Here's my contribution, from my bizarro sci-fi novel, "The Green Kangaroos." This is my NaNoWriMo project, but I'd already written the prologue, from which this selection was plucked. Enjoy!
“Why'd you hafta throw 'em out, Mama? Why'd you hafta hurt me like that? I can't get outside, Mama. Makes no sense anyway. It shouldn't be so damn cold. It's September, Mama. You should be at the ranch, and I should be high. Why'd you hafta ruin my high, Mama?”
The last time Mia saw her mother, the woman had looked so old, too old, but she supposed that was her fault. She didn't remember things like aging anymore. Time didn't move as it should with atlys pumping its own ticks and tocks into her heart. Mia couldn’t even remember how old she was. Aching with sickness and exhaustion was no indication of age. She'd ached the same in her twenties, in her thirties, and well into her sixties. Mama ached too--she knew it, which made her own pain that much worse. It was a constant reminder: don't you see what this does to me? Don't you see how this hurts your poor mother?
Yes, yes, Mama, so hurt. Being separated from your junk hurts too, you know.
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