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Scheherazade in Blue Jeans
freelance alchemist
Apostate 
25th-Jul-2009 11:00 am
Hearth



I made this! Copper wire strung on a copper hoop, with all manner of space-station debris in glass, pearls, kyanite, and bismuth.

Click here to bid!

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You might feel a little pressure.

She winced, face down, head cradled in cold metal. Words seemed to flicker before her eyes: Are you all right?

"Yes," she whispered aloud.

He continued.

Images flashed, searing her mind - the last cries of her gods, silenced one by one as he extracted her implants. Dear goddess of hydroponics, dear god of gravity, thanked daily as a reflex. Dear goddess of clean air, dear god of AI.

It was the whispers - the crosstalk of a dying station, no longer shielded from the neural network of its human occupants. The contradictory information, the conflicting instructions. Many had learned to balance the contradictions in their daily lives - her father went to the chapel in the heart of the station daily, praying, finding it in himself to listen to all of the voices in his head. She could not. Gods all around her, no, she could not. And it was whispered in the hallways, the tunnels of the station that she need not - that there was a way, there was a man.

There could be silence and freedom.

Burst of static from the generator-god, and she cried out, whole body tensing - he could kill her at a distance, they all could, and she waited for it, but instead there was only one word hanging before her eyes:

PLEASE.

Then -

PLEASE HELP.

"Not like this," she muttered.

"Final step," the man said, hand on her shoulder. "You sure?"

"Yes."

pressure, yes, and pulling, and tearing, and the wail of the great mother goddess, the station herself, as she felt her connection severed forever

She heard a clatter to her left, and the man patted her back. "All done," he said quietly, expertly bandaging the raw red socket behind her ear. "Sit up - slowly."

She did, pressing her hands to her face, wiping away her tears; she eyed the metal tray next to her, ugly dataport plug and tangle of bloody wires. Gone. Silence in her head, for the first time in her adult life; senses stripped back to three. She looked up at the man, noticing for the first time the hole where his 'port had been - it was sewn shut with thin copper wire, strung with colored glass beads.

He gave her a slight bow. "It is done. Now find your own gods."
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Am still at $1,082.24. SPONSOR ME!

And remember - when bidding, do so by replying to the comment of the previous high bidder! Otherwise, how will they know they're being outbid? Please don't make me have to spend all Monday managing this. :)

And bidders - you might want to track comments on the items you're bidding on. Just in case.

Team Venture showcase: thesilentpoet

More information here: http://thesilentpoet.livejournal.com/162298.html

Sponsor page here: http://www.blogathon.org/login.php?action=pledging&blogid=65

Blurb:
I have lost too many people I know to cancer. Both maternal grandparents. A great-uncle. Yes, I am still blogging for their memories, and their sakes. But this year we're bringing bringing it round. In 2001, a girl in my sister's high school class passed away from leukemia, specifically ALL (Acute Lymphomatic Leukemia). At the time, she was fifteen. She had been fighting the leukemia for two and half years. What it comes down to? I believe in cancer research. I believe in the stand St. Judes has built itself on. I believe in doing what I can when I can. I believe in helping this cause. So, that no one has to lose another grandparent to cancer. So, that never again will a fifteen year old girl have to lose her life before it's even begun.
Comments 
25th-Jul-2009 03:49 pm (UTC)
That's a gorgeous piece.
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