Normally Special Read Free

colors. I want to fall into the spray of them. I feel there is a cure there, somewhere, in the warmth and wet.
     
    I now know my words won’t make you love me.
     
    But I will keep trying because every wall in the world is waiting for the impact of my head.
     
    The blood is still no consolation. Can you believe that?
     
    When we finally go out for coffee it will be uneventful. My hands will still tremble because that’s what they do when they get close to the truth.
     
    Uneventful means, “not what I need it to be” and, “not as good as I hoped it would be.”
     
    I don’t know where to put my punctuation.
     
    I know that no matter how cute I would be or how pretty you thought I was, you wouldn’t reach across to touch my face.
     
    If all I want is lying beside you and you not wanting that moment to stop, even with more than enough clothes on, is that not such a small wish that could be granted?
     
    I bought lollipops for strangers once.
     
    I told an ugly girl she had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen.
     
    I get things off of high shelves for short old ladies.
     
    Why can’t I get granted a fucking wish?
     
    I am hiding from my gardener now. He is mean and brown.

She Who Subjected the Sun
     
    The auction was hours over. The Coveted were made ready and released to their Keepers. The Buyers, who could now relax, settled in around the edges of the room, boasting their profits to one another behind the backs of hands, taking care not to sit near any of the Dispatchers. A confetti hum rose and fell as tense excitement built in the dim; the testing had begun.
     
    Mine took me with an owner’s grip to a stool at the bar. I sat, hands folded, eyes down. I knew to be quiet and become small (Canon 14) as he went through my documents, asking me several questions about similar subjects—a drilling. He gave only what he wanted. I took it, which was my place (Canon 17). I told him my truth when asked, trying to give my voice strength, not wanting it to sound as feeble as it sounded to me. The Trials had already been so hard; I just wanted to get through the testing as quickly as possible.
     
    Forty minutes later he says, “It’s time. Look at me.” And I know I have to. My head is stone heavy like the ends of my hair are tethered to the ground. His face will be forever and I don’t want to see it yet, there are years to see it, decades, and I am afraid of what I will find there. I must take care to breathe.
     
    He repeats himself, more forcefully this time. I tilt and look, my neck cramping with the new movement. He is dark, as expected, his face wide, skin smooth, head, bald. He looks strong, bullish, and younger than I expected. His eyes grip mine and I shiver, feeling the intensity of his stare run through my body like a current. I now know the testing will be easy. He is a Keeper most Coveted would long for, I am a lucky one. I search his eyes for any kindness but he is not showing any yet. I know that won’t come until later, after the testing is through and my classification confirmed.
     
    I know to keep my expression even (Canon 12), but he is a force and I am alone now and nervously blurt, “I was the top ranked in obedience during my Trials.” I cringe with the mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth.
     
    “Then why do you speak without being asked? Do you not realize this is testing? Do you not see your file in front of me?”
     
    I nod and look down. “I am sorry.” Feeble. Again.
     
    “Cage fodder,” he slurs and the words create a pit in my stomach. What have I done? Have I already failed? I fear the cages. We all do.
     
    I bring my drink to my lips, taking a long sip through the little red straw, and immediately regret the swallow as I am starting to feel tipsy. I should not drink to excess (Canon 13). My eyes cross, fighting to stare at the ice crowding the surface. I am upset I gave words without permission (Canon 6). It is one of the most basic of the Canons. My Trial