They’ll be coming for me. Fine. Anyway, there’s something so satisfying about a high-speed chase through space involving a Crip at the helm.
Funny how our leadership brags that our planet’s a galactic god of tech, but they’re oblivious to the spirit of disabled sentients. Whatever. I’m here, alone for the moment, lights off but with life support, staring at the stars.
I’d been scheduled for “restructuring.” Well, the collective They felt people with legs that don’t leg were an impediment to their medical accolades. Being corralled to the Institute (read: institution) with about a hundred others was super fun. Thank goodness for Sheena. Our late-night convos from our bunks made everything bearable.
“You’re a star,” she’d sign. “You need to shine with your own kind.”
I finally had the courage to sign back, “I love you,” the night before they took her away.
She wasn’t voiceless. I heard her screams. The restructuring didn’t take.
So, for the next weeks, I watched. Each security team, what they carried, when they took breaks.
They shouldn’t have left that hoverchair unattended.
Nor the Crip Carrier.
Gorgeous ship, too.
I’m with my own kind now, Sheena.
“I love you.”