In truth, the pill altered the synaptic structures in the brain’s temporal lobe. They were designed to obstruct the most recent neural networks. After taking the pill, the worker’s episodic autobiography was depressed to the point of erasure. So even though Robin loved her baby with all of her soul, she would not be able to repeat her child’s song after erasure. In two weeks, when Robin was scrambled, her memory of the child would be so fragmented, it would seem like a dream that never existed.

I stared into the darkness of the Main Hall, seeing Jetson’s mouth spiraling before me. It opened and spat silently—Traitor! I jammed my hands into my hair and clenched my fist. Robin’s eyes, awash with tears, blinked before me—Liar! My stomach twisted. I could no longer ignore that the feeling churning there was guilt. Why did it feel so wrong?

Lost in thought, I didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hall. They stopped in front of me. Suddenly aware, my breath caught. Students must not leave their dorms after dark. Slowly, I raised my head. A black heel, a heavy skirt, a wide torso, a hard bosom. The back of my neck creased as I lifted my chin, exposing the tender skin of my throat.

The Assignment

THE ASSIGNMENT

I suffered from nightmares until my eighth year. Each dream began in the same place—the wood-paneled hall in front of the cracked window. As I walked the hall, a hole opened beneath me; there was no time to react. I fell several floors to land in another hall, in a dream world beneath the Schoolhouse. In my dream, I shouted as I hit a stone floor, facedown. I pushed myself aright and looked up. The hole I’d fallen through scraped shut. At the same time, another grate opened to my left, revealing a circle of light.

I jumped up and hurried toward the opening, eager to get back to the real world. In my haste, it took me a moment to see her—a girl, strangely familiar, illuminated in the circle beneath the grate. She crouched uncomfortably despite the wide hall. Her legs folded against her chest, her arms crossed over, her fingers burrowed in the dark flesh of her arms. I came to a skidding halt as I recognized her. She, the girl, was me, as I’d been in the Pit.

Suddenly, a voice—Jones’ voice—came down from the open grate. “Do you need more?”

Obediently, I rushed forward. “Enough, enough!” I cried out, but I was too late. Jones shut the grate and I was alone with myself—digging crescent moons.

I reached the girl just as the light above her was snuffed out.

“No!” I fell to my knees, beside her. “Look what you’ve done? She won’t be back for a day,” I sneered, furious. “You’re making it harder on yourself.”