tells me about how badly they want to be Etherized. Flashes of Victoria Falls. Then images of Seth staring up at the sky hopelessly knowing that he could have changed it but it’s too late. Alan shivering on the floor of his store closet, clinging to useless threadbare sheets. The echoing paces of my landlord’s footsteps all the times I avoided her in the hallways and against my will, I imagine the sound of them slowing down to silence. I feel the weight of the world on my chest and every part of my body aches as I drag myself quickly up the stairs into my apartment. It’s all in my head but my bones hurt. My chest feels like someone hooked it up to a bicycle pump and kept on forcing air into it even when I screamed stop. Static courses through my veins as I collapse and crawl across my floor towards my bed. I keep repeating to myself that I have no reason to be upset. Nothing bad has ever happened to me. I’m alive. I have a roof over my head. I have ways to keep starvation at bay. I have no reason to be upset. I’m selfish. I’m petty. I’m needy. I’m in pain for no reason. 19

Moua My hand rummages through my desk and I pull out the envelope holding my Etherization forms. I heave myself onto my bed and pass out, clutching the papers to my chest. ⬩⬩⬩ I don’t know how much time has passed. Days maybe? A week or two? But I wake up to the smell of smoke. It always smells faintly like smoke nowadays, mixed with sewage when the pipes back up, and the sky is always some violent angry purple. But this time when I wake, the light from my window is a furious blood orange. The smoke doesn’t smell like trash or sewage but something more natural. More woody and earthy, dry and sharp. Like burning paper. I shoot up immediately at the thought and then rush to my window, ignoring the fuzz in my head from standing up too quickly. It’s nighttime but the sky is ablaze and a dark column of smoke laughs cruelly from the direction of where the Blockbuster is. ⬩⬩⬩ My hands are on fire from the heat but I’m grabbing everything I can. Flames lick up from the floor panels all around me but I keep taking every book, CD, and movie I can and fling it out the open window. Everything’s being engulfed by flames and I don’t know why. Maybe the power lines overhead finally snapped. Maybe someone in our town finally wanted us all to be just as miserable as them. Maybe all these things were meant to disappear. I don’t care if it’s Clint Eastwood. I don’t care if its a vampire rom drom. I don’t care if I can’t reach my favorite shelf. I just take what I can and stomp out the flames in a frenzy and try to toss it out the window. I don’t think. I just do. I have to save something. Because when these books are gone, they don’t go into the Ether. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. And I’ll have nothing left. 20

Moua I can hear Seth screaming my name from outside even over the deafening crackling of the flames and sounds of the ceiling tiles collapsing but I can’t stop. Sam is crying somewhere telling me to give up and that it’s not worth it, but I keep hurling book after DVD after vinyl out the windows that have busted open.

“I like books…” I hear the past me lamely trying to defend my choices, ridden with guilt and embarrassment as everyone I knew told me I was wasting my time and money.

“The parents want you to get Etherized too. It’s for the best….” I hear my sister tell me as she wraps up the phone call to go to her next class.

“Just disappear….” I hear my own voice, countless of times, command myself to go away, and fade away into nonexistence. But instead of me disappearing, I see all the books I’ve loved and collected in hopes that someone else would love them too, and they’re disappearing and no one will ever love them. Why was I so okay with the idea of myself disappearing for so long but at soon as these pieces of plastic and paper are threatened, I come to life? Why didn’t I ever care about myself in the same way? Why didn’t my own story matter as much? I drop everything and finally look around me clearly. Everything is almost gone. My eyes are stinging but I feel my own legs make way for the exit, only, it’s too late. The columns by the door have collapsed and I’ve been trapped inside my own library that’s quickly being eaten up by flames. And for the first time in years, I feel myself cry. I’m crying for myself. ⬩⬩⬩ I’m shaken awake to see a familiar scowl. Half of Nigel’s hair is singed and the bloodstains on his shirt are now accompanied by scorch marks as well. His scowl softens as I come to on the pavement. Behind him lay the smoldering rubble of what used to be the

Moua Blockbuster. The silhouettes of Sam and Seth amongst others seem to be scavenging whatever is left, but there isn’t much. “I told you that you still had stories to tell,” said Nigel. “Did you save me?” I asked, not knowing if I wanted to hear the answer. Nigel shook his head then placed a jacket on my shoulders. “I wanted to. But you were already on your way out. You ran out of there by yourself.” He sighed and then adjusted himself so he was sitting cross legged next to me as we stared into the dying embers of the library. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About your library. But also about running away. And then coming back and not caring. I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “But. I’m really glad that you still care about something.” He looked out into the rubble. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that. But I really want to try, too.” I looked at him, then into the distance where Sam and Seth were still searching for any remains. All the books were gone, probably. The CDs and movies as well. But they weren’t dead. Being gone and being dead aren’t the same thing. The stories were still here at least. I turned to him “Hey Nigel?” “Yeah?” He asked. “ Will you help me rebuild the library?”