Bones of the Sun

Another Prologue

I imagine bleeding to death for him. Natural people will find it ridiculous that I have fallen in love with my master, but I refuse to lie. Jordi Pyne was my Guardian, but not in the way you will expect. Moments after this screaming girl writhed into the world, her parents signed a contract with a Collection Facility. A vault overflowing with rows and rows of maturity cases. It takes two weeks for a baby to grow into a body equivalent to the age of seventeen. A year shy of adulthood with the rights of a child. And in this world, children do not have rights unless the government says they do. The face of Jordi Pyne was my first experience of humanity. I was cold, and he was warm, I sat plugged into hundreds of tubes and he was free to move about the room, I was energy and he was a low battery. Because my parents did not want me, the Collection Facility turned me into an Outcome. A person born for slave labor and obedience. Jordi differed from his coworkers, his kindness surpassed conditions. This man laughed with me for six months, this man prepared me for what life was to come, this man shared my first memory of what pancake syrup tasted like. This man is the reason I am here now. The day of the auction, we made eye contact, and read each other's thoughts. Within a gilded cage, my bones shuddered as Guardians wheeled me before a ravenous crowd. Dozens of rich people waved signs to start out the bid.

"A sprite specimen in a lovely green dress." The auctioneer shouted. "And a fresh specimen for a bargain commencing at eighty flows."

An ancient bald gentleman raised his white number on a stick and my teeth clenched. My only wish was to go to a nice household, but I had my doubts. Three more people lifted their wands to raise the price to ninety-five flows. The commotion dragged on for ages, but my heart leapt at one familiar voice.

"Two-hundred flows!" Gasps echoed across the platform. Jordi raised his arm above the crowd and yelled the price again as if daring the mob to challenge it. His ashen eyes flashed in my direction. That was the moment I knew I loved him. Today I am sitting beside a cracked window, watching the clouds cry, but my gaze falls every once and a while to the service light. I want it to flicker into its daily orange because that means only one thing. Jordi needs me. Everything has stayed professional. I am his servant; he is my master. Although, every once and a rare while, I notice the look he will give me. The man cannot figure me out.

The walls in my room needs new paint, and I contemplate a light sunshine yellow before a movement catches me off guard. My vision watches a gnarled rat nibble a feast of leather boots. The fat thing crawled into my only good pair, and I giggle now that I only see its tail sticking out. The Collection Facilities were sanitary and sharp as a sword, but the homes of people in the community have homes with massive holes and mold-ridden furniture. This phenomenon is normal. Not that neighbors visit often, but they consider the stink to be perfume, and the gloom to be a glistening chandelier. I do not understand it because all my Outcome eyes can see is filth. That is not the strange thing. Most citizens in the country of Knave do not realize they live in mounds of rubble. My hands were gentle as I picked up my boot with the rat still in it. Two minutes go by, and I crouch near the vibrant grass tilting my boot as to pour the rodent out. I predict it will not stay in the yard forever considering we have just as many holes in the house as the rest of the world. Another odd fact that glares me down is how well the outside of each house looks. Perfect. They look perfect.

"Miss Beame!" Jordi joins me outside before he walks back; he notices the massive shriveled leaf falling out of the foot covering in my hand. "Um, could you come inside please?"

My lips curl upward at his discomfort.

"I thought I said it was unwise to turn your house guests into the likes of these." Jordi glared at my obvious teasing.

"Just so you can sneak him into my roast?" He finishes. "I'm afraid that one isn't my fault." My stomach butterflies turned into a beehive as I follow my master inside. The potent scent of coffee invades my nostrils, and I study the tiny nook adjacent from the dining room. Jordi strides towards the scratched table and digs a hole through the mountain of papers. Three moments pass by before he holds up an envelope in victory. His gray eyes gleam, and for a moment, I float on the surface of the moon; his irises remind me of that silver dollar in the sky, sprinkled in stars collected for dreams.