Silence In The Corridors of Power
What happens when binary forgets? When it's made to forget.
May walked through the pale green halls with a flimsy slip of paper in her hands. A hand written note from the worst kind of doctor, she thought.
Who specialised for years to work in the morgue? To be there when people identified their loved ones. Those that shirked humanity in favour of the dead made her shudder. She disliked the man immediately.
He’d handed her the paper and slunk back to his shadowy office, tables with the waiting dead. Chests to crack. Organs to rearrange. Deaths to paw and ponder and prod.
She knew she was distracting herself, her mind denying the truth that the piece of paper yelled in a black chicken scratch and a few checked boxes.
Her daughter was dead.
Found in a ditch.
Murdered.
Even thinking the word brought bile to her lips, and a panic-fuelled ache in the bony cage of her chest. The world was broken. This was not the proper order of things. Her young, brilliant daughter was not meant to be dead before her. She hadn't even lived yet.
Her number was up.
She squinted at the counter her ticket number sent her towards.
