---

A pair of gleaming grey eyes stare into a small mirror. A tongue is thrust out, then retracted. A delicate hand traces a confused path all over a pale face. Then the eyes glance down at the body, curled up on a steel slab, its skin unmarred and smooth. It is a peculiarly shaped figure, the human body.

The girl finally straightens and stands up, slipping the mirror where it won't be found. She brushes tangled hair away from her face and contemplates her hands. She has never thought to explore her appearance before. Reflective surfaces are discouraged. One of the scientists mistakenly left this hand-mirror in one of the toilets, and her curiosity was awakened.

They call her D18S. Other inmates have named her Sal. There's a familiriaty in that. Creates a sense of belonging, however artificial. And it's easier to pronounce than her subject identification, even if D18S is the name she has known all her life. There is no such thing as identity in this place. Not beyond serial numbers.

There is an aviary outside her window. The closest approximation of one she'll ever see, anyway. The world is blocked with barred windows and glass so thick that no sound can pass. Day after day she watches them stretch their wings, straining toward blanket of grey clouds which spew a toxic rain upon the ground. Always with the rain. She has seen countless birds fall from the branches of that dead tree and she wonders if it hurts. Then she wonders what pain feels like. She sits on her cot and stares out into roiling fog and wonders.

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/ Passages
/ [Linderel]