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As They Slip Away
An ACROSS THE UNIVERSE Novella
Beth Revis
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1.
Three Months before I Die
stare at the basket of hypodermi
needles. So slender and pretty, each filled
with a yellow liquid that reminds me o
gold paint.
Inoculations, I say. I consult the flopp
hat contains my instructions for today
abor.
Across the top of the screen is a chart an
he words GENETIC MODIFICATION.
Thats . . . not right. These needles ar
filled with inoculations.
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Eldest told me so. Thats what he said thi
morning, when he brought me the basket
himself.
Selene, he had told me, his voice war
and kind, these are inoculations for th
rabbits.
nject one full dose per rabbit today.
My eyes burn with pain as I scan the texon the floppy. Theres nothing abou
noculations
here.
Sharp pain shoots through my head.
Eldest told me these were inoculations.
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Inoculations, I say, a soft smile curvin
my lips. I pat the basket of needles as if
comforting it in the knowledge of what iruly is.
t doesnt matter what the chart and word
on the floppy say. It only matters whaldest
says.
Everything is only what Eldest says it is.
The rabbit field is quiet, but not silent
That is what I like about it.
like sounds.
Soft thumps on the ground as the rabbit
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hop around. The little chirruping noise
hey
make. The gentle clacky-chewy sounds ahey nibble on grass.
sit down in the grass field.
For a moment, I look up at the sky. Mad
of metal and painted with clouds tha
never move.
My sky is a certainty. Thats nice.
Sometimes, I think about how Im livin
aboard a spaceship hurtling through thstars
oward a new planet. But those thought
are too big, and so I dont think the
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often.
blink and see darkness.
open my eyes and see blue.
Blink. Dark.
Light. Blue.
Blink. Dark. Dark. I dont open my eyes
Dark.
loodbruisespainbetrayalalonealonealo
open my eyes.
do not like the dark.
stand. There is work to do.
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The rabbits are fat and lazy. But they do
not like it when I try to grab them. Perhap
hey
know that sometimes when I snatch the
up, I send them to the butcher and they ar
made into
food. But if they do know this, theyre no
oo concerned about it. They scampe
away, but only a meter or so. Then
sneak. I sneak behind them, where thecant see, dont know Im coming.
They think I am their friend.
And then I lunge.
tackle the nearest rabbit, pinning it dow
by its shoulders. After scanning it
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dentification
chipNumber 424, the screen says
plunge a hypodermic needle into its baceg.
Number 424, inoculated, I say aloud.
dont have to say it aloud.
But I like sound.
This is my day. Sneak up on rabbits
Lunge. Grab. Hold. Inoculate.
Sometimes I look at the sky. Sometimes ook around me, at the green hills. I se
someone
running through the fields, a swing o
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color, bright against the normal green.
hum, and I work.
And then.
Then a girl shows up.
She is a freak. Eldest told me she is
freak, told all of us on the ship. A
genetically
modified experiment gone wrong. Sh
ooks like a freak. Pale skin, almost th
color of the fluffy
white tails of the rabbits. Bright, brigh
hair. Red hair. With orange and gold in it
Like the koi in the pond by the Hospital.
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riendsgonegonegonealonealonealone.
Hello, the girl says.
look at the girl. I look at her koi-fis
hair. Hello, I say.
She is different. She reminds me of . . something. A sharp pain shoots through m
head
again. I look down, away from her.
Youre the genetically modified
experiment, I say. I wait for her to
confirm this is true,
even though I know it is because Eldes
said she is. Eldest has said we don
have to speak to
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you.
The girl is mad at me. I know because o
her voice. I like sounds. I pay attention noust to
which words are said, but how they ar
said, and this girl says them angrily.
But she doesnt go away. She keep
alking to me. She asks about the rabbits
She asks
about the needles.
She talks a lot.
I saw you running, I say suddenly
realizing that the person I saw before wa
his girl,
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he bright color in the green fields was he
koi-fish hair.
A strange feeling washes over me. Myheart is loud and slow, and my head hurts
What were you running from? I ask. M
voice cracks. I pay attention to soundEven the
sounds I make. And the sound I am makin
s fear.
ewillgetmerunrunrunrunrunhide.
Just running, the girl says, as if it isnstrange to run for no reason.
She talks more. Questions, questions.
have work to do.
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But then I remember more about wha
Eldest told us about this girl. That she wa
o live in
he Hospital.
ask her, and she confirms it. She lives in
he Hospital.
My grandfather was taken to th
Hospital, I say.
Gonegonegone.
Is he better now? the girl asks.
Hes gone.
Gonegonegone.
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I m sorry, the girl says. Her voic
surprises me. She means it. She means tha
shes
sorry.
Why? I ask. It was his time.
The girl stares at me for so long I thin
shes done speaking. But then she says
Youre
crying.
touch my face.
My fingers come away wet with salt
ears.
I have no reason to be sad, I say.
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ts true.
have no reason to be sad.
one at all.
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2.
Seven Years before I Die
suppose I should be upset that Im crazy
but Im actually quite pleased about i
Being crazy
means I dont have to work in the fields o
he City. It means I get to stay here, in th
Hospital.
With my friends.
Selene, Kayleigh drawls from the sof
n the common room. Come sit with us.
Victria, who had been by the window
staring at the open fields that separate th
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Hospital
from the rest of the ships population in
he City, plops down in the center seat ohe orange sofa made of scratchy woo
She wiggles in closer to Kayleigh, and th
wo girls look almost like sisters, with th
same shade of olive skin and same lengtof dark brown hair. Everyone on the ship
has
similar coloring, but I think Victria tries tomake herself into a shadow of Kayleigh
She deigns to glance in my direction. Sh
doesnt mindme, exactly, she just likes to
know the order of things.
And the order of things here is tha
Kayleigh comes first, and Victria i
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always beside her, and
sometimes, trailing at the end, is me.
ts almost time for lessons. Doc and th
nurses like us all to take meds at the sam
ime,
ust before the solar lamp in the meta
ceiling clicks on.
I hate the meds, Kayleigh says undeher breath as Doc walks into the commo
room.
He and the nurses distribute the pills, anwe all swallow them down obediently
Except Kayleigh.
She stares at the pill until Doc notices
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and he doesnt look away from her unti
she gulps it down
with some water.
dont mind the Inhibitor pills, not lik
Kayleigh does. Swallowing one blue-and
white pill
a day is a small price to pay for life at th
Hospital. So were loons. So we have t
ake mental
meds. Its not so bad that Eldest keeps u
here, removed from the rest of the ship, o
he other side ofGodspeed, in thHospital, away from the normal people
ts not so bad being abnormal here
where everyone else is weird too.
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But if that pill is supposed to keep m
from being crazy, it doesnt do a ver
good job.
nstead of making me less loons
sometimes I worry it makes me more. I
different. Weall of
us in the Hospitalare different. I didn
have to see the way my parents glass
eyes would
flicker with concern when I spoke to know
hat the things I said werent normal.
Doc says were special, but special iust a nice way of saying freak.
Sometimes, Kayleigh whispers, I thin
ts everyone else whos weird.
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Victrias eyes dart around the common
room, lingering on the nurses gathere
around Doc
by the door. One of the first things w
earned was not to ask too many question
or draw attention
o ourselves, and Kayleighs words ar
ncendiary.
No, I say. Were the freaks.
And we are. Everyone else on th
spaceship Godspeed doesnt stay up lat
at night,
worrying about whether or not the ship
will ever land. They dont spend thei
ime doing useless
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hings like singing songs or drawin
pictures. They never worry about whethe
Bartie will be able
o rip his gaze off Victria long enough to
notice anyone else. . . .
Were not thatfreakish, Victria says. heard Elder takes the mental meds too.
gasp in surprise. Elder, our future leader
s on mental meds like us? Hes stilyoung
iving in the City now, awaiting the tim
until he comes of age and joins Eldest ohe Keeper Level of the shipbut eve
he hint of madness in our leader disturb
me. Will he come to live at the
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Hospital?
Victria nods. I heard Doc talking to
Eldest about it. Elder will be moving hern a few
months, after going to one of the farms fo
a bit.
want to know more, but Kayleig
nterrupts us.
Its better. Being on the mental meds.
hated it before I started taking them,
Kayleigh
says. Her voice is clear and slow, as i
shes measured the weight of each word
and determined its
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worth before speaking it.
You dont remember what it was like
before. None of us do.
I remember, she insists.
Yeah? My voice is a challenge. Whawas it like?
Nothing.
Tell us, I demand.
Nothing. It was like nothing. It was lik
being empty inside.
Victria and I exchange a look.
Sometimes . . . Kayleigh sighs
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Theres a lot about this ship that doesn
make
sense.
Liiiike, a voice calls out from the othe
side of the room, how you wont let m
kiss
you!
Kayleigh picks up a pillow from the sofand throws it at Harleynot too hard, bu
hard
enough. Harley tosses it aside easilyaughing. If I had to describe Harley a
nothing but a sound, that would be it
aughter. Hes always smiling, his whit
eeth unable to bite back the sound. H
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sees the world in shades of joy. Harle
picks the pillow up from the ground, and
notice paint is
caked under his nails, leaking out onto hi
fingertips.
We were having, Kayleigh says, hevoice punctuating each word, aprivate
conversation.
Yeah, yeah, and meanwhile the rest of u
are going to lessons.
Going to lessons? I ask, leaninforward. But the lessons have alway
been here
before. I dont know if theres much of
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point in teaching crazy people things, bu
Doc insists
hat its our duty to hone our inherenalents. Every day, he or the nurses lead
a discussion on topics relevant to studies
art, math, science. Things like that. And
heyre usually done here, in the commoroom, where there are enough seats fo
everyone and nothing to distract us fro
earning
beyond the perfectly symmetrical an
evenly spaced green fields outside th
window.
Were going to the Recorder Hall,
Harley says, a mischievous light in hi
eyes.
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Kayleigh rolls her eyes. You made i
sound like we were doing somethin
mportant
oday, she says. Weve been to th
Recorder Hall before.
Yeah, Harley says. But Docs nodoing the lesson there. The Recorder is.
My eyes grow round at this. The Recorde
s going to teach us from now on? But . . .
Why? I ask.
Harley shrugs. A moment later, Doc startscalling out names. Harley was partiall
wrong:
most of the other residents of the Hospita
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are going to lessons on the Shipper Leve
Doc tells
hem theyre being apprenticed. Itpeople like Buck and Britne and Tailor
he ones good at the
science and math lessons. People like mand Kayleigh and Harleythe ones wh
ike artare
being sent to the Recorder Hall.
By the time Docs done announcing ou
new roles and sending the studious ones t
he
Shipper Level, only a handful of us remai
o go to the Recorder Hall.
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This should be fun, Bartie, Harley
best friend, tells me as we enter th
elevator. I grin
at him, hoping the heat I feel rising up i
me isnt reflected in my cheeks. I cant rip
my eyes from him until he turns to Harle
and says something that makes him laughhe sound of his voice
olting me out of my reverie. Victri
shoots me a look, and my eyes drop to thmetal floor of the
elevator. I dont want her to know how
feel about Bartie. I dont want anyone tknow. I want to
keep it in the secret place of my heart, th
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part of me that still clings to hope.
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3.
The Recorder Hall is dark and musty, lik
always. Weve only been here a fewimes, to be honest.
Lessons about the ship and its mission ar
given to every child, mad or not, at leasonce a year until their apprenticeship. It
vital that every person on Godspee
knows and understands the
significance of what were doing. Were
carrying the hopes of an old planet acros
he universe in
order to create a whole new world.
The entryway to the Recorder Hall i
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huge, with a tall ceiling and tiny, narrow
windows that
are supposed to stream in light, but reallust cast everything in shadows. Digita
membrane
screens stretch from floor to ceiling alonhe walls. We call them wall floppies
which is a stupid name, really, but the
hang on the wall and theyre, well, floppy
Each one glows now with an
mageone shows a constellation
another a painting, another a sculpture.
We stand awkwardly in the center of the
room, six teenagers surrounded by th
history of
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both the old world and the ship. The nurs
who escorted us slips out the door an
closes it behind
her, the sound a solid thud compared to
he electronic doors of the Hospital tha
zip shut with a
whisper.
So . . . Harley says, his voice ringin
hroughout the tall room despite his husheone.
This is boring.
Bartie, standing behind him, snorts wit
aughter. Victria rolls her eyes at them
both, and
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Bartie silences immediately.
turn away, my stomach twisting wit
envy. My eyes are drawn to clear hazeeyesthose
of Luthor, the straggler of our group. Hed
been watching me, staring at me, and hdoesnt bother
rying to hide his interest.
blush and turn away.
Thank you for coming out here today,
voice booms throughout the RecordeHall. A
man emerges from the other end of th
entry way. Hes very tall, with long
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unkempt hair that
almost covers a spider web scar on th
side of his neck.
Like we had a choice, Victria mumbles
The mans head whips around. You do,he says. You always have a choice. H
opens
his mouth as if to say something more, buswallows the words. Instead, he says,
am Orion, the
Recorder.
Why are you teaching us today?
Kayleigh asks. Why not Doc?
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Or one of the Shippers? Bartie adds
Are we not getting an apprenticeship?
Apprenticeships are for labor, Oriosays. You are not going to be laborers.
Because were loons, I cant help bu
say.
Are you? Orion asks sincerely. H
blinks at me, as if trying to determine if
really am
oons or not.
I take the mental meds every day, I snapdont like the way hes looking at me.
Thats not a very good indication o
whether or not youre crazy, Orio
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replies.
start to snap something back, bu
Kayleighs elbow jabs me in the ribs and silence.
The Recorder Hall is not just a record o
knowledge and history, Orion sayssweeping
his arms toward the wall floppies hangin
from the ceiling. He crosses the room the floppy
abeled HISTORY. We all trot obediently
behind him. The screen lights up as hswipes his hand
across it, and a map of a peninsula an
slands illuminates the screen.
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This is Greece, a country in Sol-Earth,
Orion says.
My eyes slide to Kayleighs. Theres anntense sort of focus to her gaze, and n
wonder.
While the giant clay model of Sol-Earthangs from ceiling of the entryway, it
countries arent
abeled. We are taught that the world wadivided into nations, but not the names o
hese divisions.
The very fact that the old world wabroken up into different countries prove
why life aboard the
ship is better. Theres no point in learning
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he history of Sol-Earths nations, excep
as a warning of bad civilizations w
cannot let Godspeedemulate.
The Greeks, they knew how to appreciat
art, Orion continues. They believed i
art for
arts sake, that a sculpture or a paintin
doesnt have a higher purposeit just is
A sinking sadness fills my chest. The one
n the Hospital who were better at mat
and
science have been apprenticed becaus
hey have something to contribute to th
ship. But usme
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and Kayleigh and Victria and Bartie and
Harley and Luthorwere just artists. We
have nothing to
contribute.
Or, Orion says, talking to the map in
contemplative tone, perhaps it is better tsay
hat art is a higher purpose in and of itself
Thats what the Greeks understoodhats something even Eldest understands
Art is important. There is value in art tha
cant be tallied like the right or wron
answers on a test. Even here, even on thifrexing ship, art is important.
Victria shifts uncomfortably beside me
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o one speaks ill ofGodspeed or it
eaders, but
Orions dancing around contempt in a wahat makes us all nervous. Except fo
Kayleigh. Shes
hanging on every word Orion says, heeyes glistening.
Your assignment is to research the
Greeks. They made heroes of their artistsome they
even made into gods. Find a Greek tha
matches your artistic style.
try to imagine it for a moment, a worl
hat values people who sing. Ive neve
been able to
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hink of my singing as anything more than
worthless, throw-away skill.
Harley clears his throat. I donunderstand.
Your parents are weavers, right? Orion
asks.
Harley nods. His usual carefree attitude i
mmediately hidden behind an emotionles
mask:
He doesnt like to talk about his parents
one of us do. Moving to the Hospita
means leaving
behind your parents. But if Harley
parents were like mine, its not like the
cared when he left.
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Or even noticed.
In Greece, Orion continues as i
nothings different, the best weaver iheir history
was a woman named Arachne. She was so
good that the gods were jealous, and theurned her into
a spider so she could only weave webs.
My eyes drift down Orions neck, to thspiderweb scar
behind his left ear. He notices my glanc
and touches the scar before catchinhimself and lowering
his hand.
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And what? Bartie asks. You want us to
write a report on her, or whatever god
matches
our skills?
No, Orion says eagerly. I want you to
create. If, for example, you chosArachne, then I want you to weave he
story into a tapestry.
can see the moment when understandinwashes over each of our faceshe want
us to
make art. A sloppy grin spreads oveHarleys face. Luthor mutters to himself
as if coming up with ideas of what he
ike to do already. Even Victria look
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ecstatic.
Godspeed isnt Greece: No matter wha
Orion says, it doesnt feel as if art is vermuch
valued here. Doc has had us research art
sure, but never really experiment with itHe was much more focused on what ou
art could dofor the ship, how we coul
urn it into something useful.
catch Barties eye. Doc has never bee
able to give us assignments that use ou
alents. He
could have Luthor make scale models ou
of clay instead of sculpting, or Harley ca
draw
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architectural plans instead of painting, bu
here wasnt much he could do wit
Barties skill with
nstruments or my singing voice.
Your assignment, Orion repeats, is to
research art . . . and then make some.
t is a delicious challenge.
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4.
This is brilly, Harley says as we sit in
circle on the floor in the entryway of thRecorder Hall.
We each have our own personal floppies
each flashing with images from ancienGreece. Orion
ventured further into the Recorder Hal
with promises to show us realbooks fro
Sol-Earth.
I know! Kayleigh says. Shes so
excited shes forgotten that she wants to
be aloof in
front of Harley. I cant believe he
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encouraging us to do art!
Harley lights up at the joy in Kayleigh
voice. What are you going to research?he asks,
eaning closer to Kayleigh while she let
him. I think you could be Poseidon. Hholds his
floppy out to her.
Kayleigh scans the information on thi
Greek god. It seems ridiculous that th
Greeks
a c t u a l l y worshipped these people
hinking they had any kind of real power
Silly Sol-Earth
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fairytales and religions.
Ew, Kayleigh tosses the floppy back to
Harley. This man is half-naked.
Harley laughs. Yeah, but hes the god o
he ocean, and you love to swim.
Maybe you should study Aphrodite,
Kayleigh says in a sticky-sweet voice
and dress
up in some seashells.
I m not a flirt, Harley says so seriousl
hat the entire room silences. Not witanyone
but you.
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Kayleigh blushes furiously and gets up t
sit on the other side of Victria, putting m
beside
Harley instead.
Harley doesnt seem to mind. Maybe he
confident; maybe he just doesnt see point in
pretending to have any other feelings tha
hose he holds for Kayleigh. He turns tme next, as if
nothings happened. What about you
You could be a Siren.
tap the word into my floppy and a
greeted with an image of something tha
ooks like a
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cross between a girl and a fish. Thi
ooks more like something Kayleig
would like, I say. She
s the one who spends every mornin
swimming in the pond behind th
Hospital.
No, read, Harley insists.
start reading, the sounds of everyon
elses gentle arguments disappearing as focus on
he story. I see now why Harley though
his particular mythological creatursuited me: the Sirens
sing too. My fingers trail along a portrai
of a Siren perched on a rock, a stringe
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nstrument in one hand as she stare
mpassively at the boy drowning in th
water below her.
Yes. I like these Sirens.
By the time I look up, Orions returned
with the books. Harley flips through thpages too
quickly, careless with the ancient pape
made from real trees from Sol-Earth. Wedont have trees
on Godspeed, and we hardly ever use th
synthetic paper made by the Shipperseverythings
recorded on floppies instead. Orio
scowls at Harley until he sets the boo
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gently down on the
ground.
Have you selected your topic? Lutho
asks.
nod and hold out the floppy to him. Hsmiles as he reads about the creatures tha
sing to
ure mens ships to dangerous waters andsure death.
Harley glances up as Bartie leans over t
read too. Ha! Your voice could makemen
suicidal! He crows with laughter, but
snatch the floppy out of his hands and rea
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about the
Greek that he selected. I know he didn
mean the words to sting, but they do.
Yourmusic is so bad Hades would kee
you in the underworld to save us all fro
having
o hear it! I try to keep my voice ligh
ike his, turning the words into a harmles
oke among
friends. Nothing more than friends.
It is not! Bartie snatches the floppaway. Orpheus was the greatest musicia
of all
ime.
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Bet he couldnt sing, I snap back.
Who have you all chosen? Orion
voice calls out over our argument.
Sappho, Victria says.
Harley snorts. You wouldpick her.
Whats that supposed to mean?
I cant decide between Hephaestus anPrometheus, Kayleigh says, drawin
attention to
her. Victria shoots her a small smile.
Why Prometheus? Orion asks.
Harley taps the name into his floppy. Yo
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dont want him. He gets his liver eaten ou
by a
giant bird!
But I like the way he brought knowledg
o people, Kayleigh says.
But youre more of an inventor. Orion
ifts the floppy out of her hands an
swipes the
screen, bringing up an image of a huge
ugly man with a forge behind him
Hephaestus is
probably more appropriate. And les
dangerous.
Even here, we have to remind ourselve
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hat Eldest is more of a god than any o
hese long-
dead Greeks, and he can do much worshat have our livers ripped out.
I m selecting Pygmalion, Luthor says.
jump a little; Id forgotten how close h
was to me. Hes so quiet.
Piggy, piggy! Barite taunts. Thasounds about right!
Pygmalion was a sculptor, Orion says
Good choice, Luthor. What about you,
Harley?
I cant find any painters, he grumbles.
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Why dont you do a frescoits lik
painting, but with plasterand you ca
use the
Muses as your subject? Orion suggests.
He bends down to show Harley th
Muses, but Im distracted by Victria. Shmouths
something to me, indicating Bartie an
Luthor with her head.
What? I mouth back.
Her eyes widen at me, and she jerks hehead to Luthor. Then she glance
significantly at
Kayleigh, whos leaned in close to
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Harley, and jerks her head back.
She wants us to give them som
privacy, Luthor whispers in my ear.
Ioh! I say, blushing.
Victria rolls her eyes.
Scooping up the floppy and one of th
books, I follow Victria and Bartie furthe
nto the
Recorder Hall, passing closed door
eading to rooms full of books and Sol
Earth artifacts. Luthor
rails behind me, chuckling at how Harle
and Kayleigh remain ignorant of our plot.
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Victria pauses at the door to the entr
way. Ill distract Orion in a minute, giv
hem some
real alone time. When I dont move, sh
adds, You go on, and waves her hand
at me.
head further down the dark hallway
Luthor hesitates, then follows me, bu
Bartie winks
and drops back to stay with Victria. I
disappointedI would actually like t
alk to him about
maybe working together on our projec
He could compose music and I coul
write lyrics and
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maybe we could . . .
But hed rather stay with Victria.
Fine.
Whatever.
dont care.
Lets go upstairs, Luthor says softly, so
follow him. Ive never explored thRecorder
Hall this much before; I know that th
second and third stories hold relics froSol-Earth, but not
much else.
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Luthor leads me to a room on the secon
floora huge gallery with double doors
Unlike
he entryway, this room is filled with light
lluminating the objects inside.
What is this? I whisper. Canvases hanfrom the walls, illuminated by th
windows.
Sculptures dot the tiled floor; a mobilmade of glittering glass hangs from th
ceiling.
Its the art from past gens, Luthor saysHe steps inside, and while I just stan
here,
gazing around, he watches my expressio
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as if eager to see if hes pleased me.
I . . . I didnt know, I say, awed. And
didnt. Its not that the Recorder Hall ibanned
or kept hiddenalthough you do have t
have permission to see the books. Its that never
occurred to me that a ship led by Eldes
could hold such treasures.
And look, Luthor says, stepping over t
he wall, where an electronic box i
embedded.
He adjusts a dial, and music drifts throug
he room.
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These were all made by people wh
ived on this ship, he says.
close my eyes and listen.
The singer is a soprano, like me, and he
voice is clear and rich. She sings about
mpossibilities: stars within reach, soli
earth at her feet, and ocean mist kissin
her cheeks.
When the song fades to static, I open m
eyes.
Luthors motionless, staring at me with ook on his face that I dont recognize
Lets
make this our studio, he says suddenly
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You and me. Lets work on our project
here. He
pauses, wetting his lips. Together.
think about the adoration Harley shower
on Kayleigh, the way Kayleighs mouth
witches whenever he tries to snatch he
hand in his. I think of the way Bartie hun
back to stay
with Victria.
Yes, I say, and in that moment, nothing
exists beyond him and me and thingering
strains of the music that hang between us.
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5.
Orion gave us a whole month to complet
our projects, but we waste no time gettinstarted. An
opportunity to dedicate our days to the art
we love has been rare in the Hospital, annone of us is taking that that time fo
granted. Kayleigh works outsideshe
using metal and a blowtorch to
make . . .something, but only she know
what. Harley has decided that he needs t
work outside too, to keep his fresco wet
and the two of them have set up space
near the koi pond Kayleigh likes to swi
n.
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Bartie tags along wherever Victria goes
and Victria wanders through the fields and
o the
City, scribbling in the little leather-bound
book that Orion gave her after she tol
him her idea for a collection of poetry. I
almost seems as if Barties taking hiassignment too literallyhes
following the object of his affectio
blindly no matter where she leads himStill, I suspect Bartie would be devastate
o discover what her notebook actuall
containsmy guess is that more than
half her poems are in fact dedicated t
Orion.
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And Luthor and I? We meet each othe
every morning, before the solar lam
clicks on, and
sneak into our little makeshift studi
ogether.
I m glad you didnt decide to work witBartie, he says after the first week.
Why would I work with Bartie? I as
nnocently, even though thats what Idhought I
wanted before. I focus on typing notes o
my floppy so he doesnt notice my blush.
Luthor smirks at me and turns his attentio
back to his own floppy. Orion has ordered
clay
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for him, manufactured chemically in th
abs on the Shipper Level, but when i
arrives, hell have to work quickly t
finish his sculpture before it dries out. Fohat reason, Orions insisted that he
come up with a design before he actuall
starts sculpting.
Seriously, Luthor, I say, Im really
glad were working together.
He mumbles something.
What? I ask.
Luthe. You could call me Luthe. My
friends do.
wonder whom he means by friends.
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Bartie? Probably, even though if yo
asked Bartie,
m sure he wouldnt have applied therm friend to Luthor. Luthor has been
iving at the
Hospital as long as anyonein fact, hink he was one of the first Doc selecte
o move in. Even
so, hes always been stand-offish at best.
shoot him a quick smile. Im glad to b
your friend, I say. Would it be okay if
still
call you Luthor, though? Itsuits you.
He turns back to his floppy, but he can
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hide his smile.
At the end of the second week, Victri
aps on my bedroom door. It zips openbefore I have a
chance to get up from my desk and answe
her knock.
Dont just come in! I say, jumping up.
Victria rolls her eyes and plops down onmy unmade bed.
There are no locks on Godspeed. We
dont need them. The ship is so small thaeveryone
respects privacy. On Sol-Earth, peopl
had to worry about things like theft, bu
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not here. Godspeedis perfectly safe.
Except from Victria when she wants to
alk.
Seleeeeene, she draws out my name.
Whaaaat? I mimic her whine.
She crashes into my pillows dramatically
Im bored.
shove aside the sheet music Id bee
working on. Wheres Kayleigh? I ask.
With Harley. Her voice drips withdisdain, as if even his name disgusts her.
glance to the window. Its nearly time
for the solar lamp to go dark. Theyre stil
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working on their projects?
Victria props herself up on her elbows.
a m certain that the one thing theyre nodoing is working on their projects.
let her words sink in. Oh!
Yeah.
Well . . . I pause, careful about which
words I use. What about you and, uhBartie?
Hes annoying, she snaps, sitting up an
ossing my pillow up in the air. Shcatches it,
hen stares at me. What about you an
Luthor?
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shrug, not meeting her eyes.
Youve been working with him in the
Recorder Hall a lot, she adds, leaninforward.
Yeah, but . . .
Listen, be careful with him. She doesn
meet my eyes; her whole demeanor has
changed. She sets the pillow back on mbed, carefully smoothing it out an
pretending like the
simple task deserves her full focus.
Luthors harmless. Even as I say it,
can hear the doubt in my own voice, th
question
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seeking confirmation.
Hes . . . creepy, Victria says. I just .
I worry.
You dont have to worry about me, I say
as I shove her off my bed. Its Kayleig
you
should keep your eye on!
But the concern wrinkling Victrias browdoesnt fade as she leaves.
Someone knocks on my door before th
solar lamp clicks on the next day. Who it? I call,
yawning. I pull my cotton tank top over th
waist of my soft knit shorts and stagge
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blearily to the door. At least I know it
not Victria; shed have just barreled i
before I had a chance to get up.
Luthors waiting on the other side, lookin
excited.
I know what I want to sculpt, he saysstepping into the room.
What? After the door zips closed
behind him, I push the large button in mwall and
soon the room is filled with the scent o
breakfast. Wall food isnt that greatwecould go to the
caf instead and get something a little bette
but it is convenient. I pull out the war
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meat pasty
from the cavity built into my wall an
break it apart, offering half to Luthor.
He takes it, a flicker of surprise on hi
face. Thanks, he mumbles.
So, I say, spraying bread crumb
before I think to swallow. Whatre yo
going to
make?
You.
What?
You. Luthor sets his half of breakfas
down on the desk. Hes too excited; h
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needs both hands to fly around as h
speaks. I read more about the Pig-guy.
Pygmalion, I say, smiling. I know thname better than he does.
Yeah. And he made a sculpture of wha
he thought the ideal woman would be likeThats
he whole point of his story, that h
created this perfect woman with his artAnd thats what I want to do. I want to
make the perfect woman.
And you want . . . me?
Luthor pauses in his flurried excitemen
really looking at me, taking in m
disheveled hair,
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wrinkled clothes, and sleep-encruste
eyes. Of course you, he says simply, an
my heart fills
with song.
stand perfectly still in our little studio a
Luthor sketches me. He wants to make thstatue in a
classical pose, as he says it, and h
keeps telling me to rearrange my arms, ohunch my back
more, or hold up one hand.
No, no, no, he says, frustrated. Im no
offendedhes frustrated with my posin
n the
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same way that I get frustrated with m
voice when I cant reach a note. Lik
his.
He strides across the floor and pulls m
arms down. He runs both his hands dow
my
arms, making my elbows straighten an
pulling my hands slightly behind my hips.
glance down at
him; he doesnt see me as a person in thi
momentIm not Selene, Im a model.
Luthor slips behind me, pushing one hannto my spine so my back curves inward
making
my chest jut forward.
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Slowly, he walks around, inspecting m
and my pose, stopping when he faces me
Up,
he says gently, tapping my chin. I lift m
face toward the ceiling, the warm ligh
from the high
windows cascading down my cheeks.
Perfect, he whispers. Youre perfect
glance down at him, careful not to mov
my body or my face. When he looks at m
now, I
know hes seeing past my skin, into th
very heart of who I am.
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Orion approves Luthors design quickly
and if he thought there was something od
about his
selection of me as a model, he doesnt sa
anything. After lunch, workers from th
Feeder Level
bring a huge pillar of brown clay, and
Luthor tells them to drop it right there, i
he center of the floor, where the ligh
from the windows hits it just right.
He brings in buckets of water and lays ou
his tools in a neat arc next to the clay.
We could go down to the pond with
Kayleigh and Harley, I suggest.
Luthor shakes his head, his attentio
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focused on lining up each tool correctly
They look
almost like Docs medical instruments: dull-bladed knife, tiny needlelike picks,
scalpel.
I want to workhere, Luthor says. Wityou. Alone.
As if on cue, Victria barges into th
studio. So, she says loudly, her voicbouncing off
he walls, this is where you two hav
been hiding.
Bartie trails behind Victria. He carries hi
guitar on a strap across his shoulders, on
hand
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unconsciously stroking the strings.
Were working, Luthor says pointedly.
So are we. Looking for inspiration an
all that. Victria ignores him and head
straight
over to me. Theres something almos
protective in her stance.
Look for inspiration somewhere else,Luthor growls, and I cant blame him. H
wasjust
about to get started on the sculpture heplanned for two weeks; Victria and
Barties interruption
could not have come at a worse time.
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I need Selene. Victria lifts on
shoulder, as if shes helpless in the face o
her whimsical
muse.
So do I. Luthor hasnt moved awa
from his clay, but his hands armotionless, his
body stiff.
Victria leans over. Youve got a sketch.
Her words are casual, but she touches m
arm,
pressing into my skin as if trying to conve
a message to me through my flesh. Barti
shifts
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nervously by the door.
But Ill still need her.
Before the two of them can dissolve into
real fight, I speak up. Why do you nee
me,
Victria?
I need a song. Music.
You have Bartie. I hope none of the
others notice the bitterness in my voice
She does
have Bartie, all of him, even if she doesn
appear to want him the way I used to.
But I need singing.
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Yeah, Bartie says, looking up for the
first time. Youre the Siren, remember
Sing us a
song thatll make us want to drown.
Victria and Bartie chuckle at the jab, bu
Luthor just scowls. Will you leave if shsings?
he says.
Victria hesitates, but Bartie says, Yes.
Just get rid of them, Luthor says
waving his hand as if hes sacrificinsomething to let
me sing.
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I . . . I dont know what to sing, I say
suddenly shy.
Sing one of the songs youve beeworking on for Orions project.
My hand moves unconsciously to the loos
papers scattered on my makeshift desk.
Theyre not ready.
Victria rolls her eyes. Just sing.
And so I sing.
start with a long notea high Eand hold it as long as I can, letting the strengt
of my
voice lift the sound to the ceiling. I tilt m
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head back and shut my eyes, letting mysel
forget about Luthor and whatever it i
about him that makes Victria nervous
forget about the way Barties
presence fills me with regret, forge
everything but the sound.
hold the note until my breath gives out
and I collapse a little on myself as I suc
n more
air, but I dont open my eyes.
know the notes I want, the words tha
will go with them.
start softly, a contrast to the opening o
he song.
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sing of being afraid, and of findin
friendship. Of love and longing.
Very softly, Bartie picks up the tuneadding simple chords in key with m
voice. His guitar
sounds hesitant at first, but as my voicrises, the chords grow stronger. My voic
falters a bit, a little sad at the way we ca
make such beautiful music together
despite the fact that Bartie will never lovme the way I had wanted him to. Then
glance at Luthor, and my song surges in m
hroat.
sing about the ocean Ive never seen i
real life. I sing about loneliness. I mak
he Siren
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nto something sympathetic. She doesn
mean to kill what she loves. She just can
help it.
Silence wraps around me, and I fill it wit
my voice. I sing of everything that
wrong, and
everything thats right, of hope and death.
sing of infinite wonder, of how everythin
must end.
When I open my eyes, my chest is heaving
my head thrown back, my arms cas
behind me.
ve unconsciously formed myself int
Luthors Pygmalion tribute. And eve
hough I sang a love
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song, my eyes go not to Bartie, who still
his guitar string with one shaking hand, bu
o Luthor,
whos snatched up his notebook and i
resketching me, trying to capture th
moment of my singing
onto paper so he can carve it out of clay.
Thanks, Victria whispers.
Was that what you were looking for?
ask. Theres a sheen of sweat on my brow
Yeah, she says slowly.
I m not finished. Im suddenly sel
conscious, aware of the way my voic
cracked in the
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second verse, the cluttered lyrics I rushe
hrough in the third. I mean, Im stil
working on the lyrics and the rhythm.
Its good.
Its really sad, Bartie says.
laugh. Its not sad! Its a love song!
Bartie stands, slinging his guitar onto hi
back. Love songs can still be sad.
Come on, Victria says, putting one hand
on Barties elbow. Lets leave these two
alone
o work.
She nods to me as she leaves, an
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although she still sidesteps around Lutho
and avoids his
gaze, there must have been something imy song to make her know that hes no
hreat and that our
greatest focus now is on our art.
As if to prove it, Luthor picks up a long
bladed tool and starts to saw at the clay
Ive got
he perfect idea, he says withou
stopping. I know exactly how to mak
his work. He glances
up at me now. Butwould you mind
singing while I sculpt? You could practice
some more for
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your presentation.
d intended to present Orion with a serie
of songs, an entire opera, but I only hapieces
of each song done here and there. I hate
o start singing something incomplete; thove song was
bad enough, but at least it was mostl
done.
Still, theres something in the wa
Luthors hands slide over the clay, in th
silence of his
work, that makes me want to fill the studi
with music once more.
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open my mouth and sing.
Luthor works fast, not breaking for meals
The clay Orion ordered is chemicallproduced not to
dry completely until Luthor applies
glaze to the outside, but the more hhandles it, the more
difficult it is to work with, becoming les
pliable and more prone to crumbling.
dont even think about leaving. How
could I? Still, my voice cracks and
despite drinking
copious amounts of water, I slowl
succumb to silence. Ive done more wor
on my songs today
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han on any day of the previous tw
weeks, and I know that a large part of tha
s because Luthors
nfectious need to sculpt has influence
my need to sing.
The gallerys overhead lights click owhen the solar lamp clicks off. Lutho
growls at the
change in light, but barely pauses.
move behind him, inspecting the wor
hes done.
The sculpture is beautiful, far mor
beautiful than me. The clay version of m
s smooth and
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ithe, more graceful in her stillness than
could ever be when I move.
Can you he starts, then getdistracted by his sculpture, smoothin
down a ridge in the
clay. I watch as his hands run over thsurface. He must be nearly finishedth
sculpture looks so
real now, as if this perfect earthen copy ome will lift her feet up and step from th
narrow base.
Luthors hands move to her forehead, foufingers on each hand swirling across the
sculptures brow, over her closed
delicate eyelids, along her cheeks, dow
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he hollows of her neck, straining with
silent song, lingering on her collarbon
and trailing, finally, finally, coming to res
on her clay breasts.
take a shaky breath.
I like to make the lines smooth, Luthosays, his attention still on his sculpture.
Everything has to blend together.
Its beautiful, I say, my voice softer than
d intended.
He pauses now, and turns to look at meYoure beautiful, he says.
He lifts his mud-coated hands toward me
hen stops. I lean forward. He touches m
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on my
forehead, just as he touched his sculpture
and I close my eyes, pressing my face inthis hand. I
gnore the clay he leaves on my skin
relishing the feel of his gentle fingerailing over my face, down my neck
across my collarbone . . . but he stops.
open my eyes.
He pulls me closer to him.
And the kiss we share makes me glad tha
m not just an empty, clay girl.
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6.
dont go back to the Hospital until wel
after dark, and when I do, I leave Luthon our studio.
Hes still working like mad on th
sculpture, even though, to me, it lookcomplete.
wander down the path between th
Recorder Hall and the Hospital. Ive spen
half my life
n love with Bartie, who never reall
noticed me, and now heres Luthor, who
d never really seen
before, and theres this thing between u
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hat Ill never be able to ignore again.
ear the pond, a huge monstrosity grow
up from the ground. Kayleighs workmobile
metal sculpture that looks half organic
half nightmare. Shes used some sort oreddish-clear gel to create the appearanc
of fire at the base, and added gropin
metal arms reaching through the flames, up
o the sky. But our sky is made of metaoo, and if this sculpture is grasping fo
freedom, it will just meet another wall.
Harleys fresco looks like nothing but plaster sheetI suspect hes been busie
ooking
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at Kayleigh than doing any work. H
usually paints every day, but hes been
rather distracted by
he fact that Kayleighs no longer turnin
him away.
m in a silent, contemplative mood by thime I make it back to the Hospital.
Hey, Selene!
jump, surprised by the sudden voice.
I ve been waiting for you, Bartie says
smiling up from the comfy couch in thcommon
room. A trill of music follows his words
his guitar lies on his lap, his finger
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unconsciously
strumming the strings.
cross the room and sit in the chai
opposite him. A month ago, finding ou
hat Bartie had
been waiting up just to see me would hav
made my face flush and my knees shake
But now, I can
still feel Luthors kiss on my lips.
Why? I ask simply.
Victria . . . His voice trails off.
This would be the point, a month ago, tha
would have made me want to cry. But th
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part of
my heart that will always recognize tha
Bartie was my first love is silent.
I m sure shell come around, I say
Victrias not a very, I dont know
emotional
person. But I bet shell fall for yo
eventually.
Bartie laughs. No, thats not what
meant! Still, hes pleased with what
said.
Then what?
Bartie shifts uncomfortably, his hand
going back to his guitar, running hi
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fingers up and
down the strings. Victria said you . .
and Luthe . . .
Itsfine, I say immediately. Better tha
fine.
Luthe . . . hes not . . . Bartie shift
again, glancing out the dark window
Hes said
hings . . . I just . . .
Victria should pay more attention to he
ove life and less to mine, I snap.
Listen, Bartie says, leaning closer. I
Luthe has friends, then Im one. And th
way he
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alks about people . . . about girls . . .
Girls? More than one? I ask, my hear
plunging.
Thats not what Im trying to say.
cant help but let a sigh of relief escapmy lips.
Just be careful, okay? Bartie finall
mumbles.
nod, but Im still not sure what he means
Barties hands drift back to his guitarWant to jam a bit?
Jam? I laugh.
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I read about it. Its what they used to cal
making music, back on Sol-Earth.
Jam. I say again. Such a ridiculouword.
I ve been working a bit on this, Barti
adds, and he lifts the guitar up into itproper
position, his calloused fingers pressin
nto the strings on the neck. He fumblesistening to the
chords, until he finds the right harmony.
The song is fast, and gets louder as h
goes, but it still sounds melancholy to me
think its
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he way that the notes weave in and out
always going back to the same deep
resonating chords, as
f, no matter how quickly Barties finger
dance on the strings, he cant help but fal
nto the same sad melody.
When he glances up at me, he stops th
song abruptly.
What is it? I ask as the music dies.
You looked as if you were going to cry,
he says.
touch my cheek, but its dry.
How about this instead? Bartie says
smiling, and he starts up on the sam
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melody hed
made to match the song I wrote.
smile, and as soon as I catch the rhythm
open my mouth to sing. I dont let th
music rip
from me as I did in the studio before
nstead I force the song to stream from m
ike a steady flow of quiet water. I don
want to wake anyone up, and even if thcommon room is separated from the
rest of the Hospital, its not soundproof.
Still, the music overwhelms me. By th
ime Im at the end, my voice is raised
and I am
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breathless.
And its not until then that I notice Luthor
standing in front of the elevator, watchinme.
Bartie presses his palm into the guita
strings, silencing them. Luthor doesnmake a sound
as his eyes dart from Bartie to me an
back again. Im suddenly aware of howclose I am to Bartie,
of the flush on my cheeks, of the way m
fingers are almost touching his knee. snatch my hand
back.
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Luthor walks out of the common roo
without saying a word.
When I wake up the next morning, my doos open. I know I closed it the nigh
before, but its
open now, light from the hallwastreaming inside. I get up, rubbing my eye
and pulling my tank
op down over my hips as I press thbutton to zip the door closed. I wonder i
t was Victria, come to talk or barge in a
usual, and if at the last minute she decide
o let me sleep. Or maybe it was just door malfunction.
press the button on my wall for foo
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delivery, and while I wait, I stick m
fingers into the
small cavity by the door. A small blueand-white pill waits for me there. I star
at the capsule,
wondering at how this tiny pill separateme from nearly everyone else on the ship
outside the
Hospital.
swallow the pill dry. Doc says wer
oons, that our restlessness and artisti
expression
comes from this insanity, and that th
nhibitor pills are the only thing that keep
us from really
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osing it.
But I think Kayleigh is probably right. Th
nhibitor pills dont keep us frocracking; they
keep us human, they keep us from turnin
nto the passive nothingness the rest of thFeeders feel.
The little compartment in my wall opens
and steam wafts out of it, leaving behinhe scent
of a meat pasty. I gobble it up as quickly
as I can; wall food isnt the best, and itunbearable to eat cold.
must have oversleptno ones around
he common room, and the Hospital i
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empty. I
head straight to the Recorder Hall. Orio
nods at me in the entryway, but is busworking on a
floppy.
Something blocks the door of our littl
studio, and I have to push hard to ge
nside.
The first thing I notice is Luthor. He
brown with clay, covered up to hi
elbows, with
splotches of it decorating his clothes an
great swaths over his brow. Little lines o
sweat trickle through the dirt on his face.
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Underneath the clay and sweat is a scow
angrier than any Ive seen..
The next thing I notice is the sculptureWhile Luthors face radiates wit
emotion, the clay
face of the sculpture is blank. No wondeLuthors hands are caked with mud. He
smoothed
every feature from the sculptures visagemaking the cheeks so flat that theyr
almost gone,
smoothing the nose into nothing but bump, completely erasing the lips. Th
eyeshed worked a
solid day on the eyes alone, using a tin
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pick-like tool to carve in eyelashesar
now nothing more
han slight indentations under the barelyhere brow.
There is an eerie quality to the sculptur
now: The body is still intact, perfectlbeautiful and
meticulously detailed, but the face i
nothing but a flat shadow.
Still, it seems to stare at me with it
nothing eyes.
Its better now, Luthor says flatly.
It was lovely before. My voice come
out weak.
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Luthor levels his glare at me. Its bette
now, he repeats.
My hand reaches behind me for the doormy body seeking an escape before m
mind can
ell me what I need to do.
What were you doing with Bartie?
Luthor asks.
What?
Last night. In the common room. Wha
were you doing with Bartie? He bites ofeach
word as if it tastes foul in his mouth.
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Nothing. Singing. Nothing.
Luthor reaches toward me with his clay
covered hands. I flinch. He notices, andrather than
becoming gentler as he would have a da
before, his hand tenses and his eyenarrow. He touches
my brow, his fingers raking across my
skin forcefully as he drags them downover my eyelids,
eaving brown streaks on my face.
Youre mine, he whispers. Mine.
get the frex out of there.
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7.
From that point on, I dont work in th
studio. I go at nightwith Bartie anVictria, both wearing
ooks of concern and worryto get m
notebooks and sheet music from the HalLuthors
covered his sculpture up with a larg
cloth, and I dont have the courage to loo
at the blank face
again.
My music takes on a different tone as
write with Victria and Bartie, whov
urned the
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garden behind the Hospital into thei
studio. Its nice to be able to get help fro
a poet when I work on lyrics, or advic
from a fellow musician when Istruggling to find chords. I work quicke
but at the same time, it feels as if Ive lossome of the emotion behind the music. I
started out writing love songs, and ende
up writing sad ones. Perhaps appropriat
for the Sirens, but not for
me.
And then, almost before Ive really had chance to put everything together the way
want,
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ts time to present our work to Orion.
Kayleigh and Harley enlist all of our help
o get their pieces from the pond behinhe
Hospital up to the Recorder Hall. Harle
wanted to do the presentations by thpond, but Orion
nsisted they be done inside the Hal
Besides, the projects are supposed to bnstalled in the
galleries on the upper floors once wer
done with our presentations. I assume thameans Luthor
had to clean up as well, that our studio i
once more just the gallery, but I try not to
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hink on it too much.
The gallery seems darker with thre
hulking new additionsKayleighs metasculpture,
Harleys fresco, and Luthors covered-up
clay sculpture.
Orion asks us each to explain our work a
part of our presentations. Kayleigh goe
first,
followed by Harley, but I barely hea
hem. Im too busy staring at the bump
cloth over Luthors
sculpture. It doesnt have that sam
familiar shape Id come to know. It seem
shorter.
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Orion nods to Luthor, indicating that h
should go next, but Luthor shakes his head
nstead, Victria begins reciting her poetry
ts not until Bartie goes that I am able to
draw my attention away from Luthor
oo-short
sculpture.
His music is hollow in the best possiblway. It speaks of longing and sorrow, and
want to
fill it with my voice, but I dont. Its bettehis way.
As his music fades, I step forward wit
my own. I close my eyes and forget about
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everything and just sing.
And for that short moment, everything i
right.
But then the moment disappears.
open my eyes, and Im still here. And sos Luthor.
Thank you, Selene, Orion says. Now
ts your turn, Luthor.
He doesnt bother introducing his work
nstead, Luthor steps up to his sculptur
and in
one swift motion rips the cloth off.
gaspthe only sound in the silen
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gallery.
The sculpture is no longer facelessit
headless. From the rough marks at thdecimated
remains of the neck, I can easily imagin
him wrapping his fingers around the claycarefully and
precisely squeezing, squeezing,squeezing
until the head simply popped right off.
From the neck down, the sculpture i
beautifuleven more graceful and elegan
han Id
remembered. There are cuticles etched i
he fingernails, veins at the delicat
wrists. Individual toes curl around th
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base, and the draping gown looks as if i
s made of silk, not mud.
But from the neck upnothing.
Well. Orions voice cuts through the
ringing silence. This is quite . .
lluminating,
Luthor.
Luthor lets the sheet that had beecovering his sculpture drop to the floor a
he turns and
storms out of the gallery.
Even Kayleigh and Harley, as wrapped up
as they are in each other, have noticed th
way Bartie and
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Victria never leave my side. Their worr
s palpable.
Go to Doc, Harley finally saysRipping the head off a sculpture o
someone is loons.
Maybe he can up Luthors meds.
I dont think the meds we take hav
anything to do with being loons, Kayleig
says.
They just
This isnt the time for that, Victrisnaps. Im surprised; Ive never seen he
be short
with Kayleigh before. But Harleys right
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We should talk to Doc. Or maybe even
Eldest?
We let the weight of her words sink inbefore I say anything. Not Eldest. Its jus
a creepy
sculpture. No reason to contact Eldest.
Although no one says anything, the tensio
n the room dissolves a bit now that Iv
said to
eave Eldest out of it.
StillDoc? Bartie says.
shake my head. Its just a sculpture.
cant sleep that night, which is why
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when my door zips open, Im awake to se
Luthor standing in
he doorway.
You were supposed to be asleep, he
says.
Youre supposed to be in your own
room, I snap back.
He shrugs and steps inside, letting thdoor zip closed behind him.
I didnt say you could come in!
He just stands there.
Get out! I say, my voice rising.
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n two steps, hes at my bed, his ope
hand covering my mouth. I try to shout, bu
he
sound is muffled. He presses his weigh
against me, pushing me into my mattress.
hrash around,
but cant escape his grip.
You were supposed to be mine, he says
His breath is hot, his pupils dilated.
shake my head the best I can under hi
grip.
I dont like toshare.
His hand slips down. I dont know wha
youre talking about! I yell.
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But his hand isnt letting me goits jus
moving further down. His other hand join
he
first around my neck.
am hyperaware of the situation. I can fee
each heavy thud of my heart growinstronger
and faster. I can feel each of his finger
around my throat, each pressing into mskin. Hes not
choking me; hes just making sure I know
hat he could.
Unbidden and unwanted, an image of hi
sculpture comes into my mind: a perfec
body
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with its head squeezed off.
My eyes burn. Dont, I whisper, afraid
o say more. The word has to fight its waup my
hroat to my mouth.
I could, he says. I could. I can d
whatever I want.
Dont, I plead.
You sing. You become someone else
when you singmore beautiful, mor
perfect.
His index finger strokes the front of m
hroat, where my vocal chords are.
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Dont sing for anyone else, he orders.
nod my headanything to make him g
away.
His grip tightens around my neck, pushin
me further into my mattress. He lifts hi
right
eg, and, without removing his hands fro
my throat, he climbs over me so that he
straddling me
n my own bed.
His full weight presses down against me.
Tears leak from my eyes, dripping into my
hair.
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Youre mine, he whispers.
t is a very long time before he leaves, bu
when he finally does, a part of me haalready died.
My back is uncomfortably straight in th
blue plastic chair across from Docs desn his office.
He steeples his fingers as he looks at me
But, he says in a carefully controllevoice,
he didnt actually do anything?
For answer, I remove the scarf around my
neck. Ten long fingerprint-shaped bruises
decorate my throat.
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Butnothing else? Doc shift
uncomfortably. He threatened you, yes,
understand
hat, but he didnt actually . . . ?
Would it matter if he did? I ask. My
voice is raspy, a mixture of the gaspinsobs that
raked through my throat in the shower thi
morning and the pressure Luthor exerteon my vocal
chords as he
Doc leans forward. This is very serious
he says. I think perhaps I should giv
Luthor
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some hormone suppressants, at least unti
he Season. . . .
Pills? Youre just going to give himpills?
His, er, desire for you isnt entirely
natural. We can tamp down that desire, aeast for a
few years, until the Season.
I m not just worried about his desire.
Docs eyes drift lower, to the bruises on
my neck.
I could bring Eldest into this, h
mutters, half to himself. But the thing is .
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What? My feeble voice cracks. Wha
s it? Why are you trying to nicely say that
Luthor wont be punished for what hedone to me?
But if he didnt actually do anything
What do you want me to say? I stan
up, my voice straining against my desire t
shout.
That he held me down on the bed, eve
when I begged him to get up? That h
crushed my throat
until I couldnt make a sound? That h
aughedat me as I struggled against him?
That he did things to me that Im to
disgusted to even describe with words.
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Doc wont meet my eyes.
Luthor is skilled in tactile and kineti
studies, he tells his neatly ordered deskHe may
be focused on creating sculptures now, bu
his skills could lead to an advancement imodular
studies of the ships engines, or help
ncrease efficiency in the City or throughe floppy network.
. .
And all I can do is sing, I croak.
collapse back in the chair, hoping fo
Doc to protest, but we both know its true
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Theres
not much room for art on Godspeed; I
superfluous at best. People like Kayleigor Luthor will be able to find a productiv
way to contribute to the ship. People lik
me or Bartie will be able to do nothin
more than provide some amusement fohe real workers.
Luthors more important than me, becaus
his skills can aid the ship. A song inothing
compared to productivity.
laugh, a bitter, cracked sound damaged
by Luthors chokehold on me last night.
cant even sing, not now. One day
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soon, if Docs rightmy vocal chord
will heal.
But could I ever really sing again? ILuthor says I can only ever sing for him
and he can
do whatever he wants on this ship thavalues people based on what labor o
skills they can provide, dare I ever mak
music?
I ll start Luthor on hormon
suppressants, Doc says in the silence
That should stop
his . . . urges.
But not his hands, his big, strong hand
hat choked the sound out of me, tha
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popped the
head off his sculpture, that held the razor
sharp scalpels he used to carve into clayhat he could use to carve into me.
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8.
Well protect you, Victria says
Kayleigh, sitting on my bed, nods hehead. If Doc wont
protect you, we will.
What can you do? I ask with a feebl
augh.
Kayleigh and Victria exchange glancesThe boys will help, Kayleigh says
Harley and
Bartie.
They dont know me that well.
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Theyll still help.
can see it now: a lifetime where I
always watched by at least one of themBefore, I had
hought of Kayleigh as a sometime frien
and Victria as an occasional companionHarley and
Bartie were always in the background o
my mind. But I knowI can see it in thearnest looks
both girls are giving methat here is
chance for me to become something moro them all.
ot friend. Ward.
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I cant ask that of you, of any of you,
say.
Victria shakes her head. We cant let thahappen to you again.
She looks at my neck, but she cant see th
wounds Ive hidden behind my clothes.
You cant protect me all day, every day
You can move into my room, Kayleigh
says.
Or mine, Victria adds.
stare out the window.
Selene? Kayleigh asks. Something i
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her voice draws my attention to her. You
forgot
o take your pill, she says. She holds ouhe little blue-and-white capsule that hold
he drugs that keep me conscious, awar
of the world.
hadnt forgotten it.
Silly me, I mutter, taking the pill
Kayleigh watches me carefully as I put ion my tongue
and pretend to swallow.
But I dont.
After a while, I plead a headache, and th
wo girls leave. They dont go far; I ca
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hear them
alking, guarding my room. They shout a
Luthor when he gets too close; I can heahim denying
heir accusations, their voices raising unti
Doc comes out and silences everyone.
spit the blue-and-white pill out of m
mouth and into the toilet, then flush i
away.
Kayleigh said the pills made you nothing
and nothing seems like a pretty good thin
o be
right now.
Someone knocks on my door. I know i
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cant be Luthorhe doesnt knock.
Doc stands on the other side. Ive sen
your little guards to their rooms, he saysThen
his harsh expression melts. Ive als
posted a guarda real guardat Luthorroom. I dont
want you to feel threatened.
But I do. Guard or no. Because eventually
n a few days or weeks or even a whol
month,
he guard will go away. And I still won
have a lock on my door. And Luthor won
have forgotten.
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You can never escape from me. Thos
were the last words he said to me, jus
before he left
my room that night.
But in the end, its remarkably easy to
escape.
As I walk past the common room, I ca
see the way things will one day be
Kayleigh is
snuggled into Harleys arm on the couc
by the windowtheir love will grow an
spread and be
everything they want. Bartie plays a son
for Victria. Victria may or may not fall fo
he guitar
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player, but their friendship wont fade
They are an idyllic vision of what I onc
wanted in my life.
n the corner, watched closely by Doc, i
Luthor. He stares at me, eyes narrowed, a
cross
he room. He blames me for the clos
watch hes been under these past few
weeks, the additional
pills. He hasnt forgotten.
But I almost have.
take the elevator down to the lobby, the
stroll down the path that leads from th
Hospital
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o the Recorder Hall. I think about goin
nto the Hall, maybe seeing the sculptur
one last time, but the idea doesnt creat
an urge in me to make the effort tcontinue up the stairs.
Orion stands in the doorway. He starts to
alk to me, but then he frowns as I pass by
The path bleeds into the road that lead
deeper into the Feeder Level. I know
where Im
goingIve already talked about this wit
Doc, who got permission from Eldest fo
my
reassignment.
Kayleigh was right. Without the pills, you
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really do feel nothing.
And nothing can be nice.
open my palm, letting my last blue-and
white pill drop heedlessly to the ground.
stand at the fence, staring down at tharge rabbits used for meat on the ship
This is my
new job.
ot songs.
Rabbits.
glance back once.
Luthor will forget about me. He wante
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my music, but empty people dont sing
ll stay
here. I will care for the rabbits. I will lemyself become a nothing, and then Lutho
wont want me, because there will b
nothing to want.
t took several days before I felt the fea
fade.
didnt know that everything else woulfade too.
But its nice to be without the fear
Without the sad.
n the end, it didnt seem like such a bi
price to pay.
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My songs, in exchange for nothing.
othing is nice.
Empty is good.
cross over the fence. The rabbits hop. Up
and down. Ears twitch.
will be this girl, the girl who cares fo
he rabbits. Luthor took my music when h
ook
everything else from me that night. Wha
does it matter to me if I let the emptines
fill my shell?
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9.
The Day I Die
hum a song.
do that sometimes.
Hum.
like sounds.
Hello, Selene, a deep male voice say
from the fence of the rabbit fields.
stop humming.
Do you remember me? the man asks.
Youre Luthor, I say.
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Luthor nods. I told you before, call m
Luthe. All my friends do.
But . . . I dont think he is a friend.
The fence around the rabbit field i
nothing but chicken wire. He crumples i
and shoves it
away as easily as if it were made o
paper.
Selene, he says. I like sounds, but
dont like the way my name snarls aroun
his lips.
You were always my perfect girl, he
says softly. The rabbits scurry out of hi
way as he
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walks slowly toward me.
unrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. My min
screams at me, but my body doesnt move
Everything is dull around me. A splintered
memory jabs into my brain, trying to spar
ife
nto me, but everything is slow and steady
can hear my heartbeat in my ears, a dul
normal beat . .
beat . . . beat. Not the panicked racing o
he rabbits heartbeat when I hold it down
But I feel like a rabbit, one selected foslaughter.
Luthor touches the side of my face, run
his fingers down my cheek, tucks a stran
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of hair
behind my ear.
Sing for me, he says.
Singing isnt productive, I say. But I do
sing, sometimes. Or hum. I like soundsThe
rabbits like sounds. Sometimes we sin
ogether.
But I dont want to sing for him.
Luthors hands slip down my neck, hifingers pressing slightly against my throa
Sing,
he commands.
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My mouth opens, my body automaticall
ready to obey the command.
But there is something inside me thasilences my voice.
will not give him what he wants, thi
rebel inside me whispers.
do not sing.
Luthors grip on my neck tightens, and hpushes me down, first to my knees, then t
my
back. You are mine, he growls. If cant have her, I willtake you.
My body doesnt protest. It has bee
rained by years of drugs an
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acquiescence.
shut my eyes.
Youre more like clay now than you
were before.
open my eyes.
Luthor is grinning.
In the story, Pygmalion turned his girl oclay into a human. But I have turned
human
nto a girl of clay. And that is, by far, thebetter option.
open my mouth.
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And I sing then. Not the song Lutho
wants. I sing for myself, a dirge,
mournful wail. I
singI screamuntil Luthors hand
around my throat silence me.
And I die. But at least I die in song.