Thirty-Two
“Wretched” comes in a million flavors.
I wished I could see Gunfire’s face. Was he angry? Afraid? How do you support someone an arm’s reach away, that you know feels awful, when a featureless mask hides their every feeling? When you can’t even touch them? Was he sobbing or livid?
I didn’t like the man. He couldn’t even perceive the splendor of visiting an alien universe. A machine told him to go to a place he hated, and he did it. Calling me ma’am in a professional setting, afraid to so much as glimpse me changing clothes, the way he put his words together, everything about him screamed parochial Soviet Texas.
The man could not banter to save his hide.
I couldn’t understand him, but I understood his feelings. He wanted to go home. He had no desire to be anywhere near this s
