"Who are you?"

The croaky voice came out of a mouth she had only recently begun to notice.

Yet, the words each pierced her skin, separate bullets puncturing her body.

When had she become so frail?

Carmen, she wanted to sing to him. I'm your Carmen. Yes, it has been a while, but oh, how I've missed you.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the Avalon's blank eyes silenced any noise in her throat. I, she choked too quietly for anyone to hear, I'm...

And then the ACME agents appeared. Damn the ACME agents! Of all times! Carmen made to stand, but fell slightly backwards, her eyes glued to the stirring man in her lap.

"Who are you?"

The voice echoed in her head, any thoughts gone, making space for this one hallowing vibration.

Who

I am Carmen...San- no. I am Carmen Avalon? The name feels metallic in my mouth, like a bag of marbles, rolling on my tongue. I cannot voice it aloud. I am Carmen. This I know for sure (Right?). I am thirty-something years of age, but to tell the truth, which I suppose I could do, I do not know my birthday. I am educated. I am a scholar. I am brilliant.

I am a thief,

he said,

when I met him in his office. No daughter of his, he said. I suppose I am, yet the word has come to bear such a negative connotation. I am an artist with an art with which the world has yet to come to terms. It will in time. Of this, I am...fairly sure. I do not mind whether or not this occurs in my lifetime. Yet, I mind the scorn in his eyes and the curl of his lips in disdain. I love him so. Is it not what every child wants, to please the parent? His terms present a paradox. I cannot be both a thief and his daughter. Yet, my mother is his wife, and the Rosetta Stone is in my living room.

She heard Ivy over the crowd. Forcing herself to move again, Carmen gave her father one last look, then tore her eyes away and ripped a smoke grenade from her pocket, tossing it at the infernal ACME pack. While they were coughing and waving away the grey, she disappeared. To them, at least.

Are

I disappear a lot. The security cameras, police, ACME agents, passersby... they'll all agree. I disappear from them when convenient, when practical, when fun. It is truly a shame I cannot disappear from myself. What am I? I am a body hastily sewn by inexperienced hands and a blunt needle. I have patches upon patches and holes where you can't see. Thread is expensive these days.

I want to go to sleep right now.

It is only in the world of dreams where I can escape myself, where I no longer exist int he mirror and I can finally disappear to everyone. I want to cement the image of my father in my dreams. I want to blot all audial data from the past hour.

I want a good deal of things.

You

I am Carmen.

I am on a rooftop.

I am fatherless?

I am slightly chilled by the brisk wind up here.

I am out of breath.

I am deaf to the scene below me.

I am ignorant of details I should be memorizing.

I am free of Lee Jordan.

I am free.

I am a daughter?

I am Carmen.

I am crying.