slater carrigan | two | cb1

There you sit in the infirmary, angry, journal in hand, an enormous welt on your right shoulder. It's hard to feel the special kind of immortality granted only to the youthful when something as simple as a bee can come along and nearly kill you.

"It was a close call," you hear the nurse tell your parents. You feel bad; your mother had to cancel lunch with the mayor over this.

"If he hadn't been in the training center, this could've been bad, Veronica."

Of course she'd be on a first name basis with the doctors of Two; she's on a first name basis with anyone who is someone these days. She has to be, you guess, now that she has announced her candidacy for Mayorship.

"Is he still—" the doctor started, "Hunting down a fantasy? Yes."

She has a way of picking you apart with her words; making you feel incomplete. The journal in your hand grows heavy; she has forgotten how to dream, your mother, and you don't know how to do anything but. You keep your eyes closed and pretend to be asleep. Your friends will be here soon, and you'll feel whole again.