AT THE DINER

Leda jecked awake in a cold sweat, aftershocks still wracking her body. Her fingers were bunched in the tiny blanket as she willed her frantic heartbeat to slow to a more natural rhythm.

The fantasies had come each and every time she slept since the night at Ceres House. More than seven cycles had passed and, instead of decreasing with time, the dreams had only risen more strong. It was becoming impossible to remember that they were only fantasy and not certainty.

She didn’t want to think about how many times she had woken in the last week with her desperate fingers buried between her legs.

Thankfully, she was alone in the apartment. Cythia had gone to the market, wearing the protective scarf that covered her deformed face, and Argus still attended the crucial education program during the day. He loved to call it government-sponsored indoctrination. But they compelled him to go, without finishing off primary schooling it was nearly difficult to get a work certificate.

He