Polly hid within the false security of utter darkness of her closet, tearfully listening to the escalating screams of her parents spitting unadulterated venom at one another. The fight had been going on for hours, same as every night this week, leaving the 10-year-old to drown in the torrent of racing thoughts and fears that when the fight was finally over she might become an orphan.
So far, the media isn’t reporting on her technological breakthrough as a result of the corporate leak, but for Sonja, it’s a stark reminder that her artificial son is far too mysterious, dangerous, and unknowable to exist in the public eye.
The only blood relation in the townhouse were a sister and brother, neither of which were ever quite fortunate enough to find their soulmate or at least a suitable companion to complete them. Over a number of years they became the legal guardians to twenty-seven children of various ages, nationalities and gender identities, all rescue adoptions plucked from one disaster or another. Their family coat of arms was stitched together from many varied pieces of cloth, a thing that could never be whole. And yet somehow was.
I washed up on the shore of this land, plucked from the wreckage and welcomed by strangers. Now, I live among these people, working with and loving them, though their language, their place of origin and even their names are unknown to me. They know little of the world outside their tight-knit community, expecting it to come to them. And it never does.
Emmaculata Xenomid 2.0 was 100% organic but she was raised by faceless robots from birth which meant she lacked the ability to make friendly facial expressions when in polite societal conversation so her human adoptive parents fitted her with subdermal holographic implants to give her a virtual smile to make her more approachable.
Élise said, “Ne me quitte pas,” and I only understood the words “leave” and “me” so that was what I did, little realizing I was walking away from my one true soulmate all because of a language barrier and my preteen refusal to pay attention in French Class.
Alandria was convinced she could have taken Maxum down with a simple flick of her wrist but she was Brambleroot and there were coven traditions for formal magic duels that needed to be followed to the letter if she was to benefit and claim that loud-mouthed loser’s wand, magic incantations, and mystic artifacts.
Her features were extraordinary but she thought she was too pale. Her skin looked washed out against her strawberry hair, making her wish it was her Mama’s brilliant fiery red or her sister’s burning sunset gold but Anne’s lacked luster. It was as dull as dirty pennies.
I’m a pessimistic saver and she’s an optimistic spender, we vibe on different humor wavelengths, and she’s a throw-things-explosive-screaming arguer while I tend to shut down and walk away, so there was absitively posolutely no way in hell Demi and I were ever going to hook up but that crafty little bish caught my ass off guard by whispering “I love you” in my ear and nibbling on my neck and suddenly the fundamental laws of physics and the profound theorems of mathematics no longer made sense.
They say you don’t know what you don’t know which caused me to question, What did I know of love or its origins?
I called her love, this astonishing enchantress who slipped out of the void and through my vanity, her beauty masking the faceless monster beneath, and publicly stoning me with a slander so brutal it left me no option but to seek refuge within her oblivion.
MADD FICTIONAL 