Alive

Prolougue

Cynthia was concerned.

Her patient, Iris, wasn't answering any of her questions. Iris was shutting herself in, something that Cynthia would never have anticipated, and something she was also very anxious about. Had something happened to make Iris feel as if her trust had been betrayed? Had something happened with Nima's parents?

Cynthia had had it about to here with Iris's parents.

First they'd put her into counseling because (no kidding):

'She's a bit unusual and we want to have a successful child.' And not only that, but they told her terrible things all the time.

They were constantly telling her that she wasn't good enough.

'Keep making more friends, Iris, go and find more people who want to be your friends. Maybe if you weren't so unusual you'd have some.'

And then sometimes, they got angry.

'It's your fault this family is falling apart! You are an irresponsible, selfish child! You'll end up just like your mother's mom, do you want that?'

Cynthia knew that as a councilor it was irresponsible to be partial to Iris but she couldn't help having maternal instincts for a troubled child with crappy parents. Iris reminded her of long ago.

Iris had begun humming in the chair across from Cynthia's. She was being allowed to draw and she relished every second of it, carefully placing each line, shading in bright stitches of color between folds of grey, concentrating.

In that case, thought Cynthia, this is probably not a misopportune time to be asking questions.

"How are your parents?" She asked in a light tone, but slightly clipping the emotion on the word 'parents' so it was clear she wasn't joining their side.

She was ready to fight for this child to the death. It was just a fortunate coincidence that she gave no **s about Iris's parents.

Iris responded in a childishly cordial tone.

"They're ok."

She stopped drawing for a moment, squinting at the lines so she knew they were in the right places.

"What're you drawing, Iris?"

"Your future."

Cynthia paused.

Iris had talked about the future before, and every single time she said something it would happen more or less like she said it would. Cynthia calmed herself. She was trained to deal with anxiety. In the next 3 seconds she was calm.

Iris said, 'I have something I need to tell you.'

Cynthia nodded and said, 'Iris, you can tell me anything.'

Iris held up the picture.

The councilor was surprised by how formless the girl's picture was. Iris seemed to be a very logical young girl. Her drawings always had a clear and concise point, and Cynthia could read them with her textbook knowledge/field experience and reinforce the things she seemed to be struggling with.

"Cynthia, when you find the one who can fill this picture in, don't ever let go of him. Don't ever let him lose you. You are essential to us. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded, seeming pleased with her work, picked up her coat, and walked out of the room, leaving her mess of color on the dark shiny table as she went.

Cynthia, noticing this, nearly ran out of the hall (because she was Iris's ride back home) and said "Iris, you forgot your..."

Iris was already gone.

Cynthia was never contacted by anyone aware of her again.