Sophia's Daughter

Flashback: He looked down at the wailing bundle in his arms, she was a beauty. He turned to his wife and smiled, he felt as if he owned the world. He had everything he had ever wanted. A wife he loved, a son and a daughter. They were all well and happy and Thanks be to God, he was able to provide well for them. He swore to himself they would always have everything they could want or need. If only Sophia wouldn't look so worried. The Corp had caught her a few months ago. She was to start the sleepers now that she had given birth. The Corp had already checked Suzotchka. They had had to do some intensive testing. Finally they had been forced to label her ' mundane' Still, Sophia looked so worried, he had the feeling something was going on. But they would worry about that later. Right now he just wanted to celebrate.

Andre stood in the middle of the field. Their comfortable summer house was just up the hill. Further down was a river. He felt the cool winds blow through him, making him thankful he was alive. The barns were to one side, and near them were pastures were horse ran around. Two of them were missing, the ones' that Sophia and Ganya had taken for a ride. A small hand tugged at his leg. He looked down and smiled at his five year old daughter, dressed in a gypsy skirt, blouse and sandals, her long hair fell to her small hips. " Papa," she said reaching her hands up, and he smiled and lifted her up high with ease, eliciting giggles from the girl. He carried her to his workshop as the two began another project. Andre was a man who liked to work with his hands. He was starting to make a boat from wood, as Zotchka watched adoringly, passing tools and the time with her chatter.

He felt lost in a daze of vodka, what day was it, what time was it? what did it matter? Sophia was dead, the sleepers killed her, the Corp killed her. He was filled with hate and anger, hopelessness and carelessness. Where was his children? Did he know? Oh yes, Ganya had joined up, he was in training now. He would not come home. He spent his free time with his friends, avoiding the house at all costs. Who could blame him? It had been two months since he had joined up, three since Sophia had died. And where was Suzotchka? When was the last time he had seen her? Days, weeks? He stumbled up and carried himself heavily to her door. She sat on the ground, in a long silk mourning gown, shapeless, to her ankles, wrists and neck. Her hair was free. Her skin paler than pale; her bones pierced her skin. Her eyes were haunted and lost and her head, hair and face were covered in a black lace veil. He approached slowly. She snapped and picking up the nearest object flung it at him, continuing to throw objects through his attempts to talk until finally he turned around and left.

It was four in the morning. He was in his study drinking. He heard someone enter. It was Zotchka, she had been out all night again. Did he care? Did he even know half the time? She entered the study. She wore a spaghetti strapped, backless, low cut tight black dress that barely went to the thighs. She wore matching stilettos and too much make up, scarlet all over her face and hair. She smelt of vodka, smoke and men. She was drunk. She had nothing to say to him as she leaned over him to take a bottle of vodka, a position which let him see down her shirt. He felt shame and looked away. She smiled a taunting smile, waiting for a reaction any reaction, playing with him in her anger, yet hoping for anger from him. He couldn't have known that. He left her be. She lit a cigarette and picking up the bottle left the room.

A few days later she was gone.

He looked at her now. She was dressed demurely, and smelt clean. Her eyes were clear and sober. She looked nervous, like a child seeking approval. He pulled her closer to him and stroked her hair as she lay her head at his heart.