Kara

KARA

The snow fell on Kara's face as she walked down the lonely streets. It wasn't exactly lonely- people buzzed past her, lost in their tiny bubbles, oblivious to anything else outside their sphere of existence.  

That was the way humans were. They saw other people as an extension of themselves. If she were friends with any of them now, perhaps she would matter. They would notice that her eyes were lined with snowflakes. They would notice that her skin had turned pale from cold, and her fingers shook and trembled. 

They would see the thirteen-year-old girl, under the worn-out coats and torn boots.  

But she wasn't their friend. No one was friends with anyone in a world like hers. It was hard enough to survive, harder to care about anyone else.  

Kara's breathing slowed down and grew heavy. It hurt to blink. Hurt to see. Hurt to move her limbs and with each step she took, it felt like she would fall apart.  

Help me, she wanted to cry. Help me. Save me. Somebody.  

Anybody.  

But there was no one.  

Life hadn't always been cold and wintry for the child. Two months ago she had been just fine. She had sipped from a tall mug of chocolate, wrapped in blankets, and sat near the fire. While her mother read her stories about Princes and Princess, Dragons and Knights. 

They had been just two of them. And they had been fine.  

Kara's mother worked as an assistant for the boss of an ad agency. Sure she got paid peanuts, but it was enough to get by and raise a child. It was enough to give Kara a small modest shelter above her head, send her to a good school, and give her the best meals no matter how small.  

Her mother was always warm. Dressed in long sweaters and had a tired yet wide smile all the time. Well, perhaps not all the time. There had been a few times when she would hear her mother cry in the bathroom. On one occasion she had been searching for a pen to write with and had opened her mother's drawer.  

The drawer had been filled with knives.

Twice, she had taken out the trash and noticed droplets of blood in the trash can.  

But as soon as she saw these things, her mother would charm her with a cookie, a story, or a song keeping Kara stuck in her little bubble.

She would walk for ten minutes to her middle school and back. There was this girl named Angie who would always yank at her hair, or cause her to trip in the hallways.  

But Kara learned to avoid her and stay where the teachers were.  

There was the history class, which was hard to stay awake in. But she sat in the back and made sure to be as inconspicuous as possible.  

After school, Kara would race home, eager to meet her mother who would be in their tiny little garden, tending to the vegetables. She had no friends. She didn't need them. 

All she needed was her mom and it had been perfect. 

Until Kara had skipped home one afternoon from school. 

The gardens were empty. Her mother wasn't there. She checked the day kitchen, the wide living room, and the tiny bedroom they shared. Concluding that her mother had probably stepped out for a bit, she jumped on the sofa and turned on the TV. 

And then it dropped.  

Something red, something bloody, landing flat on her cheek and rolling down to her palm. Another dropped and Kara touched her cheek, looking up. 

Her mother's soulless eyes looked down at her as her body hung limp from the ceiling.  

That was the needle. The needle that punctured the perfect bubble.  

Sirens wailed. Paramedics and cops filled the scene. It didn't take much time for them to proclaim it a suicide and for them to cart her mother off in a van. 

Yet somehow, they forgot all about the kid. The child who had called them, crying and screaming her head off.  

But why, Kara thought, dragging herself down the cold lonely road. Why would her mother commit suicide? Hadn't everything been great? 

But that was the thing with humans. They projected their beliefs into reality and tried to believe it with all their heart. Relationships were an extension of themselves.  

To Kara, her mother had a good job and took good care of her.  

While the paramedics tried to get her mother's body off the ceiling, she noticed the pills on the table. Pills she had often seen her mother pop whenever she felt tired.  

Kara had thought them to be painkillers. The words Valium stared back at her. Her mother had been addicted to them. To the pills.  

Because they made her forget.  

As they hauled her mother off the ceiling, bruises marred her body. Her arms, her neck, her torso. Purple, mangled flesh, damaged over the years. A vague memory of seeing a bloodied cloth in the trash can filled her head at the sight.  

The paramedics wondered if the woman had been attacked.  

But Kara could see the truth now.  

Her mother had cut herself.  

Over and over.  

The knives in the drawer. The blood stains in the trash can. The hollow, tired look on her mother's face as she bled herself secretly, over and over.  

The cold whipped harsher. Kara's legs stood still, her head felt heavy and her chest hurt from breathing too hard.  

Why would her mother do that to her? Why did she cut herself? What could be so traumatic for someone like her, someone so happy, that she would decide to end it all? 

The note. There had been a note on her mother's desk. It read "You can run, Kara, but we will always find you." 

Darkness enveloped Kara and she crashed to the ground, giving in.  

Someone's perfect little bubble popped then. An old woman. She noticed the barely covered child lying face down on the street. The people around moved on without a care in the world. Without an iota of concern.  

When Kara opened her eyes, it was warm.  

"Welcome back, Kara," said an old woman with pretty white hair and the fiercest blue eyes she had seen. Her white lab coat gleamed in the  

"Am I dead?" The little girl mumbled.  

"No Kara, You are back," The old woman grinned. "Running to the future was fun, wasn't it?" 

The memories came flooding. The facility. The experiments. How she had escaped to a future, brainwashed a random lonely woman into being her mother, and lived a mediocre happy life. 

"You killed her," Kara whispered, tears streaming down her face.  

Outside the world was the same. Cold. With everyone living in their bubbles. Oblivious to the cruel woman who sat beside Kara.  

"It doesn't matter where you run," the old woman grinned, folding her arms. The nameplate on her chest gleamed with an inscription. 

FACILITY FOR ALIEN GENETIÇ AUGMENTATION

"But we will always find you.”