Snippet #2568420

With a pat on the head, the man was gone, and she was left standing alone in the hallway. For a while, she just stood, not unlike a computer on idle. She'd been given no commands, no work to run, and so she stood blank, letting the chatter from the kitchen soak into her like rain into dusty ground. She should go back there. Be near the Blondie. Be near the men, where she could be protected. But something pulled her outside, into sunlight and wind and trees.

After a while of wandering pointless circles around and around the cabin, she noticed a duffel bag up in a tree. She paused at the trunk, let her fingers run across the bark, desperate to feel the rough crags, the toughness that even a tree held. And she could feel it...but it was muted. Like she was coming off anesthetic. With a sigh, she boosted herself up, scrambling through the tree like a squirrel, until she reached the branch with the bag.

It was a plain bag, thick dark blue canvas, but she knew in an instant it was for her. It was the same bag the Men used to load up on trucks when they had to go somewhere. They were watching her still. They would always be watching her. Just like they'd promised. Trembling fingers reached for the bag, opened it carefully, clenching the canvas in white-knuckled fists. Inside, on the very top, lay a single, gleaming pistol. She wanted to scream. Wanted to throw it, far far away where she'd never find it and she couldn't use it and she wouldn't ever hurt anyone ever again. But she didn't. She stared at it, traced every inch of it with fearful eyes. This was what she'd used once to hurt people. This was what she had used to kill. To spill blood. This is what had helped her be a monster.

But she wasn't that person anymore. She'd been stripped out, remade. Washed, rinsed, recycled. No more bad woman. No more murderer.

No more anything.