[TM 239] Hair
They were talking about me as though I wasn’t even there-as though I was a thing rather than a person.
“Lost her whole family in the war,” said one. “Right before the armistice-her parents’ bodies were still warm when they found her hiding in some shed. No idea what happened to her sister-probably just as well.”
“She got a name?” asks the other. A doctor or a nurse from the looks of it, in a white lab coat. She begins poking at my hair with some sort of pointed stick.
“Helena Cain. Birth records in the strong box say she’s twelve.”
“Hmmm,” the other one was still poking at me. “Scrawny thing for twelve, but we’re seeing a lot of that-malnourishment from the war and such. She’s got lice, too.”
“I do not!” I stood up and turned to face her. “I’m clean. We had water. We bathed.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, honey,” the one in the lab coat took my hands and tries to comfort me. “We’re seeing a lot of that-especially after you’ve been displaced. You could’ve picked it up at the foster home. I’m sure you’re parents took good care of you.”
“I. Do. Not. Have. LICE!” I repeated, and pulled back from her cold hands and false sympathy.
“Yeah,” the woman in the lab coat countered with no sympathy. “You do.”
“It’s okay,” the other woman tried to comfort me again. “A few special shampoos, and you’ll have it all cleared up.”
She was lying of course. Whatever I had picked up proved resistance to most conventional means of killing them, and the time came that the matron of the Tauron Home for Orphaned girls told me she would have to shave my head.
I sat silent, seething, as I watched my hair hit the ground surrounding the stool on which I sat.
I’d never been attached to my hair. Had never been vain, or considered it a particular asset. But losing it-particularly like that, pained me.
I blamed the other girls at the home. I blamed the matron. And I blamed the Cylons. This was just the latest in the cruelties they inflicted on me.
Muse: Admiral Helena Cain
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (new)
Word Count: 368
“Lost her whole family in the war,” said one. “Right before the armistice-her parents’ bodies were still warm when they found her hiding in some shed. No idea what happened to her sister-probably just as well.”
“She got a name?” asks the other. A doctor or a nurse from the looks of it, in a white lab coat. She begins poking at my hair with some sort of pointed stick.
“Helena Cain. Birth records in the strong box say she’s twelve.”
“Hmmm,” the other one was still poking at me. “Scrawny thing for twelve, but we’re seeing a lot of that-malnourishment from the war and such. She’s got lice, too.”
“I do not!” I stood up and turned to face her. “I’m clean. We had water. We bathed.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, honey,” the one in the lab coat took my hands and tries to comfort me. “We’re seeing a lot of that-especially after you’ve been displaced. You could’ve picked it up at the foster home. I’m sure you’re parents took good care of you.”
“I. Do. Not. Have. LICE!” I repeated, and pulled back from her cold hands and false sympathy.
“Yeah,” the woman in the lab coat countered with no sympathy. “You do.”
“It’s okay,” the other woman tried to comfort me again. “A few special shampoos, and you’ll have it all cleared up.”
She was lying of course. Whatever I had picked up proved resistance to most conventional means of killing them, and the time came that the matron of the Tauron Home for Orphaned girls told me she would have to shave my head.
I sat silent, seething, as I watched my hair hit the ground surrounding the stool on which I sat.
I’d never been attached to my hair. Had never been vain, or considered it a particular asset. But losing it-particularly like that, pained me.
I blamed the other girls at the home. I blamed the matron. And I blamed the Cylons. This was just the latest in the cruelties they inflicted on me.
Muse: Admiral Helena Cain
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (new)
Word Count: 368