*

Lea is still asleep when Natalie comes in with the tray. At least her eyes are closed. She wonders if she put too many pills in last night’s soup. The only idea more frightening is how tempting it gets sometimes to put the whole bottle in.

“When is this fog gonna lift? I’m sick of seeing only gray.”

You’d be sicker if you could see more, Natalie thinks but all she says is: “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I thought I was dead. Or that the rest of the world was. I’m not sure and I don’t know if I even care anymore.”

“Social media still down?” As if she needed to ask.

“What do you think?”

Lea’s eyes are open now, fixated on her sister’s. Natalie forces herself to meet her gaze. Better suspicion than certainty. Don’t let Schrodinger’s cat out of the bag and we can all pretend it never happened.

After just a sip, Lea puts down the cup.

“Bitter?”

“Too hot. I’ll have it later.”

Natalie makes a mental note to put the pills in Lea’s soup from now on.

*

“Got a message from Mom,” Lea says at lunch.

“What does she say?”

“The usual. Hope you’re fine. Love you. Tell Natalie to massage your feet every day until you go to sleep.”

“She didn’t say that.”

“No, she didn’t.” Lea grins. “But you could.”

“Maybe I will,” replies Natalie. “If you finish your soup.”

“You’re worse than Mom, sometimes.”

“Wrong. I’m always worse than Mom. But thanks for the ‘sometimes’ anyway.”

“When is she coming home, do you think?” Lea now asks.

“Didn’t she tell you?”

“You know how vague she gets with specific questions. She’s even worse when texting.”

“Well, she’s not big on texting. Different generations and all that.”

“She could always call. They did have phones when she was our age, didn’t they?”

*

After lunch (and she did finish her soup, so Natalie feels obliged to rub her feet – not that she minds) Lea mutters : “Can you believe I got Mom to text me but I can’t even get a single one from Chris?”

To a sixteen year-old princess, even a sick one, the absence of a prince charming at her bedside is more than an insult, it’s the ultimate injury. Natalie is tempted to tell her that Chris got himself a new girlfriend. That he’s gone off to live with her in Japan and has forgotten all about Lea. Anything to get her off the subject.

*

She will have the world at her feet, that one, their mother used to say about Lea. Easy enough when the world lies shattered on the floor, Natalie reflects, like the glass bowl she smashed after the last call from Dan.

As if reading her thoughts, or maybe because her mind is still on boyfriends, Lea asks: “Dan hasn’t been around in a while, has he?”

“We broke up,” Natalie says shortly.

“Really?” Lea sounds genuinely surprised.

“Shit happens.” Her hint to drop the subject but for once, Lea is all solicitude.

“When did you guys last spoke?” she asks.

“Some weeks ago.”

“What did he say?”

Natalie takes a deep breath. “He said: ‘Shit’.”

Lea giggles, then realizes she shouldn’t. “Sorry,” she says. “No really, I am. I like Dan. He’s the kind of guy who knows stuff but doesn’t need to brag about it, you know what I mean?”

“I thought he bore you to tears. Like that afternoon we spent at the beach?”

“Please. Like I’m gonna let on when I’m having fun. I don’t even know why I do that, sometimes. Like maybe if I admitted I was enjoying something too much, it would be taken away from me.”

This is the more open Lea has been in ages. Maybe it takes a broken connection to get people talking to each other again.

“We should never have told you that smiling gives you wrinkles.”

“I’d be happy to get wrinkles now. At least it would mean I’ve lived long enough to get them.”

She does smile then, and this time Natalie is not afraid to meet her gaze.

*

Once Lea is asleep, Natalie goes down to the kitchen. From the top of the cupboard she retrieves a telephone, reads the new message and starts writing.

Their mother kept vague about her job. All the girls knew was that it included “buying and selling“ and traveling to the big city on occasions. She certainly didn’t try to make it sound glamorous, in fact sounded so jaded and weary about it that they learned not to ask too much. Which is actually proving convenient now.

October was their mother’s busiest month. That’s when the company held its annual convention, an open door for jokes about Halloween and the true nature of her employers. “The witches brew convention,” as Lea once called it. “Almost to the letter,” Mom said. “Witches crew, then?” Lea said and they both dissolved into a fit of laughter though Natalie failed to see what was so funny.

Even as she pit them against one another, their mother encouraged them to stick together. Constant competition was her idea of emulation. Natalie likes to think this was her way of building up their sense of solidarity against adversity. You make use of whatever life throws at you, including what it throws in your face.

*

It took Natalie a few days before she thought of retrieving the phone. She should have done it sooner, but there were so many things to deal with and so few she could bear thinking about. Like getting rid of a body before its smell got too strong to hide. Digging a hole big enough in the garden at night, all the time praying the pills she put in the soup were enough to make Lea sleep and not enough to kill her. And trying to retain some pretense of sanity through it all.

Then, just when she thought the worst was over, at least for the time being, having to dig up again when she realized where the damn phone was.

*

The worst, smell aside and she had a scarf over her nose, was going through her mother’s pockets one by one, feeling the flesh underneath and its texture already changing after just a few days. No more rigor mortis there. Whether this was the effect of the garden soil, the fog or something else, she’d rather not ponder.

It took another few days before she could establish a closed network between all three phones, raking her brain for what she could remember from electronic classes and Dan’s passion project, the one he bored her to death talking about on their first evenings together. That’s when she had asked if being a geek was a congenital male trait. “You should be grateful for geeks,” he said. “When you spend nights tracking down a bug, finding a G-spot is like a walk in the park.” That made them laugh, and more than laugh. “Feeling geeky tonight?” became their secret code, an invitation neither could resist.

If he could see her now, she thinks, he would be so proud. Though he would probably point out all the things she could have done better and faster. Just for that, she was almost grateful he wasn’t around.

The last thing he said was shit.

Contrary to what she has let Lea assume, they were not fighting but commenting on the fog that was seeping everywhere, messing up electronics and fucking up with the TV and phone reception.

Then Dan did say shit. As in “Oh Shit! Oh shit, no! Shit –“ and then the scream that seemed to last an eternity but might have been only a couple of seconds before he was cut off.

She stopped trying to call back after the first attempts. Knew from what she could hear on the radio that there was no point. Then the radio went dead too.

*

“You need to take care of your sister.” She remembers her mother’s words, and how typical that her sister’s needs should become her own. “Lea just hasn’t got your strength.” A compliment doubling up as burden: another responsibility to shoulder, another reason to be grateful for said strength.

Not that Natalie minded. From the moment Lea was born, Natalie had doted on her. “This is not a doll we bought you for Christmas,” their mother would say. To five-year old Natalie, Lea was better than a doll and much prettier: all blond hair and green eyes like their mother, while Natalie took after their estranged father as Mom liked to remind her.

She never resented the extra care and attention her little sister required. That Natalie could fend off for herself she also took as a compliment – if one she wasn’t sure she deserved or even want. But she had learned to be grateful for anything that came her way whether or not she had wished for it.

*

Natalie takes her mother’s phone and reads Lea’s latest message: “Mom, when are you coming home?”

She starts typing. “Soon.” Pauses, wonders what to add next. Invent a new delay? Searching for inspiration, she browses through old messages. There’s another one from Lea that she missed. Thinking guiltily of her sister awaiting an answer, Natalie opens it. And feels worse than guilt.

“Mommy, please come home. I think Natalie is trying to kill me.”

*

You need to take care of your sister.

The irony is that, after all she did to protect her from the truth, Lea would not believe it if she told her. Lea doesn’t trust her anymore, provided she ever did. And with that dawning realization, Natalie feels more than guilty or helpless but useless as well.

What would be worse? Telling her their mother is buried in the garden because there was no way to do otherwise, and no time either, not when they were cut off from the rest of the world, which might as well be dead for all she knew, oh and by the way you were right about that too, Lea. Even though you’re half zoned out of your mind all the time with all the medicine I’ve been slipping you – not to kill you, mind you, but to shield you from the truth. Because this is what Mom would have wanted. She said you couldn’t bear the truth.

But did she say that, really? Or is Natalie the one who can’t face the truth? Can’t face anything, not even her own cowardice. It doesn’t take courage to do the things she does. It just takes a steadfast denial of reality under the guise of responsibility. Exchanging one burden for another.

What does facing the truth even mean, she wonders. Is the truth some kind of wild animal you can tame with a look, like you’re Queen of the Fucking Jungle? Or do you let it eat you alive like a good Christian martyr? Options are scarce when the only crash course you can get on bravery is from a screen.

*

The truth is nothing you’re prepared for. The truth is that connections are just as fragile as bodies and disconnections even messier. The truth is that nobody remains a body for long when exposed to more than they bargained for. The truth is that a fog is not always a fog even when it hides what you need to run from, run faster than you’ve ever ran as if running could put more than distance but light years between perception and reality, running back in space and time, until the truth stops being the truth.

The truth is that a house is not a home without a few skeletons in its closets.

She knows what needs to be done, she tells herself. It’s either that or die trying. At this stage, both options hold their own appeal.

*

In the fog, the most familiar route looks foreign. A good thing she’s made the trip to the village so often she could do it with her eyes closed – and the temptation is strong to do so, especially when passing by unfamiliar shapes and mounds on the wayside. She knows what they are, would know it by her nose too if it wasn’t protected by her two scarves – one being insufficient to block out the fog and the smell.

*

She has her backpack for scavenging groceries, a mission she usually dreads. Inside the silent store, she has to put her mind on pause as she reaches blindly for the nearest shelves, stepping over mounds of bodies and cans, each burst open in their own way, their smells mingling. She shove cans haphazardly in the bag until it’s full. Hoping it’s the last time she has to do this.

*

Maybe this is just her passing on the bucket, but she has to bring someone in – someone with the proper authority, like Dr. Carter. He will find the right words, and Lea will believe him.

But no one answers the doctor’s door. The bell doesn’t work and neither does her pounding. She should have known, just as she knows it’s no use insisting.

She contemplates her next move. The scarves won’t protect her for much longer and the temptation is to keep walking into the fog until she can’t walk anymore. She almost considers trying other houses, knowing how futile that is, when her phone buzzes. Lea must be awake.

But it’s not Lea. The caller is “Unknown“.

“Hello?” Her voice is muffled through the scarves but she prays it won’t be mistaken for voicemail. “Who’s there? Hello?” She’s frantic with hope, sudden renewed hope pouring like rain on dry land, until she realizes there’s no one on the line.

But there’s still reason to hope. The three bars flashing flashing green on her telephone screen. The first signal she’s had in weeks. Where there is a connection, there is life.

She tries going online. Most of her links are dead except one, a news site that hasn’t been updated in weeks. Still, almost as beautiful as an olive branch delivered by dove.

*

Checking her phone as she walks back, eyes on the green bars that have become like a lighthouse in the night. She doesn’t know if it was moving away from the house that got her service, or if in tinkering with the network, she somehow managed to unlock what needed to be. If so, those late night sessions with Dan did pay off. Or maybe she’s a fucking geek genius herself and never knew it. All she knows is that she needs to keep that connection until she gets home.

She arrives to find the whole house in lights, piercing through the fog as if greeting her in victory. Which must mean the power is back on, another cause for rejoicing.

*

“Lea?” she calls from the hall, but Lea might still be asleep, unaware of all the lights shining again on them. Natalie drops her bag and starts upstairs, creaking stairs under her giddy step as she tries not to run after all these weeks of waiting, waiting without hope. This is what hell must be like: one big waiting room with no door ever opening.

Or maybe hell is a door opening on what should remain closed.

*

Lea lies in bed, eyes open but unseeing, phone still in her hand. Fingers clutched in a death grip on her last connection to life. The pill bottle at the foot of the bed, empty. Natalie wonders how she could have found the strength to get up and retrieve it. Then she remembers Lea’s last message: “I think Natalie’s trying to kill me.” She wouldn’t have drunk her tea, or finished her soup. Probably poured them down the toilet as soon as Natalie left the room. Lea would have been strong enough to get up in her absence and see what the world had become. Or maybe just the garden.

Green light flashing through Lea’s fingers: the bars triumphantly indicating connection. Maybe her phone benefited from the same service as Natalie’s, linked as they were by her homemade network. Lea would have clicked hungrily on the first link available. Even weeks-old news would have been news enough for her.

*

Lea’s fingers twitch now but it’s the phone again, vibrating. Natalie pries the device from her sister’s cold hand. The bell of a message received, a sound she hasn’t heard in ages. She thinks she hears other sounds too, as if the world was stirring out of its hiding place. Echoes of another time: the front door opening, or did she even close it. The creaking of stairs being climbed. Maybe it’s all in her mind, memories by association. She’s not sure and doesn’t care even if she should. Her eyes are still on Lea’s last message: “Mommy, please come home. I think Natalie’s trying to kill me.”

And the answer, just now received: “Have no fear, love. I’m coming to get you.”

All fifty girls in the sanctuary got out of their beds in a frenzy. The cables plugged into their temples throbbed throughout the night and nobody knew why, but it became the major topic for discussion at the cafeteria.

“Me thinks it’s some kind of fault from the tower,” said Glen, a short girl with a dark bob.

Her small frame and coy persona made it easier for the girls to dismiss her as usual.

“I felt a throbbing in me fore’ead” Esmeralda whispered.

Esmeralda’s green eyes twinkled in a slight craze. She demanded an explanation because It was the most interesting thing to take place at the shelter since last autumn. Unlike other days, there was excitement in the air. The boredom of young females was replaced by a thirst for gossip as every unit and every girl was tuned in to the indistinct chatter. At least that was until Ina resumed. Then the talking came to a halt.

They all fell silent and turned their heads to stare at Ina, a mop-stick of a girl with turquoise blue eyes and the lightest skin. Her white tunic was almost too big for her thin frame. Demure in her disposition, she walked silently down the hall and lowered her eyes to avert the glares from the other girls. She had a striking and spotless face, save for the scar on her right temple. This is what the girls were glaring at.

Ina stopped at the glass entree table and played around with the interactive surface until she found something that captured her fancy.

“Such a shame” Esmeralda whispered.

 “She could have been selected,” another girl added.

The girls at Esmeralda’s table looked on Ina with pity as she took her tray of greens and settled down by herself in the corner. Ina had become an outcast within the last month. She was marked for bad behaviour and for not adhering to the protocol of the shelter. The protocol was their law. It kept the girls safe. It made them smart and perfect. It was there to mold each one of them into the prototype, Esther. A prototype that Professor Heinrich spent years trying to mold.

Professor Heinrich created the shelter to make the perfect world. Where wars do not exist. Where people will think and frame clever ideas and contribute to society. Where nobody will be poor and nobody richer than the next. A world that excluded what he regarded as the main cause of pathology in society-

 Inequity.

The fifty girls of the sanctuary were his first sample. So far all of them showed signs of compliance until Ina painted something extraordinary during her art class. It was a portrait of a boy.

Ina being a talented painter could recreate the dimensions of any object in her sight on paper. Usually she would convey something precise. As was required of the girls, her art usually depicted a clear idea and a message that was easy to interpret. But that day, what she painted was out of the ordinary.

The portrait had dimensions and highlights to bring life to this bright face. His eyes had a sparkle in them. They conveyed something that nobody had ever seen before in art-

Emotion.

She had never met a boy in her life. In their world, the male should not exist. This innocent act was seen as a radical deviation from protocol. Ms Louise, a short plump matron, was conducting her usual rounds, inspecting each of the girls’ works when she came across Ina’s painting. She stood still for a second with a face expressing disgust and disdain. She thought it best to consult the Head Matron Teresa, a stone faced woman with an intimidating demeanour.

Teresa didn’t speak much. Her eyes said enough. She stood tall, with thinning dark grey hair and carried a cane in her left hand at all times which according to rumours, she did not hesitate to use. Many stories about Teresa had been circulating the shelter. Some said you would turn to stone if she looked at you long enough. Some said she slept with her eyes wide open. Some said it was her cane that could turn you to stone. And so none of the girls would dare get a disciplinary mark from Teresa.

Nobody expected Ina would be the first to get in a conflict with Teresa.

Teresa seized Ina’s hand In an instant and dragged her to the disciplinary room. A while after, orders were given to seize the painting and destroy it.

Where could this concept for the painting have come from? Her instructors thought.

It was a mind boggling phenomenon. A steward suggested that It had something to do with the scar on Ina’s forehead. When she brought it to her matron’s attention weeks before, it was dismissed as a mere rash or irritation. It had now been weeks since Ina painted the boy. Her scar was still sore .

It didn’t take long before the chatter in the cafeteria resumed again. The girls carried this bubbly energy through to the next phase of the day. In Ina’s unit, it was a session in Logic and Reasoning. Ina could barely remember anything from her previous session except that the girls behaved more rowdy than usual.

On a typical day, they would line up in a fashion as perfect as robots in a factory. This time, they were a little humanly messy. She didn’t know why but this made Ina feel a sense of relief. The change in the girls’ behavior soon became evident to the instructors. Through the glass, they watched as the girls in Ina’s unit solved puzzles. What bothered the instructors the most was that they looked as though they were having fun.

Little Glen smiled gleefully at Esmeralda who was just putting in the last piece to complete the pattern. Head Matron Teresa, observing from the glass window, noticed something concealed under Glen’s jet-black fringe. A scar similar to Ina’s- an alarming sight .

Matrons and stewards gathered at the disciplinary room to observe and examine Glen’s bruised red scar. She mentioned feeling a throbbing from the cables of her head gear.

“A couple of girls complained that they’re cables went haywire all through the night,” said Louise.

 All the girls had experienced it that morning.

Could the fault in the cables in the headgear have something to do with Ina’s strange behaviour? 

Desperate to find a solution, Teresa demanded that the headgear was monitored. She thought it highly unlikely that this was the cause. The headgear was only designed to transport them to a virtual reality. A computer generated world known as Estheria. Their only place free from surveillance in this rigidly governed society.

In Estheria it was always warm. There was no seasonal change. The girls could run around and wile away time, playing hide and seek in the trees in the parks. They all took delight in the cool spongy sensation of the green grass when they laid their heads on it.

 Time didn’t exist. Neither did work.

Only the girls had the privilege of experiencing the splendor of Estheria. During the day, Ina couldn’t help but ponder on the delightful things she experienced in Estheria. She recorded these ideas in a diary which she kept hidden in a safe, secluded spot inside the hedges near the park benches. It was perfectly concealed and out of sight… or so she thought.

Once every interval break, she would hide herself and discreetly pour out everything she could remember about Estheria down in her diary. The sun shone differently. The sky was a distinct blue and the lake rippled serenely under the tropical breeze. Recently however, she decorated the pages of her diary from end to end with her colorful art. Things recollected from her dreams. Things from the outside world- portraits of nature, savannas, plumerias, hyacinths, human life- women in beaches and swimming pools. A picture of the lake managed to make it into her diary. Like all the other pictures in her diary, it was drawn in haste. The lake was Ina’s favorite place in this virtual paradise. She loved it because it was the only place she could see her reflection. Estheria was the perfect dream until the headgear was switched off every morning at 7:00am.

Afterwards, the routine was the same every single day. They would head out of their dorms in a rigid organized fashion, head to the cafeteria for breakfast which was followed by their daily sessions and then march downstairs to the common lobby to form a circle around the screen. A hologram of a statuesque female would then emerge from the screen.

This particular day however, whilst the other girls sat on the floor transfixed on this screen, Ina’s attention was diverted to the room around her. She began scanning her environment. For the first time, Ina became more aware of her surroundings. Things became more clear and obvious – things she once ignored, things she was once oblivious to. Cartoons in monochrome colors displayed on the television set, the light bulbs, the chandelier, the furniture. As her eyes spanned the room, she caught Glen’s eyes. In this moment, they shared a look of understanding that transcended words. A look of one whose soul had been liberated.

But Ina noticed something else. Something that gripped her and made the hairs on her skin stand erect. She noticed someone studying the girls through the glass above.

 It was Teresa.

Only Glen and Ina noticed Teresa and her blank eyes. They were like big dark brown pebbles suspended in the spheres of her dome. Almost soulless. Teresa had a stern look as usual and was holding something in her right hand. As Teresa shifted a slight angle away, Ina caught a glimpse of what she was holding.

She was holding Ina’s diary.

Glen looked to Ina unsure whether to be afraid or alert. Ina however was sure of one thing- she was paralyzed by terror. Teresa didn’t take her gaze off Ina for even a split second..

How long had she been standing there, Ina thought as she sat numb, with a thumping heart and wet palms.

Following a loud spark coming from behind the television set, the light bulbs in the room dimmed slowly and in sequence until the lights were completely off. The girls were left in a bleak dull atmosphere where nothing but their shadowed forms could be seen. An orientation session had transitioned into a complete Lights Out. The screen displayed white noise and Esther’s hologram was nowhere in sight. Ina could no longer make out the sight of Teresa. Only a silhouette

The girls were dumbfounded – a mixture of angst and tension in the air. Ina braced herself and managed to regain a natural breathing rhythm and feeling in her limbs. She figured if she made her way through the girls around her, she might find Glen. Luckily, Glen found Ina first and clung onto her arm like one holding on for dear life. They were latched onto one another like jam on bread. The bond between them was the strongest it had ever been.

“You will be fine,” Ina whispered.

Their embrace was interrupted by the violent sound of the door being kicked open, followed by the sound of heavy boots stomping on the wooden tiles. The girls all scrambled to find their footing. A yellow flickering light from a torch pierced the darkness and hovered over the girls’ faces. It wandered around the room until it stopped at Glen and Ina.

A sudden forceful tug on Ina’s arm detached her from Glen’s embrace. She managed to cling onto Glen a few seconds longer. A few seconds long enough to whisper to her ,

“The Passageways….Behind the television”

Everyone could hear the tug of war- the rough kicking and screaming as Ina resisted being dragged across the room. Glen panted heavily as Ina was dragged away. She didn’t quite grasp the meaning of Ina’s words just yet. Passageways? Television ?

Light from the opened door revealed Ina being carried away by two uniformed guards. The harsh sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the room. Whether by sheer force of will, determination, or a rush of adrenaline Glen found a way through the herd of girls, to the television set and managed to dismount it. A shocking show of strength for someone of her stature. Other girls were in a frantic state. Some cried for Esther, others cried for Louise whilst others bit their nails in heart pounding anticipation.

Ina’s words kept replaying in Glen’s mind- The Passageways…Behind The Television. Still in a state of shock and utter delirium, Glen pushed the TV to the wall. A vain attempt to mount herself to the window ledge. Not practical, she realized. And it was also too risky. As she slowed down to catch her breath, she sunk into the wall and looked to the window high above. She felt a small indent along the face of the wall. She ran her hands through it and followed it’s trace as it led to a subtle dent somewhere in the middle.

All the girls sat and watched in awe as Glen’s act of bravery seemingly led to a wonderful discovery. Glen forced her fingers through the dent and ran them through the inner surface. It was indeed a wonderful discovery. What appeared to be a dent in the wall was actually a door handle.

Very carefully and slowly she pulled the ledge towards herself and allowed the entire surface to detach from the wall. The prancing of the girls slowly drew to a calm. They sat and watched with numb mouths as Glen unlatched this door from the wall. She looked back at the others and paused momentarily as if to take a breath. She braced herself.

She then turned back to face their one hope out of a messy situation. She made her way through the door and boxed herself inside the confinement of the hollow space. She examined the surrounding area. It was desolate, unkempt, dry, dusty, occupied with nothing but muddy air and the stench of metal. She looked to the right and the tiny space seemed to lead further down into an extremely long path. One more time, she turned to look at the other girls. No one was brave enough yet to follow. She started down the path alone until finally a green eyed fuzzy-haired fellow from behind crouched down and followed. She recognized the green eyes. They belonged to Esmeralda.

The two crawled into the confinement through the long stretch of metal and wood. Very quickly, two became three. And then three became four. Within minutes, ten girls followed behind Glen and forged down this risky path that seemed to stretch on for miles.

Glen continued to lead the pack, crawling with her eyes set ahead. The ceiling got higher and the smell of dank wood and metal began to dissipate slowly. They forged further until an hour passed and their surroundings became more friendly.

Their grueling journey had led them to an incline along the path a significant distance away from the door and the room. The width of the passage walls got wider, giving them liberty to squeeze through. A hungry and fatigued Glen was tempted to take a break until she considered the girls behind and how far they’d come. She mustered up courage to make it a few meters ahead. Esmeralda kept close to her tail. With assistance from those behind, Glen gained leverage to the top of the incline.

Immediately, she was met by a greater open space. A brick-walled and concrete floored structure filled with abandoned furnishings. Another room perhaps? Glen and Esmeralda shook the debris off their bodies as they helped themselves to their feet realising they had come to a cellar.

Their end of the tunnel.

Looking around there were timeworn boxes and mirrors arranged against the wall, old furniture, broken bulbs, and dusty portraits scattered along the floor. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high supported by long rusty wooden trusses nailed to the wall. Long lines of images on plastic film stretched across the room. There were faces on them. But too much contrast to make them out. One of the girls soon realized they were all pictures of females.Youthful girls in particular.

Glen was startled by a sharp noise from behind. Esmeralda’s loud gasp. Everyone looked to Esmeralda as she abruptly dropped what she was holding- a rain soaked teddy bear. A series of flashbacks ran through her mind.

Esmeralda slowly stepped away from the toy box and let tears rain down her face. Memories of another life began to stem from her adolescent heart. Memories of her childhood. Glen laid an arm on Esmeralda’s back as she came to a mutual understanding. This rain soaked teddy bear was a surviving remnant of her life before the shelter.

Other girls ransacked the boxes. There were toys, portraits, pins and needles stuck into balls, woven shawls, pink knitted scarves and sweaters. It slowly became evident to them- they grokked Esmeralda’s tears. Each item belonged to one of the girls. Fragments of a former life.

Glen was still pacifying the broken Esmeralda when she looked up to the mirrors arranged along the wall. She had never seen anything of its kind. In the shelter there were no mirrors. Only images. She became curious, noticing her full body’s reflection in all its dimensions. Wow, She thought. She moved closer. The modest light from the small window situated at great height compensated for the dimness of the room. She couldn’t see her face clearly in the mirror but what she saw was enough for her. Enough for her to remember who she was.

I hitched a ride on a private jet.

I was seventeen, visiting my grandmother in Stuart, Florida, and staying in her condo. Her next-door neighbor was a pilot who played bridge with her.

I met him near the end of my stay, and when I told him I was headed back to New York the next day, he said, “Save your ticket. You can fly back with me.”

In those days, plane tickets were fully refundable, so this was a big savings. Plus, I didn’t have to wait in lines or sit in the crowded coach section of a big commercial plane.

I don’t remember what kind of jet it was, but it was a luxury model, with plenty of comfortable seating and a lounge. The pilot flew for a wealthy private patron whom he referred to as “Mrs. Payson.” He would fly her down to Florida, leave her down there for a week or so, then fly the empty jet back to New York. So for this trip I had the entire cabin to myself.

This isn’t the model I flew in (we’re talking 1974 or thereabouts), but the general layout of the cabin was something like this…

A while later, I learned that “Mrs. Payson” was actually Joan Whitney Payson, the founder and owner of the Mets.

Flying cross-country by private jet is definitely the way to go, but expensive if you’re the one footing the bill. It’s much better to hitch a ride like I did!

Thank you for the A2A.

EDIT: I had no idea this answer would get so many upvotes. If I did, I would have given more careful thought to my answer.

Hitching a ride on a private jet is the slickest thing I’ve ever done on an airplane, but it’s not the slickest thing anyone I know has done.

The Godfather horse head scene

The Chairman of the CPC is an unpaid post and has been since 1921

It’s an honorary position albeit the most powerful position in China

Xi Jinping gets a Salary of around 220,000 Yuan a year for his equivalent Civil Service Rank when he joined the standing Committee (Around $ 30,000)

Additionally he also gets a salary of the President of China for the People’s Congress which is undisclosed but expected to be equivalent to the highest civil service pay rank which is 320,000 Yuan a year

So all in all he makes around $ 75,000 a year in Salary

As Chairman of CPC he also gets

• Lifetime Free Housing in the Zhongnanhai, Beijing
• State Allowance of 100% for all living expenses which means Servants, Food etc are fully free and paid by the State
• Lifetime Security & Transportation

Plus by his own disclosures, he has invested in A Shares & other instruments in the Chinese market

Georgia Baked Ham

Ingredients

• 1 (13 to 15 pound) fully cooked bone-in ham
• 4 cups sifted all-purpose flour
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 2 tablespoons ground cloves
• 2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
• 2 tablespoons ground mustard
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 cup (approximately) apple cider (not hard cider)
• Brown sugar for topping

Instructions

1. Trim some of the fat from ham.
2. Combine flour, brown sugar, spices, mustard and pepper. Add enough cider to make a dough.
3. Roll out dough into an oval, large enough to cover top and sides of ham. Drape dough over ham and lightly pat it in place so it clings to the surface. Do not encase the ham completely with the dough, just cover the top and sides leaving the bottom open.
4. Place the ham on a rack in a shallow, open roasting pan. Start ham in a cold oven. Set control to 325 degrees F.
5. Bake until thermometer reads 160 degrees F, about 3 1/2 to 4 hours, basting with cider every 30 minutes.
6. After it’s baked, remove dough jacket and discard.
7. Sprinkle ham with brown sugar and return to oven until top is bubbly and golden.