Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Then I agree,” Kronos says. “She has been through far too much pain. She has to carry that every day, and when the baby comes, she will be reminded of how it came to be, how her family was taken from her when she was still too small… this is the only way to wipe away that terrible tragedy forever.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Atlas says. “It would be best to start the process while she’s sleeping.”
“No!” I exclaim, sitting up in bed. “I don’t want to be simulated. I don’t want my memories taken. I want to suffer. It’s the only way I know I’m alive.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Atlas says. “You could be happy in a way you cannot believe right now. It is going to be for the best.”
I don’t believe that for a second. I slide out from the sheets, knowing that once these aliens get an idea in their heads, they don’t give up on it easily. Atlas wants me under his complete and total control. It’s not enough for him to hold me captive. He wants every neuron in my mind to be beholden to him.
He moves toward me, his bulk taking up all of the available exits. There’s no way out.
There’s no way out…
“Shhh, it’s okay,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you. This will feel good. This will feel better than anything has ever felt before.”
“Let me go!”
I shout the words before he even touches me, but I know what the outcome is going to be. Sure enough, before I know it, he has hold of me. He’s trying not to be rough with me, but I am fighting for more than my life. I’m fighting for my mind. I’m fighting to know exactly how bad my life is. I’m fighting for the first and last little bit of freedom I ever had…
11 HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Swing music is playing on the big free-standing radio, and I am maneuvering a mop around the black and white checkered floor as sun streams through the window. I can hear the sounds of the neighborhood filtering through the partially open pane. There’s the low hum of cars, and the sounds of kids playing ball in the cul-de-sac. I smile to myself as they shout their little victories and frustrations to the world at large.
“Honey! I’m home!”
I turn toward the door as it swings open. A man steps in wearing a brown three-piece suit. He has very pleasant square features and a broad, pleased smile on his face. He drops his briefcase by the door, removes his shoes, and comes to give me a kiss.
“Hello, darling,” my handsome husband says.
I smile up at him, rubbing my palms over my now flatter stomach. I have the memory of being big and wide and swollen, but every time I touch my body now, I find it quite different. I suppose I’ll get used to the change over time. That’s what my husband says anyway, and he’s always right. I’m very lucky to have such a handsome, wonderful man in my life. Some of the other ladies down the street occasionally have things to complain about, but I never do. My husband is perfect. He provides for me and ensures I have everything I need. A low hum thrumming through our house is testament to that — it’s the sound of my new washer dryer unit doing the laundry so I don’t have to.
He makes sure I have all the clothing and other trinkets I want too. Right now I am wearing a very pretty dress with cornflower blue blooms all over it. My hair has been coiffed into curls. When I glance into the little plastic framed round mirror set on the counter, I see that my makeup is perfectly applied even though I don’t entirely recall applying it.
“How was the baby today?”
“Oh, the baby. Of course, he’s been perfect!” I let out a little carefree laugh and go into the nursery, which is painted in a lovely teal and powder blue. Teal carpets, a pale blue crib, and matching change table with a soft mattress with little red rockets on it. There are other little touches too, dresser drawers and even a little wardrobe with onesies hanging neatly along a rail. There is also a baby.
My baby.
“Hi baby,” I smile down at my son, whose blood-red eyes crease with glee when he sees me. His chubby little silver-gray cheeks and raven dark hair remind me of someone. He is wearing an adorable white onesie with rocking horses playing across it. It’s quite cute, but he’s already starting to outgrow it. I will need to go shopping again, but that’s no hardship. The local store always seems to have everything I need no matter what it is I need.