Unwind (Unwind Dystology 1)

"The money only stretches so far," says the headmaster.

"Educational standards could be compromised," says the lawyer.

"We only want what's best for you, and all the other children here," says the social worker.

And back and forth it goes like a three-way Ping-Pong match. Risa says nothing, only listens.

"You're a good musician, but . . ."

"As I said, you've reached your potential."

"As far as you can go."

"Perhaps if you had chosen a less competitive course of study."

"Well, that's all water under the bridge."

"Our hands are tied."

"There are unwanted babies born every day—and not all of them get storked."

"We're obliged to take the ones that don't."

"We have to make room for every new ward."

"Which means cutting 5 percent of our teenage population."

"You do understand, don't you?"

Risa can't listen anymore, so she shuts them up by saying what they don't have the courage to say themselves.

"I'm being unwound?"

Silence. It's more of an answer than if they had said "yes."

The social worker reaches over to take Risa's hand, but Risa pulls it back before she can. "It's all right to be frightened. Change is always scary."

"Change?" yells Risa, "What do you mean 'change'? Dying is a little bit more than a 'change."'

The headmaster's tie turns into a noose again, preventing blood from getting to his face. The lawyer opens his briefcase. "Please, Miss Ward. It's not dying, and I'm sure everyone here would be more comfortable if you didn't suggest something so blatantly inflammatory. The fact is, 100 percent of you will still be alive, just in a divided state." Then he reaches into his briefcase and hands her a colorful pamphlet. "This is a brochure from Twin Lakes Harvest Camp."

"It's a fine place," the headmaster says. "It's our facility of choice for all our Unwinds. In fact, my own nephew was unwound there."

"Goody for him."

"Change," repeated the social worker, "that's all. The way ice becomes water, the way water becomes clouds. You will live, Risa. Only in a different form."

But Risa's not hearing anymore. Panic has already started to set in. "I don't have to be a musician. I can do something else."

Headmaster Thomas sadly shakes his head. "Too late for that, I'm afraid."

"No, it's not. I could work out. I could become a boeuf. The military always needs more boeufs!"

The lawyer sighs in exasperation and looks at his watch. The social worker leans forward. "Risa, please," she says. "It takes a certain body type for a girl to be an Army boeuf, and many years of physical training."

"Don't I have a choice in this?" But when she looks behind her, the answer is clear. There are two guards waiting to make sure that she has no choice at all. And as they lead her away, she thinks of Mr. Durkin. With a bitter laugh, Risa realizes that he may get his wish after all. Someday he may see her hands playing in Carnegie Hall. Unfortunately, the rest of Risa won't be there.

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