The fragment below follows the story "127" where it last left off. You can use the tags to view all the parts of the story.
Nicholas knew at that moment that HE cared. He cared very much.
~
Jessica woke up with a start, her head snapping forward. The painting on the easel in front of her was strange and disturbing - she had learned weeks ago that she couldn't paintCalmona anymore. She couldn't paint Columbus. She couldn't paint any of the things she had painted her entire life, because it was all a lie. One morning she had a dream, and the dream had made her think, and now she couldn't stop. At first she had tried to tell people what had happened, but people who she knew and had cared about - not really cared about, but cared to see and greet and make conversation with - stared at her with those horrible, ugly blank stares and assured her that everything was okay, nothing was wrong, she was being silly and they didn't understand her joke. She coughed, her eyes hurt when she coughed. Her eyes always hurt now, since she stopped sleeping. She thought people would notice, but they never did. No one saw the bags under her eyes or that she dozed off at work. The first time she left work to wander and think she realized that no one noticed. There was no one in charge of making sure she stayed, there was no one to tell her that she needed to be there. She stopped going to work for weeks, but she came back now. Sometimes painting made her feel better.
She tossed her newest work into the recycler - the empty eye sockets of the woman she painted seemed to stare at her as the painting floated through the air and landed in the bin, only the number "23" painted in red stuck out above the edge of the receptacle. She walked out, ignoring the off hand questions and waves of her co-workers. She itched again.
She tossed her newest work into the recycler - the empty eye sockets of the woman she painted seemed to stare at her as the painting floated through the air and landed in the bin, only the number "23" painted in red stuck out above the edge of the receptacle. She walked out, ignoring the off hand questions and waves of her co-workers. She itched again.
~
Nicholas was starting to get frustrated by the man who stood before him.
"I just need to know where we keep information about where we are from," he said, a sigh carrying his voice. The man blinked hard, then spoke. Nicholas was quickly starting to get frustrated with the way people spoke. Like they didn't care about anything.
"I'm sorry, but I've already shown you all the books we have."
"But look at these - they are for children. There are only a few pages. There isn't anything in here about the place we're from except this story about the launch," Nicholas pointed at the pile as he spoke. The man in front of him drew a long breath and started to speak.
"I'm sorry, but I've already shown you al-" Nicholas cut him off.
"Fine! Fine. I'll take them."
"I'm glad I could help you with your art project sir. Please return the books at your convenience."
A long, dizzying jog through the corridors later Nicholas was at his room. He sat on the bed, picking up the ancient volumes for the first time since he was a child. The first book was titled "The Haerl Al Keen" and had a picture of an enormous boat on the front. Since these were all he had to go on, all he had to sate his curiousity, he resolved to examine every inch - to learn everything he could from the volume. He brought the book as close to his face as he could and bit his lip, concentrating. Was there something under the boat?
"I just need to know where we keep information about where we are from," he said, a sigh carrying his voice. The man blinked hard, then spoke. Nicholas was quickly starting to get frustrated with the way people spoke. Like they didn't care about anything.
"I'm sorry, but I've already shown you all the books we have."
"But look at these - they are for children. There are only a few pages. There isn't anything in here about the place we're from except this story about the launch," Nicholas pointed at the pile as he spoke. The man in front of him drew a long breath and started to speak.
"I'm sorry, but I've already shown you al-" Nicholas cut him off.
"Fine! Fine. I'll take them."
"I'm glad I could help you with your art project sir. Please return the books at your convenience."
A long, dizzying jog through the corridors later Nicholas was at his room. He sat on the bed, picking up the ancient volumes for the first time since he was a child. The first book was titled "The Haerl Al Keen" and had a picture of an enormous boat on the front. Since these were all he had to go on, all he had to sate his curiousity, he resolved to examine every inch - to learn everything he could from the volume. He brought the book as close to his face as he could and bit his lip, concentrating. Was there something under the boat?
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