trisomy

 Once upon a time I remember learning that sand dollars are real animals. Who knew? They line up like goddamn paper plates, standing up on their sides to feed. I guess on dirt. As soon as someone comes I flatten myself to the wall and hope desperately he doesn't see me. There's no way anyone could know. Could they? Is it possible? I can't even think about it. I can't even think. This is wrong. This is so wrong. I hate myself, I hate him, I hate God, if there is a God. If there is, he's an asshole. I'm being melodramatic. This is stupid. I'm stupid. The rain is pouring, no rainbow in sight. Not for me, not for a long time. "Hey." "Hey."

 "Red and gold. Huh." Ask me again why I decided to invite the dirty pinko out to lunch. "Yes, red and gold," I grumble. This is becoming more awkward than I'd like. "Elizabeth-" "Don't call me that; we're rivals." "You're just angry because you don't know my real name." Co Cong smugly twirls a finger in her black locks. "Why the change of color scheme, Synergy?" "That isn't much better." She shrugs at me. "You asked. Demanded, really." "Eat your salad, commie." Co picks up her fork, then slams it back down on the table. "No. Answer my question." "Which?" "Red and gold?" I have to think about the correct way to phrase this. "I've