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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">novel</span> <span class="tag">chapter</span> <span class="tag">fiction</span> <span class="tag">scifi</span> <span class="tag">post-self</span> <span class="tag">qoheleth</span></p>
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<p>It took AwDae just under two hours to find the microphone.</p>
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<p>The first hour was spent searching the auditorium top to bottom. Ey walked around clapping and humming, then quoting lines half-remembered from productions ey had worked in the past. "So set its Sun in thee," ey called in an affected accent. "What Day be dark to me." Wistful Dickinson to fill an empty hall.</p>
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<p>Ey would've whistled if it wasn't for the structure of a canid muzzle.</p>
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<p>The first hour was spent searching the auditorium top to bottom. Ey walked around clapping and humming, then quoting lines half-remembered from productions ey had worked with Sasha in the past. “So set its Sun in thee,” ey called in an affected accent. “What Day be dark to me.” Wistful Dickinson to fill an empty hall.</p>
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<p>Ey would’ve whistled if it wasn’t for the structure of a canid muzzle.</p>
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<p>Silence.</p>
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<p>After an hour, venturing even into the overhead areas where sound was muffled, damped, ey gave up and took a break.</p>
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<p><em>It's probably fruitless to be this thorough in the auditorium,</em> ey thought. <em>The gain's high enough that even a quiet clap should be enough.</em></p>
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<p>Ey slouched in an auditorium seat and pulled out the slip of paper with Cicero's transactions. Ey had found that if ey focused on the page just so, rows would sort themselves by columns, so ey spent a few minutes aimlessly zooming through the page of digits.</p>
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<p>Ey scanned over the titles of the initiatives voted on. Very little there to latch onto. Or, rather, way too much. AwDae couldn't hope to boil down the table into any single sentence, much less something useful. The cat had apparently voted on just about everything, without taking any breaks.</p>
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<p><em>It’s probably fruitless to be this thorough in the auditorium,</em> ey thought. <em>The gain’s high enough that even a quiet clap should be enough.</em></p>
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<p>Ey slouched in an auditorium seat and pulled out the slip of paper with Cicero’s transactions. Ey had found that if ey focused on the page just so, rows would sort themselves by columns, so ey spent a few minutes aimlessly zooming through the page of digits.</p>
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<p>Ey scanned over the titles of the initiatives voted on. Very little there to latch onto. Or, rather, way too much. AwDae couldn’t hope to boil down the table into any single sentence, much less something useful. The cat had apparently voted on just about everything, without taking any breaks.</p>
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<p>Eventually, when neat rows of letters began to blur into one another, ey levered emself up from the seat. Paper refolded, ey slipped it back into a pocket before checking on the board once more. Everything remained set as it was.</p>
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<p>AwDae had imagined ey would work in concentric circles away from the auditorium. That turned out not to be the best idea. The hall was nestled between two arms of the school which did not meet except via the auditorium itself. Eir route grew arduous: ey'd walk down one hallway, poke into classrooms, and make noise before moving on.</p>
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<p>AwDae had imagined ey would work in concentric circles away from the auditorium. That turned out not to be the best idea. The hall was nestled between two arms of the school which did not meet except via the auditorium itself. Eir route grew arduous: ey’d walk down one hallway, poke into classrooms, and make noise before moving on.</p>
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<p>When ey reached the end of eir circle, though, ey had to jog around the auditorium through the student center to go down the other hallway and do the same.</p>
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<p>Ey gave up on the concentric circle plan and started working from north to south, instead. Ey worked through the entirety of one hallway, clapping and hollering, without hearing anything. From there, on to the area of the student center near the auditorium.</p>
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<p>It was there that ey heard the first, faint hum of feedback.</p>
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<p>It threatened to skim beneath eir attention, sounding too much like an echo from eir own voice in the cavernous common area. The door to the auditorium caught eir eye, and ey tried once more, getting another faint hum. It slowly died out as space and air dissipated tone.</p>
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<p>It was only a few minutes from there to find the microphone itself. A lavalier mic, disguised as a button resting obsequiously atop the door handle leading into the principal's office. It was just to the northeast of the auditorium doors. Ey would've found it soon enough. It was surprising, in a way, that ey hadn't managed to trigger any feedback earlier.</p>
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<p>The door was labeled 'Admin.'. Ominous.</p>
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<p>There was a head office at the front of the school, but administration was where the principal and vice principals' offices were. One of those places that lingered in the mind of every student who passed through the doors of the school. Getting called to the front office was usually bad enough --- a call from a parent? --- but getting called to the admin office was more oh-shit than that.</p>
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<p>It was only a few minutes from there to find the microphone itself. A lavalier mic, disguised as a button resting obsequiously atop the door handle leading into the principal’s office. It was just to the northeast of the auditorium doors. Ey would’ve found it soon enough. It was surprising, in a way, that ey hadn’t managed to trigger any feedback earlier.</p>
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<p>The door was labeled ‘Admin.’. Ominous.</p>
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<p>There was a head office at the front of the school, but administration was where the principal and vice principals’ offices were. One of those places that lingered in the mind of every student who passed through the doors of the school. Getting called to the front office was usually bad enough — a call from a parent? — but getting called to the admin office was more oh-shit than that.</p>
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<p>Ears pinned back, AwDae picked up the microphone delicately through mounting feedback and quickly shut it off. The hum had grown loud enough that ey could hear faint clicks from the speakers. Magnets clicking, popping as the physical limitations of the ancient-and-not-so-great speakers reached their limit.</p>
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<p>The sound stopped a scant few moments after, bouncing around the auditorium and the student center. Echoes.</p>
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<p>Eir ears slowly uncringed. Ey pocketed the mic in eir trouser pockets and straightened up. The school was silent once more.</p>
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<p>Remembering the position where ey had found it, AwDae pocketed the mic and straightened up, wandered back over to the auditorium, turning the gain down on the board and lowering the house volume to a reasonable level. Ey even turned the mic back on and mumbled a quick "one-two" to ensure that none of the speakers had been damaged.</p>
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<p>Remembering the position where ey had found it, AwDae pocketed the mic and straightened up, wandered back over to the auditorium, turning the gain down on the board and lowering the house volume to a reasonable level. Ey even turned the mic back on and mumbled a quick “one-two” to ensure that none of the speakers had been damaged.</p>
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<p><em>This is a sim. Not even mine,</em> ey thought, the inside of eir ears flushed warm with embarrassment. <em>What does it matter if a speaker blew?</em></p>
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<p>Ey shrugged it off. Habits were habits. No reason to break them now.</p>
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<p>Back to the admin office, then. AwDae couldn't help but feel as though ey was trapped within a game. One of those first-person puzzle solvers that seemed forever popular. One of eir favorite of the genres.</p>
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<p>Back to the admin office, then. AwDae couldn’t help but feel as though ey was trapped within a game. One of those first-person puzzle solvers that seemed forever popular. One of eir favorite of the genres.</p>
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<p>It was surprising the adroitness with which eir perspective had shifted. Sobbing: now behind em.</p>
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<p>Perhaps the fact that ey seemed to be receiving what amounted to clues while in a complex abandoned building added to that. Perhaps it was the shift from RJ to AwDae. Perhaps something about emself. Countless hours in sim. Countless changes in scenery. Countless changes in form.</p>
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<p>Shaking eir head, ey turned the knob on the admin office and peeked inside.</p>
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<p>There were no traps, no jump-scares. Just the six-sided room with three doors on the walls this one. One for the principal, and two for the vice principals. Taking the game metaphor to heart, ey started poking around the office where ey could, flipping through a datebook on the secretary's desk (empty) and rummaging through the drawers (office supplies).</p>
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<p>There were no traps, no jump-scares. Just the six-sided room with three doors on the walls this one. One for the principal, and two for the vice principals. Taking the game metaphor to heart, ey started poking around the office where ey could, flipping through a datebook on the secretary’s desk (empty) and rummaging through the drawers (office supplies).</p>
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<p>The waste baskets were empty.</p>
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<p>Steeling emself for something...something what, shocking? The game mentality still holding tight, perhaps. Ey tried each of the doors in turn.</p>
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<p>Surprising. It wasn't the principal's office that opened, but one of the vice principals. The name of the one who had worked there when ey was a student escaped em, and no tags adorned the doors. The office was dark, but the lights responded to a touch on the pad. Ey set it to a comfortable level; warm without being cozy, bright enough to read without being intimidating.</p>
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<p>Steeling emself for something…something what, shocking? The game mentality still holding tight, perhaps. Ey tried each of the doors in turn.</p>
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<p>Surprising. It wasn’t the principal’s office that opened, but one of the vice principals. The name of the one who had worked there when ey was a student escaped em, and no tags adorned the doors. The office was dark, but the lights responded to a touch on the pad. Ey set it to a comfortable level; warm without being cozy, bright enough to read without being intimidating.</p>
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<p>Memories of being hauled into the room, all those years ago, with the lights all the way up, a gesture of power.</p>
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<p>Rummaging through the desk revealed little of note.</p>
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<p>Rather than a planner on the desk was a workstation. Simple. Ancient. It didn't respond to any of AwDae's interactions. How it would work, ey couldn't guess. A sim within a sim? Ey had perhaps hoped that a connection like that might lead...outside. Outside of this mess.</p>
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<p>Rather than a planner on the desk was a workstation. Simple. Ancient. It didn’t respond to any of AwDae’s interactions. How it would work, ey couldn’t guess. A sim within a sim? Ey had perhaps hoped that a connection like that might lead…outside. Outside of this mess.</p>
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<p>The only other items on the desk were a scratch pad and a pencil. The expected tools. The perpetual desk-toppers that never seemed to go out of style.</p>
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<p>The pad contained a breakdown of costs, divided into departments, for the coming year. A simple three-column setup tallying subject, expense, and deductions from some number at the top. Budgets, perhaps. At the bottom of the page, was a final number, circled in dark, angry strokes. Apparently, the administrator hadn't liked the result.</p>
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<p>The pad contained a breakdown of costs, divided into departments, for the coming year. A simple three-column setup tallying subject, expense, and deductions from some number at the top. Budgets, perhaps. At the bottom of the page, was a final number, circled in dark, angry strokes. Apparently, the administrator hadn’t liked the result.</p>
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<p>AwDae flumped down in the chair at a jaunty angle, eir tail flopping down between armrest and chair back. Tired, so very tired.</p>
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<p>Ey rubbed away the sandy grit of tears already shed. Ey was moving in this search with determination. As much as ey could muster. Anything to occupy eir mind, anything to keep em from collapsing into a depression borne of hopelessness and despair. It occurred to em that getting lost was the perfect prison: complete freedom, or nearly so (ey had already fantasized about jimmying open the other doors), with nothing to do. Nothing to dream, nowhere to go, nothing to know.</p>
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<p>Ey didn't even know the time. No clocks adorned the walls.</p>
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<p>Ey didn’t even know the time. No clocks adorned the walls.</p>
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<p>Ey would go mad without a task. Could ey create anything? But why create in these empty halls? What would ey even begin to make that would matter the worth of a damn? Ey would never be able to share it. Ey would only be able to spiral endlessly inwards.</p>
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<p>All AwDae wanted to do was curl up in the chair. It was comfortable enough. Perhaps ey could get some sleep in.</p>
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<p>Instead, ey ground the heels of eir paws against eir face and leaned toward the desk. Numbers, digits, columns. Something familiar. Mindlessly working through the sums in eir head simply for lack of anything else to do.</p>
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<p>"Weird," ey murmured sleepily.</p>
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<p>The numbers didn't add up. Rather, everything added up within its own row. It was as though a row were missing.</p>
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<p>“Weird,” ey murmured sleepily.</p>
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<p>The numbers didn’t add up. Rather, everything added up within its own row. It was as though a row were missing.</p>
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<p>Ey stretched out an arm, snatching up the scrap of note and holding it up to the light. No erasures, whiteouts, or scribbles. There was just not enough information.</p>
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<p>Digits. Numbers. Ledger. Paper. Notes?</p>
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<p>If ey was meant to be looking for clues, then...</p>
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<p>Ey fished the previous 'clue' out of eir pocket. The ledger of Cicero's DDR interactions.</p>
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<p>It wasn't nearly so simple as the single-column arithmetic on the scratch paper. Each referendum had three columns of digits: a cost, a bounty (if that referendum was referred back to the house), and any number of comments made on the issue. Often out of order on the sheet, as well, given Cicero's habit of voting on everything. Perhaps it was the first thing he did on waking.</p>
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<p>Given the note's interactivity level of expanding on closer examination, ey tried to will a sum out of the columns to match the final row.</p>
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<p>No luck. Ey wished for eir rig more than anything. It'd make the task almost trivial.</p>
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<p>If ey was meant to be looking for clues, then…</p>
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<p>Ey fished the previous ‘clue’ out of eir pocket. The ledger of Cicero’s DDR interactions.</p>
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<p>It wasn’t nearly so simple as the single-column arithmetic on the scratch paper. Each referendum had three columns of digits: a cost, a bounty (if that referendum was referred back to the house), and any number of comments made on the issue. Often out of order on the sheet, as well, given Cicero’s habit of voting on everything. Perhaps it was the first thing he did on waking.</p>
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<p>Given the note’s interactivity level of expanding on closer examination, ey tried to will a sum out of the columns to match the final row.</p>
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<p>No luck. Ey wished for eir rig more than anything. It’d make the task almost trivial.</p>
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<p>Ah well.</p>
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<p>Ey snagged the half-used pencil and the rest of the scrap and worked it out. Each cost and comment would be a debit, and each bounty would be a credit. One could also buy DDR credits through a mechanism that basically acted as an additional withholding on one's taxes. There were two of those in there, possibly ensuring that Cicero would have enough DDR credit to make what AwDae assumed was some scathing political snipe on an upcoming high-stakes referendum.</p>
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<p>Even so, it was clear that the section of numbers on the paper, a month's worth, perhaps, didn't add up. Once more, there was a missing interaction. Three missing interactions, rather: one vote's cost, one vote's comment, and one vote's bounty, at AwDae's best guess. Perhaps a few smaller votes to add up to those totals? It was recent, too. A few days before he had gotten lost</p>
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<p>Except that one's DDR records were public. Not which way one voted, but that one had voted. Comments were public perforce. The information had to be public for the system to work.</p>
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<p>Ey snagged the half-used pencil and the rest of the scrap and worked it out. Each cost and comment would be a debit, and each bounty would be a credit. One could also buy DDR credits through a mechanism that basically acted as an additional withholding on one’s taxes. There were two of those in there, possibly ensuring that Cicero would have enough DDR credit to make what AwDae assumed was some scathing political snipe on an upcoming high-stakes referendum.</p>
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<p>Even so, it was clear that the section of numbers on the paper, a month’s worth, perhaps, didn’t add up. Once more, there was a missing interaction. Three missing interactions, rather: one vote’s cost, one vote’s comment, and one vote’s bounty, at AwDae’s best guess. Perhaps a few smaller votes to add up to those totals? It was recent, too. A few days before he had gotten lost</p>
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<p>Except that one’s DDR records were public. Not which way one voted, but that one had voted. Comments were public perforce. The information had to be public for the system to work.</p>
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<p>Unless it had been tampered with, there was a combination of 1,252,000 credits unaccounted for in terms of transactions. One million debit to the comment, a quarter of a million credit for bounty, and two thousand to the vote cost.</p>
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<p>AwDae tore the top sheet off the pad and, working faster this time, ran the numbers once more. Same result.</p>
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<p>"Well, huh." Ey sat, frowning, for a little while longer before gathering eir notes. Ey folded them together with the original clue and stuffed them into eir pocket. Ey couldn't create a deck here, apparently, but ey could sure take items with emself.</p>
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<p>“Well, huh.” Ey sat, frowning, for a little while longer before gathering eir notes. Ey folded them together with the original clue and stuffed them into eir pocket. Ey couldn’t create a deck here, apparently, but ey could sure take items with emself.</p>
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<p>If this all had something to do with what was going on outside, where ey was counted among the lost, that was all well and good, but how would ey get that information back out remained a mystery.</p>
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<p>Too early to be thinking of such things. Ey wasn't going anywhere for the time being. Sleep was becoming an imperative.</p>
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<p>Too early to be thinking of such things. Ey wasn’t going anywhere for the time being. Sleep was becoming an imperative.</p>
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<p>Ey gave token consideration to where ey would be able to sleep before deciding on the auditorium. The fold-down seats were cushioned. Not very well, but better than the floor.</p>
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<p>And the place had a sense of home about it, too. The thought was a barb tugging at eir heart, but there was nothing to be done. Not in this state. Not right now.</p>
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<p>Sleep, then.</p>
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@ -80,7 +80,7 @@
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<p>Or perhaps not. Sleep to get away. Sleep for nullity. Sleep for nothingness.</p>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-05-08</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-05-09</p>
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</footer>
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</main>
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</body>
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@ -14,9 +14,9 @@
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<article class="content">
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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">fiction</span> <span class="tag">scifi</span> <span class="tag">novel</span> <span class="tag">chapter</span> <span class="tag">post-self</span> <span class="tag">qoheleth</span></p>
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<p>Pain woke Sasha. Pain and a rumbling, jittery sensation within her body.</p>
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<p>The pain coursed through her limbs, seeming to originate from a wellspring at the base of her neck. She remembered a quickly building sense of vertigo, of the whole of her perception growing fuzzy around the edges, and then...nothing. And then this.</p>
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<p>She levered her eyes open slowly, carefully, and was greeted by an extreme closeup view of a dandelion. A dandelion, and more dandelions, cartoonishly fat bumblebees --- for what bumbler is not cartoonish? --- coursing among them in lazy Lissajous curves. They all avoided her with the polite patience of bees of all ilk.</p>
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<p>"The fuck." The half-formed phrase tumbled out between what felt like half-formed lips.</p>
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<p>The pain coursed through her limbs, seeming to originate from a wellspring at the base of her neck. She remembered a quickly building sense of vertigo, of the whole of her perception growing fuzzy around the edges, and then…nothing. And then this.</p>
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<p>She levered her eyes open slowly, carefully, and was greeted by an extreme closeup view of a dandelion. A dandelion, and more dandelions, cartoonishly fat bumblebees — for what bumbler is not cartoonish? — coursing among them in lazy Lissajous curves. They all avoided her with the polite patience of bees of all ilk.</p>
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<p>“The fuck.” The half-formed phrase tumbled out between what felt like half-formed lips.</p>
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<p>She carefully picked herself up off the ground, off the field of endless dandelions. The pain coursing through her body was quickly explained as she turned around. It appeared that she had fallen from a tall barstool. There stood before her a row of them lined neatly before a bar. <em>The</em> bar. The one so familiar from countless nights and weekends loitering in the Crown Pub.</p>
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<p>The bar stood alone in the field. No backing wall full of racks of bottles. No walls at all, really: beyond the bar was more endless field. No floor, either: the stools sprouted as easily from the ground as did the dandelions.</p>
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<p>Dandelions.</p>
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<p>It was days/years/minutes until she was able to calm herself once more. The sun set/never set. The air temperature swung wildly to cold at night/was an unchanging warm that would not permit the passage of time.</p>
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<p>Her mind wandered far.</p>
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<p>She plucked at a dandelion at some point, breathed in the fresh-baked scent of it. Let it fall to the ground.</p>
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<p>She levered herself up onto the stool once more and cheerfully ordered herself a drink from no one. She clawed/scratched at the bar's stained and varnished surface, sobbing. Tears left tracks in fur/slid from her cheeks to the bar top.</p>
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<p>She levered herself up onto the stool once more and cheerfully ordered herself a drink from no one. She clawed/scratched at the bar’s stained and varnished surface, sobbing. Tears left tracks in fur/slid from her cheeks to the bar top.</p>
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<p>And always her form shifted and danced. Her tail would sway into being and then it would never be there. Her skin would sting and prickle from slamming her hand down against the bar and then that skin would be replaced by velvety pads.</p>
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<p>She came to at some point/calmed down enough to think/let her breath slow enough that she was no longer sobbing.</p>
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<p><em>If this is a dream and I know it, do I not have control? Can I not make my reality for me?</em></p>
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<p>She breathed in to the count of four, held for the count of two, and then breathed herself out on a breath. There, beside her on the next stool, sat her human form/sat her skunk form. Her mind was split. Shared between the two. Neither could move without the other moving. Unison did not describe the perfection of the match.</p>
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<p>But at least she was no longer out of focus.</p>
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<p><em>Was this what the lost were going through?</em> She brushed her hand/paw through her hair/over her ears. <em>Or perhaps it is merely a furry thing, primed as we are to have an internal representation so different from our external?</em></p>
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<p>"Oh AwDae," she moaned. "Oh fox. How long have you been suffering?"</p>
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<p>“Oh AwDae,” she moaned. “Oh fox. How long have you been suffering?”</p>
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<p>She stood/she stood.</p>
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<p>Poetry coursed through her, half remembered/perfectly memorized lines from productions long past. "Since then --- 'tis centuries --- and yet feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horse's heads were toward eternity ---"</p>
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<p>It had been centuries for her, and yet each felt shorter than the crash to the ground from out of the perilous heights of reality. <em>Time felt so vast that were it not for an Eternity...</em></p>
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<p>Time, which beat against the skies. Time, which hemmed her in. Time, which forced words from her mouth/from her muzzle in breathless haste/unwavering slowness. <em>I fear me this circumference engross my finity --- to his exclusion who prepare by process of size for the stupendous vision of his diameters ---</em></p>
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<p>"Oh fox."</p>
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<p>Poetry coursed through her, half remembered/perfectly memorized lines from productions long past. “Since then — ‘tis centuries — and yet feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horse’s heads were toward eternity —“</p>
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<p>It had been centuries for her, and yet each felt shorter than the crash to the ground from out of the perilous heights of reality. <em>Time feels so vast that were it not For an Eternity…</em></p>
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<p>Time, which beat against the skies. Time, which hemmed her in. Time, which forced words from her mouth/from her muzzle in breathless haste/unwavering slowness. <em>I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity — To His exclusion who prepare By Process of Size For the Stupendous Vision Of his diameters —</em></p>
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<p>“Oh fox.”</p>
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<p>She cried again/cried again. Sat on the ground again/sat on the ground again. Plucked a dandelion/plucked a dandelion. Again/again. Always twice over.</p>
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<p>"Sasha!" She spoke aloud.</p>
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<p>"The fuck." Half question this time.</p>
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<p>"Sasha, it's Debarre," she said. Then: "What the fuck?"</p>
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<p>"I'm so sorry. I came as fast as I could. Everything's a fucking mess."</p>
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<p>"How long has it been?" she asked herself.</p>
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<p>"About sixteen hours. I had to dump a chunk of my savings into a ticket to get here."</p>
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<p>She clawed at the ground in something between frustration and terror that a friend's voice was coming from her mouth/from her muzzle. "And...how are you..."</p>
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<p>"A mirror rig." The joyous tone of the words clashed against the tears still flowing freely. "We figured it out. Carter figured it out, I mean. She and AwDae busted everything open. Figured out how to rescue the lost, figured out how everyone <em>gets</em> lost in the first place."</p>
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<p>She stopped digging at the earth. "AwDae's back?"</p>
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<p>"Yes! And the clinic where Cicero is is trying to get him out as well!"</p>
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<p>“Sasha!” She spoke aloud.</p>
|
||||
<p>“The fuck.” Half question this time.</p>
|
||||
<p>“Sasha, it’s Debarre,” she said. Then: “What the fuck?”</p>
|
||||
<p>“I’m so sorry. I came as fast as I could. Everything’s a fucking mess.”</p>
|
||||
<p>“How long has it been?” she asked herself.</p>
|
||||
<p>“About sixteen hours. I had to dump a chunk of my savings into a ticket to get here.”</p>
|
||||
<p>She clawed at the ground in something between frustration and terror that a friend’s voice was coming from her mouth/from her muzzle. “And…how are you…”</p>
|
||||
<p>“A mirror rig.” The joyous tone of the words clashed against the tears still flowing freely. “We figured it out. Carter figured it out, I mean. She and AwDae busted everything open. Figured out how to rescue the lost, figured out how everyone <em>gets</em> lost in the first place.”</p>
|
||||
<p>She stopped digging at the earth. “AwDae’s back?”</p>
|
||||
<p>“Yes! And the clinic where Cicero is is trying to get him out as well!”</p>
|
||||
<p>She had to turn toward the bar again to let the shouting echo. The silence was giving her a headache.</p>
|
||||
<p>Or not. A neck-ache. Something was tearing at the back of the neck/through the fur of her scruff. An ache. A jolt of pain. A ripping. A tearing.</p>
|
||||
<p>"I'm going to stop mirroring now. This is horrifying," she said to the wood of the bar. She did not know who said the last.</p>
|
||||
<p>“I’m going to stop mirroring now. This is horrifying,” she said to the wood of the bar. She did not know who said the last.</p>
|
||||
<p>And then, a hand on her shoulder. One of her shoulders. The sensation had her hair/fur stand on end. She turned around, and there was Debarre. The weasel frowned as he looked between the two of her. Looked at Sasha/looked at Michelle.</p>
|
||||
<p>"I...what? Sasha?"</p>
|
||||
<p>She gritted her teeth/bared her teeth. "I don't know either. What to we do now? How do we get out of this hell?"</p>
|
||||
<p>Debarre shrugged. "Can you back out?"</p>
|
||||
<p>“I…what? Sasha?”</p>
|
||||
<p>She gritted her teeth/bared her teeth. “I don’t know either. What to we do now? How do we get out of this hell?”</p>
|
||||
<p>Debarre shrugged. “Can you back out?”</p>
|
||||
<p>She reached. Felt the draft. Smiled beatifically. She passed the field of dandelions. Passed the setting sun, or perhaps he passed her.</p>
|
||||
<p>And breathed in the cool air of an implant clinic.</p>
|
||||
<p>There, beside her, also sitting up from the recliner and pulling off his headband, was, she supposed, Debarre. Short. Soft. Thinning hair. Ecstatic grin.</p>
|
||||
<p>"Sasha?" The grin picked up an ironic twist. "Or Michelle, I guess. You okay?"</p>
|
||||
<p>“Sasha?” The grin picked up an ironic twist. “Or Michelle, I guess. You okay?”</p>
|
||||
</article>
|
||||
<footer>
|
||||
<p>Page generated on 2020-05-08</p>
|
||||
<p>Page generated on 2020-05-09</p>
|
||||
</footer>
|
||||
</main>
|
||||
</body>
|
||||
|
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@ -209,7 +209,7 @@
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<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/006.html">RJ 006</a> — Finding microphone, making notes</li>
|
||||
<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/001-a.html">Qoheleth 001</a> — Spying on Dear and Ioan</li>
|
||||
<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Carter/004.html">Carter 004</a> — Planning to visit Johansson</li>
|
||||
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/007.html">RJ 007</a> — Sleeping in the auditorium</li>
|
||||
<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/007.html">RJ 007</a> — Sleeping in the auditorium</li>
|
||||
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/001-b.html">Qoheleth 001</a> — archive</li>
|
||||
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Carter/005.html">Carter 005</a> — Pub with Johansson</li>
|
||||
<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/008.html">RJ 008</a> — clothing from school</li>
|
||||
|
|
|
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Loading…
Reference in New Issue