I have a shiny new idea, and you know it’s serious when I’m taking a weekday off (and working on Saturday) so I can go write all day. The thing is that I haven’t been able to immerse myself in a novel the way I used to. I used to plot or visualize scenes (and get excited about them) or come up with twists while I was in bed trying to go to sleep or at work doing something that didn’t require my undivided attention (like mounting bugs on slides? Yeah). But my head has been all bzzz bzzz bzzz during these times for the past two years so that I couldn’t focus on novels the same way, even when I wanted to. But this week, I put on my headphones and listened to my iPod (instead of NPR, which I cannot concentrate during), and PLOTTED. 😀 I’m pretty excited about this SNI, not gonna lie. I’ll synopsize it tomorrow.
So here it is, the opening to Taylor-Made.
She brought me here, so I know it will be all right. This room is bare with gray walls and a single window looking out into the hall and a chair beside a table full of instruments. Some of them are electronic, and some look almost surgical.
I swallow, close my eyes, and imagine her face. Those startling dark eyes, the black hair that curves around her face, her cute little nose, and most of all her smile. I smile.
“Sit down, Justin,” Mr. Deere says. Marilinda introduced me to him when we arrived at the BOIS factory. She said that he needed to fix me, and of course I trusted her. I trust her.
A woman walks in and for a second my heart jumps, thinking it’s Marilinda, but, no, she doesn’t look anything like her except for the color of her hair. Her hair is long and straight, but her skin is too pale, her eyes too light, her nose too big.
“What do you want, Chelsea?” Mr. Deere says, impatiently. A scalpel is in his hand, but he hasn’t cut into me. I’m not sure what’s broken, what Marilinda needs fixing, but I’ll do anything for her. I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.
“I heard you had a return.” She puts her hand on my shoulder.
“Waste of a good Simulant. But what are you going to do? They’re made for one person, and if that person doesn’t want them…”
I look up at him, wondering who they’re talking about. I know it’s not me. Marilinda would never return me. She loves me. I was made for her.
Chelsea fingers my hair. That’s not allowed for anyone but Marilinda. I start to get up, but Mr. Deere pushes me back into the seat with a shove on my shoulder. He touches the back of my neck, and I can’t move.
“What if I know someone for whom this model would be perfect, with regards to his appearance? Can we start from scratch on the personality and recycle the Simulant? Nobody would have to know.”
My eyes are locked forward on the window. Marilinda comes into view and touches the window, watching me. It’s so hard to move, but I focus all my energy on moving my lips so I can mouth, “I love you. I’ll never leave you.”
A tear falls down her cheek, and she turns away.
There’s a pinch at my back and–