A satire of dysfunctional government and economic inequality.
Chapter II: Day/Page 13 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . Sofia scoops up the data disks and tosses them into a small satchel, swings the satchel over her shoulder and chest like a bandolier, and runs off to find Professor Hawkeye, her long dark cloak fluttering like a cape behind her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Song, but he has gone home for the day,” says his secretary, a plump, kindly Owl, with tufts of grey feathers sprouting from her head like thorns. “What with all the excitement around here, he thought it best to work from home where there would be fewer distractions. But he’ll be back early tomorrow morning for the meeting with the Minister. My, how your little discovery has ruffled some feathers around here. I’ve never seen such commotion before.”
(That’s right… My discovery… keep saying that. But it’s not little. It’s not little at all.)
“If you could please let him know that I stopped by, I’d appreciate it,” says Sofia.
“I certainly will.”
“Oh, and could you tell him I’ll be back in the morning, and I hope he can spare me some time. I really need to talk to him. It’s very important.”
“I will indeed.”
In her dorm room that evening, prone on her bed, staring at the ceiling for the fifteenth night in a row, Sofia mentally rehearses her speech to the Professor for why she should be selected to go to the planet—to her planet. She continues tumbling the words around in her mind like clothes in a spinning dryer, mixing and matching pieces, plaids with prints, stripes with solids, odds and ends stuck together—then all the words pulled apart and tumbled around once again. She squints at the clock with one eye intermittently, watching the minutes pass, one by one, hour by hour, until gentle sleep slips in, unheard and unseen, and tenderly ends the spinning cycle.
Early the next morning . . . . TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James
All rights reserved