Sylvie held the limp body and waded out into the pond. The cold
water inched slowly up her calves, then her thighs, then her waist until
she stood chest deep, hugging her clone whose long braid wafted behind
them in a ghostly trail.
What she wanted, Sylvie didn’t know. All she knew for sure was
the heavy weight in her arms. She let go and the body, skin white as snow
under the dark water, drifted. The day her mother came home, Sylvie
bathed her. She would continue to do so as long as she could.
The alien’s face sunk below the surface and Sylvie got that feeling
again, of looking down a well. She placed both hands on the alien’s
shoulders, shoulders that curved like her own, and pushed it down and
away. Little bubbles sputtered from its slightly opened mouth. The neck
wound flapped like gills do on a fish. She dipped her face to the water
and opened her eyes. Darkness pressed against them save for an oval of
palest yellow—her reflection staring back out of the gloom where she
couldn’t reach.
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