Someone took her out of a dark room. The light nauseated her. She bit the arm that grasped at her. They told her that she was an orphan, a feral child. To repay her rescuers, she became a prisoner of science.
In an institution with linoleum floors, a man came and knelt before her.
He held her hands. His eyes were dark blue. She could smell the damp wool of his coat. The stark fluorescent lights illuminated every line on his face.
“Let me see your arms and legs,” he directed her. She stretched her limbs out, like an insect turned on its back.
“So it’s true; they broke your arms and legs and put metal rods inside,” he said.
“It was an experiment,” she told him. She tucked her legs back underneath her and crossed her arms over her chest. She felt pain but it did not dissuade her; it was only a sensation.
“How much do you remember?” he asked.
“None of it.”
“Not even a shadow?” He raised his eyebrows.
“There wasn’t any light,” she said, frustrated. “I told you!”
He stood up. She tilted her face toward him, waiting, until he reached for her, lifting her.
G. Walker was born in Alaska and grew up in rural Virginia. She currently lives in downtown Richmond, Virginia.
Can't get that image out of my head--the girl like an insect turned on its back. Love this.
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