• Many things are precious in life. For example, a birth. A small child's thrilled laughter at a new discovery. Pattycake days with Daddy and bedtime stories with Mama. First days of school. The too-many pictures of first days of school. Shoe shopping with unfashionable, "out-of-the-know" grandparents. Graduations. Finding the perfect college that never seems to exist. Marriages, love. Yes, definately love. Growing old with that one who knows you best. Sleeping in on Saturdays, just to get up the next morning to begin a new week. Grandchildren. Shoe shopping with grandchildren who don't seem to get why your style of shoes isn't "in style". Making their frustrated tears go away with a bowl of icecream and a push on the swingset. Spring rains. Autumn leaves.

    How unfortunate would it be to miss out on all this, and then more?


    August stared blankly out the dirty rainstreaked window, watching the world outside move on with their normal lives. Forgetting her. But she was startled from her reverie by the clanking footsteps outside her thick metal door. She almost fell out of her seat in a hurry to stand up.

    The door was heaved open, inward. August shoved her arms to her sides and looked straight ahead in attention. Even though her eyes bore into the wall's textured surface she watched two men in sterilized suits march calmly into the room. So this would be a casual visit today. A mere checkup. She trembled in relief.

    "Good day, Ms." one of the men, the taller one with brown hair, barked in a gruff voice, pointing to the table of a bed in the corner while the second man helped him set up the large silver machine they hauled into the room. August nodded once and headed mechanically for her seat.

    She counted the steps it took to reach the bed by habit alone.

    One, two, five, seven, nine, twelve, turn, sit.
    She planted her seat on the bench. Her back was stiff as a board. Her eyes were emotionless, searching for nothing in the mindless patterns that lined the opposite wall.

    "Well, Ms, looks like just a plain visit today. You know the drill."

    The other man stepped forward from the machine and pushed his white sleeves to his elbows to peel off the thin latex gloves. August pulled her long red-brown curls back as instructed and tilted her head backward under the man's careful, expert touch. He lay two fingers on each of her temples. As soon as flesh hit flesh, his thoughts exploded into a noisy roar behind August's green eyes, accompanied by the whine of the machine starting up. The first man watched diligently.

    One order rose above the rest that drowned August's young mind. Relax.

    She felt everything but her spine go limp under the order of the master. She wouldn't allow herself to panic this time. It was against the rules. The machine clicked impatiently, telling the first man to let off its head. He didn't listen.

    Almost as soon as it had begun th second man released August's forehead. she took in a deep, carefully silent breath. The man stepped around the table to August's back. Here she stiffened. The first man typed notes onto the machine's small keyboard. The machine clicked its disappointment.

    The second man pulled August's thick hair into a rubberband bun above her head and put both chilly hands on her childsized bare shoulders, slowly moving inward towards the nape of her neck. Her arms reacted against her control, wiggling fingers and moving her shoulders in circles. He let her go just before touching her spine. It would be against the rules to do so.

    Again, August sighed as her own will swept back over her.

    He let her hair down and brushed her right shoulder with a command. She lay down obediently.

    He pressed down on the base of her collar bone; her neck flexed compliently. The inside of her elbows. Each small fingertip. Back of the knees. Stomach, just above her belly button, just below the scar under her ribs. Arches of the feet (she flinched against his will; being ticklish was a curse). Each time he touched her the command was spoken to her nerves directly, and each command was followed smoothly. The first man nodded his approval at each successful check.

    Finally, it was all over. The second man pulled his sleeves back down over replaced gloves (fresh, sterile gloves) and helped her sit back up. August grimaced slightly at the color her fingers and toes were turning, had always turned after each checkup: a sickly yellow green, the color of unripe bananas on an African afternoon. Baby vomit green.

    The first turned off the machine (it clicked its opposition) and loomed over the child proudly.

    "Again, a near perfect turnout, Ms. Keep it up and you will be rewarded greatly." He turned away and August mumbled something under her breath. He looked back angrily, only with his eyes. His jaw clenched.

    "Repeat?"

    August's face flushed, but she had to obey the direct order. It was the rules.

    "I said, I won't get my freedom," her shaking voice relayed.

    The first man swung into a fury, whipped around and slapped her left cheek as hard as he could. The dull thud of flesh on flesh echoed in the small room. When she was finally able to reright herself up again, she stared at him with defiant eyes.

    "You are dead," he hissed furiously. "No one wants you anymore." He left before she could say any more to upset his scientific indifference.

    The second man sighed and patter her head thoughfully then left, wheeling the impatient machine ahead of him. The door was heaved shut. The retreated steps faded and then disappeared. August whimpered quietly.