4067

She stood in the shadows, not too far from the children’s home.

She waited, trying not to breathe too hard. Her bare feet were blistered. There was no sign of her assailant.

She sighed, thinking she’d outrun him. Just then, a strong gloved hand gripped her bare right shoulder. She tried to scream but the black glove on the other hand was stuffed into her mouth. He picked her up.

The first time he had caught her, her yellow dress had been marred by her own blood, and she had awoken to abdominal pains she could not explain. He had forced himself onto her, and it had stripped her of her childlike innocence. She had felt empty after that. Bare. Her warden had simply snarled at her, taken a bundle of money from the man, and sent her running to clean herself up. This time, she had run at the sight of him. But she was too little. Too feeble.

He walked into the dark alley, turned a corner, and brought her into a shabby old hut. He told her that he would take the glove out of her mouth, but if she screamed, he would make her watch as he took her this time. And no one would come. No one lived here. She nodded, and he took the glove out, injecting her arm with transparent liquid.

She started crying. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, all she saw was fire. Fire, englufing the hut around her. No sign of the man. He had set the hut on fire. With her inside. She was going to die. Something in her head snapped.

The next thing she remembered was standing above the man, his eyes wide, his face white. His neck was split open. Her arm was bruised and bled. In it, was the knife she had seen in the man’s pocket. Her shoulder had a large burn on it, part of her dress gone. Her face felt like it had melted away. They were in the warden’s office, not too far from the dark alley she’d been in. She looked around frantically. There, under the table, was a surprised looking warden, white as marble. There was a pen in her chest, and the same slit throat the man beheld.

Had she killed them?

Hours later, she awoke in a white room full of people in blue uniforms and others in white coats, still in her bloodied and burnt dress. “Subject 4067 has a split personality disorder,” she heard someone say while pointing at her. “The experiment was a success. She killed them earlier than anticipated.”