Canned goods

He leaned forward and said something quickly into an intercom. Click. A question welled up inside Roger, rose, then ruptured somewhere deep in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing. The doctor observed, silently.

They watched her through the window, knowing that she couldn’t see them. A dark-haired girl, legs curled beneath her on the bed. Books on a shelf, soft toys arranged on a chair. For their benefit, Roger knew.

“How long?” asked Daphne.

“Two minutes”

“Two minutes?” she said, hysterically, “is that all?”

“Protocol” the pastor replied, without looking at either of them.

“Oh god” said Daphne, clutching Roger’s arm, “what will they do to her?”

Roger looked at Daphne, replied flatly. “They’ll take her away. Change her.”

“They will treat her” said the Pastor.

Roger laughed bitterly. “Open her. Empty her… I’ve seen the end product.”

The pastor eyed him with interest.

“At the tower. They work, for me.”

“So” said the pastor, unable to disguise her disdain. “You are a farmer?”

View this story's 4 comments.