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 |  3 Hours in the city. 2 sisters. 1 chance. 0 room for secrets...right? A dystopian story. |
| "So tell me, Aurora, how does that make you feel?" I surface from the hallucination, slowly coming back to my senses. The treatments always seem to leave me disoriented for a while. "Well, I'm glad I was adopted away from my mother..." I trail off, lost in thought. "Good. Continue?" My therapist looks over his spectacles at me. He's a greying man of about 50 or so, and he's been evaluating me for as long as I remember, even before I was adopted by my father. "Well, I'm grateful for the opportunities I have, and my sisters, and of course father, but I just wish I could see more of the world. " He writes something down on a pad, then turns back to me. "According to your symptoms, you're happy. You're content with life. You don't want for anything else." I nod, feeling better. "Thank you, Therapist." I look for the familiar book, finding it on the shelf. It's titled "To Home". I open it and find myself sitting in the medical wing of our house. Lucia, my older sister, sits next to me, already pulling wires out from around my head and unstrapping me from the chair I'm in. "Anything new?" She asks, nodding to the computer beside me, which shows me opening the book before ending the transmission. "Nope, there's never anything new. He says I'm happy and that I don't need anything else in life." "And is that true?" “Well, he's the professional, isn't he?" She laughs without humor and shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Braids spill down her back, dark rusty brown contrasting with the green of her dress. I wish I had her beauty, her assuredness, her intelligence...I wish we shared anything in common. We're about as different as 2 people can be, both physically and mentally, with personality clashing in there somewhere. Her skin is dark bronze, and freckles dot her nose and cheeks. Braids of dark rope cascade down to her waist, and her eyes pierce even the most sincere of suitors. She's 19 years old, so Father is trying his best to find her a suitable husband. She doesn't like "suitable" husbands. She wants to choose for herself, something she's confessed to me several times during long conversations we have in the library. "I suppose so, Rory." She uses my nickname, one that only she and my other sister, Eudora, call me. They're the only ones that know me well enough, aside from Father, who never uses nicknames. I wish I had friends, but I am lucky to have my sisters. "Come on, we're going to be late for dinner." Lucia takes my hand, pulling me up. "Tonight it's soup." "Woo-hoo," I say half-heartedly. I've never been a fan of soup. "Can't wait." |
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