Another bomb explodes in the air. There is fire. Desks, potted plants, paperwork in manila folders. Objects fall, reminiscences of normal human life. That is in the past now. Ash swirls down like gray snow.
There is deafening noise. It pounds in my ears, leaves ringing that bounces back and forth in my skull. People scream tortured, anguished screams from the ground. I dare not look. A man flies down from a burning building. I see that he has black, black hair and a gray tweed suit. He wears no shoes, only red socks.
Even through the window, I can smell smoke. It stinks, like rotten eggs or decaying garbage.
I feel guilty for being here, alive, safe. Whole. Where is Lucas? Where is an older brother when you need one? Lucas is big and strong. He is thirteen years old. In past summers, we would laugh in the shade and run in the grass. That was only two years ago. It seems ages away.
I start to cry. "It isn't fair!" I wail into the gray wall. A mistake.
"SHUSH!" the whitecoat thunders from the other room. He strides in. "Do you want us to be discovered?" he hisses.
Then, he noticed my tears. I try to brush them away, feeling embarrassed. "Now, hush hush Maria." the whitecoat says in a softer tone, bending down to give me a hug, " you're lucky to be here."
The hug leaves me with a strange, chemical smell in my lungs. It's what everyone says, I think. "You're lucky to be here." I wonder if I really am. I certainly wouldn't want to be out there. The whitecoat walks away.
"I don't want to be here," the words come out barely a whisper. As soon as I say it, It sounds wrong. Ungrateful. Another message bleeps in my brain. 'You are lucky to be alive. They made sacrifices for you. Now you must do the same.' The voice is cold and electronic. I wonder whose voice it is. Why does it sound like that? How does it know everything?
Five years pass by. The war rages on. The messages still bleep in her head. Maria has lost track of time.
The white rat sees the girl again. She is afraid, he thinks. She does not know what will happen. The rat sighs and climbs to the rim of his food dish for a better view. He has been observing the girl for quite a while now. She has dark, short hair trimmed once a week by the ones in white.
Despite everything, the rat is fond of the ones in white. They have given me what no rat has possessed before, he thinks. Intelligence. The rat knows that he possesses amazing capabilities and emotions that no rat has ever felt before.
Because of this, he knows. He knows what will happen to the girl, who is entering the incubation chamber. He knows that he will see her again in five years, when she will emerge. He knows he will be right in his cage, right by the barred window when she emerges.
Perhaps, just perhaps, thinks the mouse, I may just have met my match. At this he shuddered, and retreated to his burrow under the fiberglass shavings.
There is deafening noise. It pounds in my ears, leaves ringing that bounces back and forth in my skull. People scream tortured, anguished screams from the ground. I dare not look. A man flies down from a burning building. I see that he has black, black hair and a gray tweed suit. He wears no shoes, only red socks.
Even through the window, I can smell smoke. It stinks, like rotten eggs or decaying garbage.
I feel guilty for being here, alive, safe. Whole. Where is Lucas? Where is an older brother when you need one? Lucas is big and strong. He is thirteen years old. In past summers, we would laugh in the shade and run in the grass. That was only two years ago. It seems ages away.
I start to cry. "It isn't fair!" I wail into the gray wall. A mistake.
"SHUSH!" the whitecoat thunders from the other room. He strides in. "Do you want us to be discovered?" he hisses.
Then, he noticed my tears. I try to brush them away, feeling embarrassed. "Now, hush hush Maria." the whitecoat says in a softer tone, bending down to give me a hug, " you're lucky to be here."
The hug leaves me with a strange, chemical smell in my lungs. It's what everyone says, I think. "You're lucky to be here." I wonder if I really am. I certainly wouldn't want to be out there. The whitecoat walks away.
"I don't want to be here," the words come out barely a whisper. As soon as I say it, It sounds wrong. Ungrateful. Another message bleeps in my brain. 'You are lucky to be alive. They made sacrifices for you. Now you must do the same.' The voice is cold and electronic. I wonder whose voice it is. Why does it sound like that? How does it know everything?
Five years pass by. The war rages on. The messages still bleep in her head. Maria has lost track of time.
The white rat sees the girl again. She is afraid, he thinks. She does not know what will happen. The rat sighs and climbs to the rim of his food dish for a better view. He has been observing the girl for quite a while now. She has dark, short hair trimmed once a week by the ones in white.
Despite everything, the rat is fond of the ones in white. They have given me what no rat has possessed before, he thinks. Intelligence. The rat knows that he possesses amazing capabilities and emotions that no rat has ever felt before.
Because of this, he knows. He knows what will happen to the girl, who is entering the incubation chamber. He knows that he will see her again in five years, when she will emerge. He knows he will be right in his cage, right by the barred window when she emerges.
Perhaps, just perhaps, thinks the mouse, I may just have met my match. At this he shuddered, and retreated to his burrow under the fiberglass shavings.
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