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The roo for my arrival There’s a walk-in closet full of clothes, but I’h to check for an attic door, like my parents’ closet has, but there isn’t one The dark polished wood of the dresser eneric paintings--a sunset, a painting of a beachside picnic The wallpaper isroses, and they remind me of the bars of a prison cell I avoidtable mirror, afraid I’ll lose mythe , but when that proves futile, I take in the view The sun is just beginning to set in yellows and pinks, and there’s afountains The grass is reen Closer to the house a hedge sections off an area with an inground pool, unnaturally cerulean This, I think, is the botanical heaven ined when she planted lilies in the yard They would grow healthy and vibrant, thriving despite the wasteland of dirt and dust The only tihborhood hen she was alive Other thancarnations that shopkeepers sell in the city, dyed pink and red for Valentine’s Day, along with red roses that always look rubbery or parched in the s

They, like humanity, are chemical replicas of what they should be

The boy who broughta walk in the garden, and I wonder if the House Governor is o outside freely I don’t know er than twenty-five or approaching seventy--the latter being froeneration, and they’re a rarity By now the first generation has watched enough of its children die pre- to experieneration They even join the protest rallies, violent riots that leave irreparable dae

My brother He would have known i when I didn’t coone for three days No doubt he’s beside hiray vans that roll slowly through city streets at all hours

But it wasn’t one of those vans that took

It’s the thought of my brother, alone in that e myself It’s coun-terproductive Think There must be some way to escape

Theclearly isn’t opening The closet leads to onlyis only inches wide Maybe, if I can win the House Governor’s favor, I’ll be trusted enough to wander the garden alone Froarden looks endless But there has to be an end soe or scaling a fence Maybe I’ll be one of the public brides, flaunted at televised parties, and there will be an opportunity to slip quietly into the crowd I have seen so many reluctant brides on television, and I’ve alondered why the girls don’t run Maybe the calect to show the security systeh, I worry that I may never even have a chance to make it to one of those parties For all I know, it will take years to earn a House Governor’s trust And in four years, when I turn twenty, I’ll be dead

I try the doorknob, and to my surprise it isn’t locked

The door creaks open, revealing the hallway

So the walls, mostly closed, with dead bolts There’s a dead bolt on my door as well, but it’s open

I tread slowly, reen carpet I’ for sound, signs of life But the only sound cohtly ajar There are asps

I freeze where I stand If the House Governor is with one of his wives trying to is worse for me if I walked in on it I don’t knoould happen--I’d either be executed or asked to join, probably, and I can’t iine which would be worse

But no, the sounds are strictly feh the slit in the door, then push the door open

"Who’s there?" the wohs

I step into the room and find that she’s alone on a satin bed But this room is far more decorated than mine, with pictures of children on the walls, and an open ith a billowing curtain This roo like a prison

On her nightstand there are pills, vials with droppers, elasses of colored fluids She props herself on her elbows and stares at me Her hair is blond, like mine, but its shade is subdued by her sallow skin Her eyes are wild "Who are you?"

"Rhine," I givebut honest

"Such a beautiful place," she says "Have you seen the pictures?"

She must be delirious, because I don’t understand what she’s saying "No," is all I say

"You didn’t bring racefully back to her sea of pilloith a sigh

"No," I say "Should I get so?" Now it’s clear that she is delirious, and if I can make up an excuse to leave, et I was even here

"Stay," she says, and pats the edge of her bed "I’m so tired of these remedies Can’t they just let me die?"

Is this whatso entrapped I’m not even allowed the freedom of death?

I sit beside her, overwhelmed by the s pleasant

Potpourri--perfumed, dehydrated flower petals Thatme think of home

"You’re a liar," the wo my medicine"

"I never said I did"

"Well, then, who are you?" She reaches her tre hand and touches my blond hair She holds up a lock of it for inspection, and then a horrible pain fills her eyes