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When the room went dark, she heard her name. She should’ve been terrified. She should’ve kicked and screamed. Instead she was overcome by an otherworldly sense of calm. Like she had finally come home. The voice was as familiar as her own, but with a hollow twang that echoed through the air and scratched a part of her brain she never realized was itching. She was sure. The lights would rise and the mothership would be hovering above her, beam descending, ready to take her where she always belonged. She knew the padded walls had been a gross miscalculation. She wasn’t meant to be here. She was meant to be there. It all made sense now. Why she never quite fit. Why she carried this heavy sense of unease everywhere she went. She wasn’t meant for this life. This planet. This skin suit she’d been forced to occupy. It wasn’t hers, that’s why it was so ill-fitting. That’s why most of it was claw-mark at this point. It’s not her fucking suit and this is not her planet.&nbsp; Finally the system had caught its error and had sent someone to free her. Herself 2.0. She was ready. If only those damn lights would come on. If only that padded ceiling would part ways and open up space for the beam to get through. She could smell it. Freedom. And there’s that voice again. Come on, take me already. She scrambled around in the dark for someway to guide the beam…&nbsp; and there’s the panic.&nbsp; Maybe that wasn’t her voice. Maybe this is a test. To see if she’d fall for any old ship that came her way. No. She couldn’t go. What if it fits even worse than here? The lights come on and she finds her nails dug so far into the wall, holding on for dear life. To what she already knows.&nbsp; And she was right. The ship was there. And it was taking off without her.&nbsp;

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Skin

NatassjaYorke

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Skin

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Natassja Yorke

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