World changing. Your twin’s words ring in your ears, following you into the dark mess hall and around the vacant tables that sprouted the legs of upturned chairs like a herd of hedgehogs. You don’t need world changing, you weren’t looking for anything more than life changing, your life changing, but all the same something had tightened in your gut when Sassa flung her hands in the air and said the words. The something stayed with you, crouching in the back of your mind, running up and down your spine with equal parts excitement and trepidation.
You push past the half-door, slipping into the galley, dimly lit by the green exit sign and the small red standby lights on the huge appliances. The heavy cold-room door stands at the end of the long row of stainless steel benches and you pull it open slowly, waiting until the flickering automatic light steadies before you step across the threshold. Rows and columns of carefully stacked and sorted food and, towards the back, a stack of frosted plastic drawers. You slide one out, revealing the pile of orange-red, banana like fruits the gathering party collected the day before, and reach in and pick out the juiciest.
“A single genetic marker.” Your breath frosts in the cold as you study the fruit, your mouth already watering. “Changing the world.”
Page two of The Hybrid Theory. Again this is in three different versions, first person, second and third. Let me know which one you like best.
Sassa is beautiful, a pale blonde vision of Nordic beauty with high cheekbones and lips the same tint as dusk. She is your mirror, apart from the eyes, a classic icy blue where yours are brown, the only remnant of your father stamped on your face. The rest belongs to mother, beautiful and petite and cold.
When Sassa looks up from the microscope the artificial daylight turns her hair the colour of straw and highlights the shadows under her eyes. Her face is tired, the new lines in her forehead deeper than they were just 73 hours ago when you started down this path.
“What’s it look like?”
Your twin drags a few wisps of hair back into her ponytail. “Alien?” She shrugs and the white lab coat slips further down her shoulder. “I don’t know where to start, I’ve never seen anything so …” Her face scrunches as she searches for the word to describe what has become your obsession. “… So perfect.”
“So what’s it do?”
“Do?” Sassa’s laugh is edged in glass. “I can’t even tell you want it’s made of. God Ana, this is…” She threw her hands in the air and spun around, her eyes on the ceiling like she could find whatever answers she needed in the perforated tiles. “This is world changing.”
The ficlet in second person perspective. Read the read the other versions (first person and third person) and tell me which one you prefer.
You are Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none.
There is a burning desire in your heart for you know not what. By night you are tantalised by fragments of dreams that are more than dreams, by day you bury yourself in trivialities and know that you are meant for more than this, more than your relationships, more than your work and the knowledge drives you mad.
Who, what, why are you? The key to it all resides within the fragmented narratives of your dreaming, you know it like you know you have a purpose beyond this everyday humdrum. You know it with an absolute certainty that sits in your heart like a stone, strengthening you even as it weighs you down. But the dreams that border painfully on memory find no meaning within the meagre wealth of your existence, beyond the literal confusion of historical fact and scientific fantasy. And so you wait, wait for some clue, some sign to unlock the mystery that is you.
You are Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none and you are waiting.