Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 144277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 721(@200wpm)___ 577(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 721(@200wpm)___ 577(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Something to live up to.
And I do not get the feeling that this will be easy.
Haryet’s spool of thread is suddenly wrapping around me. Glowing, undulating—and in this thread, I hear her message….
You’re not alone, Little Sister. You will never be alone again.
And now, neither will they.
We are all One with the Source now.
We are Creation.
I look at Haryet—miles upon miles of spark thread all around us—and let out a long breath. “I get it. But now what? What do I do with this—” I want to say burden, but I pull it back at the last moment. “This…” Gift, Clara. It’s a gift. “What do I do with it, Haryet?”
She points at me, spark thread spooling out of her fingertip at an alarming rate. It wraps around me, spinning me into a cocoon.
Survive, her spark whispers.
And then there is one moment.
One last, final moment when everything is good, and warm, and peaceful.
A single moment when the tilted, crooked universe is upright and steady.
And then I am ripped away—back into the coldness.
Back into the emptiness.
Tight, spun out, captured.
“Needles and thread!”
Cold emptiness.
I open my eyes to find myself face to face with a monster. A smiling, cackling monster. “Needles and thread. Needles and thread little dollll-eeeeee!” The Crooked-toothed mutant jumps up and down, clapping his hands as he cackles these words, over and over.
I’m so confused. My mind is… not right. I don’t know where I am.
“I’ve got you!” the broken man yells, delighted at his success. “I’ve got you!”
“Wh—What?” I manage to gasp. That’s when it hits me—tight, spun out, captured—I’m on the train line. Parts of the dream still linger in my mind—the women, made into husks from all the spark harvest. How they came to me and gave me a piece of themselves to hold on to. And how I gave them names to hold on to back. The shard! I force my head up so I can look down at my chest and… there it is. The glowing blue shard of Spark Source.
Frantic, my eyes dart to the twisted man. Can he see it? Does he know I was given a gift from the Source?
But if he can, he doesn’t seem to care. “Get her feet,” he squeals to the mutant beside him. “Unspooling time! Needles and thread. Needles and thread!”
Dozens of grubby mutant hands grab me. Claws digging into my arms and legs. I’m lifted into the air—hauled over their heads like a prize. A procession of monsters marching me off the train line and up onto the platform. Then I’m through the door, down a hallway, more hallways, stairs, down, then up. And finally, a dimly-lit room filled with screens, and machines, and…
"Good girl," the lead monster sings. "Good girl, good girl. But Luther’s good too! You came just like I wanted. Just like I planned. See? No one ever listens to Luther, but Luther knows!"
I try to struggle as they lower me down feet first. Then, I’m standing upright. For a fleeting moment I picture my escape. Pushing through the monsters and retracing my steps back to the train line where Tyse will surely be waiting. Looking for me.
But it’s too late, it’s over. My arms are yanked wide as I’m pushed backwards with such force, only the gnarled hands holding onto my wrists keep me upright. My back slams against cold metal. Bindings snap tight around my wrists. Then my legs. My chest. My stomach. My hips. Straps. Clamps. Restraints. Fast, brutal, efficient.
By the time I process what’s happening, it’s already done and once the last few secure over my chin and forehead, I am completely immobile. Upright, but attached to the slab of coldness against my back with no give at all in the bindings.
The broken man—Luther—spins. Then leans into my space. Hands fluttering like he’s orchestrating something only he can hear. His eyes flicker—bright, then dim, then bright again. They’re blue, but then quickly flash a sickly yellow-green color—the color of poison or vomit—before going blue again.
I recoil, but it does no good. There is nowhere to go. No possibility of escape.
"Yes, yes, yes," Luther chatters. "This one’s got plenty left, oh yes. Epsilon will be so pleased. We’ll unspool her now, niiiiiice and slow."
I want to think about that word Epsilon, because I feel like it’s important, but my brain gets stuck on the word ‘unspool’.
I’m being unspooled?
“Needles and thread. Needles and thread!”
Facing me is a cage. It emerges from the opposite wall, only a few feet away, and begins to move towards me. It is tall. Thin. Gleaming. Thread-thin wires with needle-like ends hand limp along the edges.
Spools?
Hundreds of them. Thousands. Maybe more. They all pulse with a faint, sickly blue glow. Not the bright glow of a canal made of spark, but the dusty, sun-bleached blue of the Tau City Factory domes.