I shivered and buried my face deeper into the dog's fur. It was
raining outside, and the chill from the rain seeped through the walls into
my skin. All the dogs that Riff had got me crowded into my bed, and
together we kept each other warm. Riff had risen earlier; he was helping
Frank retrieve items for an experiment. Columbia was in her own room,
which, mercifully, was on the other side of the castle.
Rising out of bed, I watched the dogs rearrange to fill my empty space. I envied, wishing I, too could ignore the time, and stay in my warm cocoon at least until the sun rose. Plodding down the hall, I passed Columbia's open door to see her still peacefully sleeping. Stepping into the kitchen, I rooted around for ingredients for Frank's breakfast, skipping breakfast for myself, as always.
The milkman came, as usual, and as usual asked to see Frank on "personal business." Leading him to the lab, I couldn't help but wonder, if only for a moment, why he came to see Frank.
Riff came back from his assignment, and joined me in the kitchen. Standing together, we finished preparing breakfast, and, leaving it outside of Frank's door, we returned to the bedroom until called for.
Later as I cleaned her room (such a careless slob she was. It disgusted me.) Columbia would wake up, and lying in bed, would begin to talk to me, telling me of her childhood, her likes, dislike, what method of birth control she preferred, everything I didn't need to know, and, frankly, didn't care. I would ignore her, hoping she would take the unresponsiveness as a hint, as I scrubbed a crusty patch of old soup of the wooden floor. She disgusted me.
I hated my job. With ever fiber of my body, I hated it. I was sick of picking up after other people. Even Riff seemed to take advantage of me, leaving his clothes on the floor, expecting me to clean up, tidy the mess, and be the domestic. I myself wasn't of the tidy type, and I had a hard enough time cleaning up after myself, much less three other people.
Riff also hated his job, being Frank's personal slave. He begrudged Frank even more than me, it seemed, for a reason I must not have known. Some nights, after Frank had been asleep for hours, Riff would whisper to me. He spoke of the death of Frank, fantasizing of our freedom, what we would do. I could smell the revolt boiling over.
Rising out of bed, I watched the dogs rearrange to fill my empty space. I envied, wishing I, too could ignore the time, and stay in my warm cocoon at least until the sun rose. Plodding down the hall, I passed Columbia's open door to see her still peacefully sleeping. Stepping into the kitchen, I rooted around for ingredients for Frank's breakfast, skipping breakfast for myself, as always.
The milkman came, as usual, and as usual asked to see Frank on "personal business." Leading him to the lab, I couldn't help but wonder, if only for a moment, why he came to see Frank.
Riff came back from his assignment, and joined me in the kitchen. Standing together, we finished preparing breakfast, and, leaving it outside of Frank's door, we returned to the bedroom until called for.
Later as I cleaned her room (such a careless slob she was. It disgusted me.) Columbia would wake up, and lying in bed, would begin to talk to me, telling me of her childhood, her likes, dislike, what method of birth control she preferred, everything I didn't need to know, and, frankly, didn't care. I would ignore her, hoping she would take the unresponsiveness as a hint, as I scrubbed a crusty patch of old soup of the wooden floor. She disgusted me.
I hated my job. With ever fiber of my body, I hated it. I was sick of picking up after other people. Even Riff seemed to take advantage of me, leaving his clothes on the floor, expecting me to clean up, tidy the mess, and be the domestic. I myself wasn't of the tidy type, and I had a hard enough time cleaning up after myself, much less three other people.
Riff also hated his job, being Frank's personal slave. He begrudged Frank even more than me, it seemed, for a reason I must not have known. Some nights, after Frank had been asleep for hours, Riff would whisper to me. He spoke of the death of Frank, fantasizing of our freedom, what we would do. I could smell the revolt boiling over.
