1.
Three Months before I Die
I stare at the basket of hypodermic needles. So slender and pretty, each filled with a yellow liquid that reminds me of gold paint.
“Inoculations, ” I say. I consult the floppy that contains my instructions for today’s labor.
Across the top of the screen is a chart and the words GENETIC MODIFICATION.
That’s . . . not right. These needles are filled with inoculations.
Eldest told me so. That’s what he said this morning, when he brought me the basket himself.
“ Selene,” he had told me, his voice warm and kind, “these are inoculations for the rabbits. Inject one full dose per rabbit today. ”
My eyes burn with pain as I scan the text on the floppy. There’s nothing about inoculations here.
Sharp pain shoots through my head.
Eldest told me these were inoculations.
“Inoculations, ” I say, a soft smile curving my lips. I pat the basket of needles as if comforting it in the knowledge of what it truly is.
It doesn’t matter what the chart and words on the floppy say. It only matters what Eldest says.
Everything is only what Eldest says it is.
The rabbit field is quiet, but not silent. That is what I like about it.
I like sounds.
Soft thumps on the ground as the rabbits hop around. The little chirruping noises they make. The gentle clacky-chewy sounds as they nibble on grass.
I sit down in the grass field.
For a moment, I look up at the sky. Made of metal and painted with clouds that never move.
My sky is a certainty. That’s nice.
Sometimes, I think about how I’m living aboard a spaceship hurtling through the stars toward a new planet. But those thoughts are too big, and so I don’t think them often.
I blink and see darkness.
I open my eyes and see blue.
Blink. Dark.
Light. Blue.
Blink. Dark. Dark. I don’t open my eyes. Dark.
Bloodbruisespainbetrayalalonealonealonealonealone.
I open my eyes.
I do not like the dark.
I stand. There is work to do.