“Head on, he looks more like me five or so hours ago. Only the little machines hacked out chunks of my remaining calf muscle, not my shoulder. I still own my shoulders. Lucian shivers because he hasn’t learned to smile on his own yet. “Is he cold?” the little girl outside says. “No, he’s fine,” her mother says, or her nanny, or whoever’s job it is to lie to her at the moment. I think of mother first since my mother told me at least twice a day that she wasn’t going to die, even though the letter... I found in the trash said she was a “DEAD BITCH.” My mother also told me on numerous occasions that my father was a good man. What she didn’t tell me was that he kept sticking his nose in other people’s (important people’s) business. This was back when he had a nose to speak of. The smallest of the machines carries the hunk of Lucian in its tiny pincers and deposits the flesh into the open slot. Lucian waves goodbye, trembling, then the glass darkens. As soon as the machines release him, he thrashes at them with his good arm and leg.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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