Title: We Live in Deeds
Author: strangelittleswirl
Fandom: Repo! the Genetic Opera
Pairing: Graverobber/Shilo (eventually)
Rating: PG-13/T+ (will go up)
Word Count: 5761
Summary: 'Her name was Shilo Wallace once.' The aftermath of Opera, and the beginning of a new chapter in the city's history.
Warning: Language, violence, and inferences to mature themes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm merely playing in the genius world created by DLB, DS, and TZ . I do not have any claims to the poetry used either.
Her name was Shilo Wallace once.
It was long ago, before the book she carried with her had lost its cover and its binding cracked, before she had scars on skin that covered muscles deceptively small for their hidden strength, before the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Shiloh-Hebrew in origin, meaning "His gift". Her father had told her it was the name of an important battle in the American Civil War, and had shown her-through the plastic surrounding her bed-a section in an old history book about it. Years later someone else would tell her that it was also the name of a prophet of the Messiah in the Bible-only he would know that. She had noticed that there was only one additional letter that kept her name from meaning the underground facilities where they stored and launched missiles.
She had a great many names now, but as she looked about the room and the people collected in it, in this secret little room, she wondered if this would end with her being called a failure.
Four Years Earlier
"Shilo Wallace," said the instructor, looking out across the group of primly dressed girls in school girl skirts and vests and blouses. Beneath the individual tech stations-one of the only academic facilities to offer this ability! the brochure exclaimed-rows upon rows of bleached white knee-high socks sprouted out of the school-regulated saddle shoes.
The school was situated in the very best part of town. Amber Sweet lived down the street from the facility, and with its wrought-iron fence and sturdy brick edifice, it seemed to have a real air of aged distinction about it. In truth Rotti Largo had only just had it built prior to his death, and there were parts of the building that still smelled of just-milled lumber.
Below her classroom window, Shilo could see workers in Geneco jumpers scrambling to remove the large, metal letters that spelled out 'The Rottisimo Largo Preparatory School for Ladies", and replacing them with "The Amber Sweet School For Girls". Seeing the word 'for' capitalized caused the side of Shilo's mouth to twitch and rise to form a smile; t he standards in the schools teachings were suddenly very obvious.
"Miss Wallace? Miss Wallace."
Shilo returned her gaze to the front of the room, where a middle-aged woman was holding a clipboard and looking disapprovingly at Shilo. She was a larger woman, having poured herself into a suit that did not quite fit, and the frown now contorting her features caused her jowls to be even more prominent.
"Miss Wallace, it is considered a privilege to attend this institution. In the future, do show your
understanding of this idea by paying attention."
But 'Miss Wallace' had not asked for this privilege; very shortly after the death of her father-two days after his hasty burial, to be exact-that same limousine had rolled to a stop outside the Wallace brownstone, and Shilo had been quickly packed up and brought to the school. After all, the matter of Rotti Largo's will had still not been completely confirmed, and was it not so very nice of Amber Sweet to be paying for all of her expenses? the principal had asked, eyeing the large portrait of their new benefactor as she said so as if Miss Sweet was some sort of saint.
Amber Sweet, Shilo believed, was simply trying to keep Shilo in one place for the time being, and to keep her under her thumb. Shilo's curriculum was not navigating her down any career path; Miss Sweet had made sure that the girl's schedule did not have more than a class or two in any field-not that the Wallace orphan wanted to have anything to do with the occupations that seemed to be before her.
There were all sorts of requirements to become a Gentern, and there was course scheduling to cover the prerequisites. Geneco security training required specific paper work and an interview/test process that none of the girls talked about-it became very obvious early on that those girls were the ones that seemed to teeter between killing themselves or their classmates, and were mostly avoided during free time.
SurGen training was blocked for her. So were any sort of scientific fields, much to her aggravation. When asked for a reason, her teachers would tell her 'Miss Sweet does not want to see you go down that path'.
How very sweet of her, thought Shilo, sarcasm causing her to bite her tongue and prevent herself from saying it aloud.
Her father had wanted her to be great, and the young girl considered it to be his dying wish; Shilo was simply waiting for her eighteenth birthday so that she could break out and finally make something of herself-what, she did not know just yet, but she was getting there. And she sure as hell knew that the finishing school was not helping her.
Her father had been very strict with her home schooling, and while there were no transcripts to show it, he had been giving her college-level lessons on most of her subjects before his passing. As a way to pass the time (as most of the class she was so graciously given permission to take were painfully boring), her most recent hobby had become trying to devise ways of breaking out of the school. She had gotten to be very good at it when she was younger.
Right now, as she continued to ignore the math lesson in the front of the classroom, Shilo glanced at the classroom's window frames and found them to be identical to the ones that were in her dormitory room-probably cheaper to outfit the place that way. She knew for a fact that they were attached to some sort of sensor that would set off an alarm if they were opened, since she had made that mistake on her first night there; she had been so used to a breeze from her open window when she slept that she had tried to pry open the thing, only to find security storming into her room. But these windows had actually been opened. The teacher that had done so had been very smart about the whole thing. Two pieces of broken ruler kept open the small catches that triggered the sensors. That way the windows could be lifted without setting them off. Hmm, she thought, and then promptly pocketed the ruler on her desk for later use.
"Trisha and I have been placed into the athletics program," remarked Glenda glumly when she found Shilo in the hallway, and behind her Trisha bit her lip. Glenda Thompson was a tiny girl with braids and incredibly large glasses; her parents did not have a great deal of money, and fear of Repo men kept them from spending the little they had on corrective eye surgery for her. Instead they had scraped and saved to send her to the school, so that she could have a promising career at Geneco. Trisha Nicols was a naturally pretty young woman destined, said the teachers, for a career as a Gentern. So helpful, so attentive. Shilo was observant that she was also quite obedient, and it was only a matter of time before the poor girl was called behind a closed door with one of the teachers-or worse, one of the Largo men. She had heard the stories, had been told to be aware by some of the older girls, and she had done her best to heed their warning.
"That's with Coach Vik-The stories I've heard about that man..." Trisha trailed off, allowing the other two girls to fill in the blanks. The girls were pessimistic and less than animated, and because of this were generally disliked by most of the student population. Shilo enjoyed their company because they made her feel a bit like she was normal, and reminded her not to be lulled into a false sense of security.
Part of her believed the school to be even more dangerous than the cemetery or the city streets. At least there she knew the dangers. People were likely to kill you if it meant scoring money to pay off their Geneco debt or to score their next hit of Zydrate from dealers like the Graverobber.
A teacher might ask you to stay for 'extra credit', or actually ask you about a paper. With the Graverobber things had been spelled out at the start. 'First hit's free'.
"Too bad you can't take the class with us, Shilo," said Trisha, who did not mean that at all. Shilo shrugged and hoisted her messenger back to sit higher on her shoulder.
"Sorry," she said in return, not meaning it, either. "I've gotta run all of my classes by the principal, who runs it by Amber Sweet, who usually says no."
The girls did not seem to take this excuse very well. Oh well. Four more months, she reminded herself. Four more months and she'd be gone. Now to work on that future beyond that.
"Do you guys ever wonder what's outside of the city?" she asked later on as they sat in the cafeteria, picking idly at the food in front of her. She was used to something a little more home cooked and less mass-produced. The other two girls looked up quickly, fixing her with matching incredulous looks.
"It's a wasteland. Everyone knows that. I mean, yeah, they say there's some people who survived on the east coast, but nobody actually knows," Glenda said in a tone that she took on whenever she was lecturing the other two. "I would be perfectly happy to live my entire life without stepping foot outside of this city. I heard a rumor that they're even going to blockade the old roads."
"Why?" Shilo imagined the vast open spaces out there, or at least tried to. Stupid, she chastised herself, better to keep those sorts of things to yourself. She went back to picking at the brown substance they were claiming was meatloaf.
"Because they're afraid that the disease is out there!"
Shilo had the sudden image of some terribly large thing, black and hairy with multiple rows of teeth from the way Glenda had responded. Of course there was the chance of someone catching some sort of sickness while they were out there, but Shilo had made the decision to no longer allow fears of diseases to keep her from living her life. No more beeping machines or plastic barriers, thank you very much.
The day progressed, and Shilo anxiously waited for dinner to be over and the girls to be lead to the dormitories. Once the lights went out, she'd test the wooden ruler trick.
It worked.
Climbing down was easy because of balcony outside of her window, and the tree (landscaping was such an amazing luxury) beside it. She'd heard stories from her father about climbing trees. It seemed like it would probably be more entertaining if it was done during the day and not when she was currently trying to escape from her dormitory under the mask of night. Another time, perhaps.
Yeah right. They wouldn't let her open the window. That sort of thing was most definitely out of the realm of possibilities as well.
Once she was off of the school grounds, Shilo slowed her pace down, suddenly quite aware of how quiet and cold it was. After a few minutes of simply walking and listening to her heart thud wildly in her chest, she started to try to wander in the direction of the cemetery. Perhaps give her mother a nighttime visit.
Her father had once remarked that she was a morbid girl. Back then she had thought herself to be sickly, and had adopted the belief that her time on Earth was not very long-that the mausoleum would be housing her soon enough. It was part of the reason she had spent so much time within the crumbling stone and marble. Soon, she had thought, she would not eat sandwiches or read; there would still be her bugs, but that was it. Bugs and dark and quiet.
Some of those books on psychology had remarked that people tended to like environments that reminded them of the womb, and that different people had different triggers. Perhaps it was the quiet and closed-in space that had endeared her to the mausoleum.
"'My thoughts are with the Dead,'" she started to recite under her breath, skipping the beginning and comforting herself with a little Robert Southey. Nothing like those moldering old men and their insipid rhyme schemes to calm the soul.
She had gotten to 'My hopes are with the Dead; anon/ My place with them will be' when she heard footsteps behind her. Icy fear coated her stomach, and she felt for the scalpel she had pilfered, fingers wrapping around the little instrument where it lay in her pocket.
"'And I with them shall travel on/ Through all Futurity;/ Yet leaving here a name, I trust,/ That will not perish in the dust.' Always thought there should be more to it, a solid ending like 'Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet/ Feels shorter than the Day/ I first surmised the Horses' Head/ Were toward Eternity –'. So you're still around, I see."
Relieve washed over Shilo as she turned to face the Z peddler, who continued on, ignorant of her sudden and loud exhale.
"Southey just didn't have the same grasp of all of it like Dickinson. What the fuck are you doing out here, kid?"
Not that he cared, of course, but if the authorities were going to be flooding the area, at least he should know. She did not seem to respond well to his question.
"Just walking," she responded, continuing to do so. The Graverobber was much taller than her, and quickly made up the distance between them, walking alongside her with his hands in his pockets. "You like poetry?" He could see a glimmer of curiosity under a well-practiced air and tone of nonchalance.
He shrugged. That information was not for public disclosure, as far as he was concerned. "Your house got sold. Geneco employee and his wife moved in." She had legs that went on forever, he remembered fondly. He'd offer her alternative forms of payment if she ever came looking for Z.
This news seemed to upset the girl, who stopped. "They sold my house?" she asked, incredulously as she worried at her hair. When he nodded, she sighed and continued to walk. "I really hate her," she muttered under her breath.
One of his clients emerged from the shadows, and the girl noticed this, then looked at her watch, eyes widening as she did so. "Shit!" before looking up at the tall man. "Sorry, I gotta go!"
Why did she think she needed to apologize? Did she see tea and cookies anywhere? Graverobber snorted and pulled out his gun and a glowing glass vial. "Aint holding me up," he responded as she turned to sprint the opposite direction.
Graverobber went back to his usual business without giving the interaction must thought. Did it really matter what happened to the Wallace girl? People had stopped talking about it, once Amber Sweet had made the announcement and started parading around with a new pair of tits popping out of something that might have been a business suit it if was a bit looser and not made of leather. Good luck to the kid, because obviously she wasn't living in her old home, and she didn't have anything to do with Geneco.
That reminded him, he hadn't seen Miss Sweet in a while. Maybe she had given up the Z now that she was a CEO, or started to simply take from her company's reserves.
Part of the Graverobber knew this to be false.
"I realized something," started the kid when she materialized one evening, in lieu of a greeting. "These past few nights, I didn't end up in trouble."
"Kay," he grunted, going back to shooting up the jittery scalpel slut before him. It had become normal for him to find the girl wandering about in the area, and she would end up tailing him on his rounds. Currently the girl sat Indian-style on front step to a derelict building nearby, spreading her skirt over her knees for modesty's sake. Surrounded by women in barely any clothes and she worried about things like that? The drug dealer shook his head and continued dispensing to his customers, accepting money from shaking hands before giving them what they wanted.
"And in the past, every time I saw you, I knew it meant trouble."
"Still does," he said, removing from his collar the clawing hand of an addict in the throes of the chemical's pleasure. Shilo-yeah, he knew her name, but it bugged the fuck out of her when he called her 'kid'-sat up straighter and tucked a loose strand of her wig behind one of her ears.
"But it didn't happen. And you never answered my question from the other night. About-"
"Not gonna." Damn, the girl was insistent. And there was no way in hell he'd be admitting to...that in front of his clients. A business man who looked nervous slipped Graverobber a crisp note of currency, and rolled up the sleeve of his pristine work shirt. Some of the prostitutes draped on fire exits and front steps near by perked up. The man looked like money to them. Graverobber pocketed his tools and continued, knowing that the man would be propositioned by at least five of the women they left behind them and that the girl would follow him down the street.
She didn't. Not right away. When he had gotten halfway down the street and hadn't heard the click of her shoes, he couldn't resist turning around to see why she hadn't pursued him.
"You coming or what?"
This seemed to satisfy the girl, who slipped off of her perch with a small grin and all of the awkward agility of a girl her age.
"Still didn't ans-Oh, fuck." Before he knew what was happening, Shilo was ducking into an alley and behind a garbage can. He looked around for what had alarmed her, only to find himself being sent into a nearby brick wall.
"Gimme my fix and make it quick," growled a voice near his ear. He knew very well that the beefy hand pressing at his back, keeping him in place, was not that of Amber Sweet. So she still had her henchmen.
"Amber, what a pleasant surprise. Thought you'd get all the Zydrate you want from Geneco."
A scowl contorted her flawless features "Their shit's not Street Zydrate. Now shut the fuck up and give me a hit."
Business transactions with Amber Sweet repulsed him, to be quite honest. Sure, the others where cheap and dirty, but this woman had the chance to be something great, and she wasted it on shit like this. As a sign of trust, he pressed the gun to her neck and released the trigger, allowing Amber to limply toss the money to him as she was dragged away. Bills from her always seemed a little greaser, and a lot less easy to pocket.
Shilo popped up from behind a garbage can after a healthy amount of time had passed. "Is she gone?" she hissed. When the Graverobber nodded and continued on, she trotted up to walk with him, still nervously looking over her shoulder from time to time. Had the girl gotten Geneco parts? What was her deal, seriously?
"In debt with Geneco?"
Shilo snorted. "Amber has made my education her priority. I'm at that school of hers-rather, that's where I'm supposed to be right now, asleep."
"That one that has the letters 'ASS' on their advertisements? I have to remember to say something about that next time she stops by."
"Before or after she has one of her goons smash your face into a brick wall?" she asked quickly, and by the look on her face, the repartee surprised her just as much as it surprised him. The kid had balls.
"On that note," the slight girl said suddenly, "I have to start heading back. Might actually get some sleep."
The bags under her eyes had gotten worse, and there a few times when he had caught her starting to nod off when she was sitting down. She had to wander through some really shitty places to get to his area, places that even he was weary of going to. "Stay in tomorrow night, kid." It came out without much thought.
Shilo gave him a small smile, and with a wave, disappeared back into the dark.
She was starting to pay less and less attention to class as the weeks went by. Her grades had started to drop, and they said she looked bored in class. Suddenly, she was self defense classes, and getting the shit beaten out of her by a gruff older man who came in just to train her. She knew from the way he held himself that he was a Repo Man. Shilo learned quickly, and this seemed to satisfy the man who refused to give her a name.
It was getting harder to exist in the two worlds. But each day was one less until her birthday, and she took comfort in that.
Then the rumors started.
"Amber's going to shut down the exit lanes out of the city; she'll be blockading us in," explained Shilo as she held a light in place for the man who was busy deterring a corpse. "And you know what's gonna come next."
"Enlighten me, kid," he grunted, lugging the body to a spot where he could extract from it. Shilo huffed at the nickname but continued. "Mandated Geneco organ replacements, surgery...she'll own all of us, be able to track all of us...I'm leaving." The thought occurred to her suddenly. Even a death by those bears she had her stories about, that would be better than some sort of controlled, monitored life doled out by a woman who wouldn't know common sense if it came up and smacked her in the face.
"Okay, see you around." He waved over his shoulder, but Shilo shook her head, more for her own sake than his.
"No, as in 'leave the city'. That sort of leave."
The thief turned, still on his haunches, to fix her with an incredulous stare. "Please tell me this is exhaustion talkin'. Do you realize there's basically nothing out there?"
Shilo busied herself with folding up the magazine she had brought with her. "Yeah. But there's rumors of settlements out there. And a city. But the woods might be safer. You know, the sort of stuff Margaret Atwood talked about; where it's a haven."
"That's her early stuff," muttered Graverobber, and Shilo could not help but let out a small noise of aggravation.
"See, you say things like that and don't explain. How do you know about all of this poetry and literature?"
He was finishing up, packing up his tools, so he shrugged and continued to work instead of look up and answer her. "Same way you came to know about it: I read."
She put her hands on her hips. "Obviously a lot. I couldn't go outside, and my dad tutored me relentlessly. I have an excuse." When he did not respond to this, she settled back against the tombstone she sat in front of and studied the tip of her boot. "I am being serious though. I'm really considering leaving." Shilo stopped herself from asking her tall companion if he wanted to come along, because he'd only quip back with some sarcastic question like 'Do they have a demand for drug dealers for grizzlies?'
With a sigh she stood up and stretched, wincing at the pain that flared back to life in her muscles; the workouts were excruciating, but she was already seeing differences in her body at night when she stood before the mirror, nothing major, but small changes to her musculature. "Alright, Rob," she said, extinguishing the light and following him. "I'm headed back."
"Must you call me that, kid?"
She grinned. "Turnabout is fair play. What kind of a name is Graverobber?"
He held open the gate for her and ushered her out with an overly dramatic gesture. "It's a very apt one. What sort of a name is 'Shilo'?"
To be honest even she wasn't sure. Shilo yawned. "You have me there. Alright. See you around."
The Graverobber continued with business as usual, and as it was the holiday season, his sales went up. Nothing like a little Zydrate to keep in-law related stress at bay, or so he understood.
It had been days since he had seen the kid, and damn it, he was getting worried. The involuntary amount of concern he felt for the young woman was bothering him, because shit like this could be bad for his reputation.
The Drowned Duck was a seedy bar with clientele that adored him. Occasionally, he would stop in for a drink, do a little business, maybe find a girl for the night. He'd never bring them back with him, just find an alley and get it over with. The one time he had brought Shilo with him, he had felt guilty about all of it for the first time. The knowing looks some of the women had-they thought that he was taking Shilo with him afterwards.
He was sitting at the bar, considering that day, when the door swung open in came Shilo, her wig askew and a frantic look on her face. Behavior like this was normal-usually from someone about to be caught by a Repo man for a delinquency. In fact, some of the bar's patrons kept their eyes on the door, waiting for one to come in.
Graverobber hopped up from the door and hooked an arm around her waist, propelling her back out the door with him. The last thing he needed was someone saying they'd seen Shilo Wallace there-some people still remembered what had happened, and the rumor of her appearance in the Drowned Duck would stir up unneeded problems for the girl.
"What's got your panties in such a twist, kid?" he asked once they made their way to the alley beside the Drowned Duck. Upon closer inspection, the girl was covered in soot and she was out of breath.
"I may have, well..." she took a breath and tried to swallow, and overhead sirens started up. On a public service screen ('Brought to you by Geneco!') floating above, a photograph of Shilo was on the screen with a warning printed below her name. 'Arson' was in very large letters.
"-Burned down the school?"he said, finishing her sentence. She smelled of soot, and there was a scorch mark on her bag.
"Amber came, and she said something about scheduling me for surgery, and I, I hit her with a statue. I didn't mean to burn down the building, but she sent some guys after me, and I ended up in the lab, so-But no one got hurt, all of the kids were at home 'cuz it's a vacation. I didn't mean to, honest."
There were quick footsteps on the street, and he pulled the girl farther back into the alley. She was still breathing heavily as he decided to continue down the alley.
"Where are we going?" she managed.
"Someplace they won't look for you, I think," he answered, he stopped for a second and turned back to her. The screen was still visible above, and the image upon it was being replaced with other photographs of Shilo, all with the same black wig and school uniform. He pulled her wig off, despite her indignant screech. Beneath the wig was a head full of chocolate curls, quite fine and short. The change in her appearance, combined with his coat that he helped her into, was enough to cause anyone glancing quickly to not recognize her.
He only lived a short distance away from the bar, and he new the surrounding area well enough to travel through alleys to return to his apartment building. It was a seedy place, the sort where locking the door mattered so little that most people didn't. For once, however, he locked the door behind him as he ushered Shilo in.
The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, and a very pregnant cat mewed from its place behind a shabby chair set before a television set. The girl shivered, which reminded him to travel over to the rusty heater and kick it back into service.
As he tried to clear a spot for her to sit on the chair, he was aware of her looking about the place. She was shivering and holding his coat around her small frame, tightly.
"I'm gonna leave the city," she said quietly as he told her to sit down. "I think I can make it."
He found a clean rag and ran it under the tap before handing it to her. "Shilo, you're a seventeen year old girl who was never allowed out of the house until a few months ago. Forget surviving out there, do you really think you could cross the barricade?"
The girl went deadly still, fixing him a fierce look. "I can. I will. I'm fast enough and smart enough. I've been sneaking out of my father's house for years. A barricade should be nothing compared to my dad."
She had missed a spot on her face, and it was bothering him. The thief took the cloth from the girl and wiped at it, gently. She watched his actions with a detached look. "It's not that I don't believe in you, kid. But I also know a thing or two about those guards that you don't. They're not like your father, who was a great surgeon, and then trained to be fast and strong. These are people who were made faster and stronger than you and I. They've got Geneco bar codes on almost every inch of them. Hell, I bet their dicks do, too."
She had calmed down, and it was only a few scorch marks and the remaining smell of smoke that spoke of her earlier actions. "You're sweet, Rob. Really, you are, but I'm going to have to take my chances. I can't stay here, anymore-there's gotta be something better than this out there." She took the cloth from him and pushed out of the chair, forcing him to get out of her way if he did not want to block her. "I should get going before they do some sort of door-to-door search for me. Amber might have woken up by now." Shilo snorted but continued to fumble through her bag. "Can't even imagine what her face is going to look like. Well, before the surgeons fix her back up."
It was obvious that he was not going to be able to make her change her mind. Suddenly she wasn't that seventeen year-old girl that had looked up at him with fear in the cemetery, she was a woman with conviction, ready to run. He remembered her saying that there was a rumored city else where, another strong hold of people that had survived the plagues. Of course she'd go there. But people are people, no matter where they live, and knowing her, she'd find trouble.
"'This city will always pursue you'," he quoted for lack of something better to say and she laughed. The textbook was peeking out from beneath the chair, and Graverobber scooped it up, holding it out to her. Shilo looked up from slipping a black long sleeved shirt over her current clothing.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "A textbook?"
He nodded. "From a long time ago. Another life, I guess you could say. Take it." He stood and busied himself with picking at the clumps of lint on his pant legs. For some reason, giving her the book felt a bit like standing before the girl naked. Perhaps he should take it back before she notices all of his notes in the margins, he thought. To bolster his courage, he cracked a joke. "Who knows, maybe you can woo the grizzlies with the poetry."
He always remember her just as she was then: a brilliant smile at his words, eyes bright with determination, a long, white neck that was graceful. As though a transformation had taken place in his seedy apartment, a fiery woman stood before him now. "Aint gonna forget you, kid." He brushed at a curl that was sticking to her cheek.
Before he knew what she was doing, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, a mere brush of lips upon lips, but it left him glued to the spot. She took a step back, looking a little scared. "Better not," she replied in a voice that wavered.
And then she was pivoting and leaving, and his doorway looked empty as he heard her feet clattering down the stairs.
Anxiety left a tight feeling in his chest as he went about business that night, a jitteriness in his limbs that he did not appreciate. Did she make it past the barricades? Suddenly his greatest fear was that he'd be doing his rounds of the cemeteries, turning over a new corpse, and there she'd be. Big dark eyes starting blankly up at him, so different from how she had looked up at him earlier.
A PSS floated by, a breaking news clip on repeat. Normally he ignored them, but thinking of the slip of a girl that had left his apartment, this one he paid attention to.
"Earlier this evening a fire broke out at the Amber Sweet School For Girls," the newscaster's voice announced with just the right amount of sadness to his voice. "Miss Sweet, who was visiting the school, was able to make it out but was injured in the process. Unfortunately, a student, seventeen year-old Shilo Wallace, was a victim of the fire. Our company would like to apologize for the earlier confusion over what had occurred."
It was a lie, obviously. But did it mean she had escaped, or had she been killed? He hoped she had reached that flat, tuneless landscape beyond the barricade, and that she was safe there.
Poems used:
Title taken from 'We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths' by Philip James Bailey, which is in turn taken from a quote of Aristotle's
'His Books' by Robert Southey
'I felt a Funeral, in my Brain' (280) by Emily Dickinson
'The City' by C. P. Cafavy, translated by Edmund Keeley
'flat, tuneless landscape' is a line from 'I Am Learning to Abandon the World' by Linda Pastan