The Eight of Earth

4: Tanya Crown- *The Sick and The Saint*

She tells me she loves me every day. But if she truly meant it, she wouldn't do this to me. Wouldn't put me through such torment. How can you love someone and treat them like this? Her words are hollow to me. Actions speak louder. Maybe if I were her daughter by blood, she would see the pain she causes. Maybe she wouldn't be able to see me in states like these. Maybe she still would. Maybe I truly am too valuable to not be the subject of permanent exploitation.

What an utterly worthless word maybe is.

I hate these thoughts.

One life for the sacrifice of the many. What's the point? Why is my life less important than the lives I'm supposed to be saving? Just because there's more of them? I'm no martyr. What if two of us had my genes? What if all eight did? Would we never had been allowed a life of value? What's the number of sacrifices to lives-saved ratio to justify their actions? Some bullshit formula for morality. That's not how it works.

I peer through the loose neckline of my med gown at the wide scars that streak down my side.

My life's story is written in these scars. I'm told I contracted the Rotting as a child and survived. The only being on the planet to do so. I have no recollection of it, but apparently, it was a miracle. I suppose I'd consider myself lucky if it hadn't resulted in a lifetime as a lab rat.

I lay here. Machines cycling my blood, bone marrow, spinal fluid, mucus, and every other genetic material I possess to find a cure. Please. The cure is to let the weak rot away and begin again stronger with the remaining crop. Forgive me if I'm not the cheeriest individual, but the footlong tube up my nose makes it a little difficult.

"Just a few more minutes and we're done, ok?" The intercom clicks once again, and my angry tirade of thoughts slip back neatly into their deep corner of my mind. Until next time.

An alarm rings out mildly as the machines begin their shut down sequence. A soft hissing disengages the airlock doors, and Qwillow hurries in to untangle me. Pressing buttons, turning knobs, unclipping wires, she detaches me one piece at a time. She doesn't meet my eyes while she's doing it, but I can tell she feels my stare through the back of her head. If looks could kill.

She finally glances at me as we prepare for the worst part. Her voice doing its best to soothe me. "Ready?"

"Let's just get this over with," I say, tilting my head back. Qwillow gently wraps her impossibly frail hand in mine as she takes hold of the tube in my nose. I close my eyes and try to relax.

"Here we go," She says. Qwillow begins removing the tube. Inch by inch, it slides from my nose, scraping against my sinuses. My back arches, throat closing up as the pain rifles through my body. It feels like she's pulling out my soul. "Try to relax," Qwillow says. My nasal canals constrict even more as her comment infuriates me. I'm trying to fucking relax.

The moment I'm free from my medical torture device, I bolt to my feet.

"Whoa, easy." Qwillow flinches toward me as she grabs onto my arm. Our eyes meet, and we stand there. A timid smile tries to push its way out, but she knows the scowl on my face needs time to cool. She lets go and backs away as I push the wetness from my eyes, and she attends once again to her precious machines.