Kara gazed sullenly out the window.

'The sky used to be blue,' grandma would always say. 'Such a beautiful blue.'

'But it's blue now,' Kara would say indignantly, pointing out that very window and out into the blue cloudy sky. 'Blue with clouds and everything!'

Grandma would always shake her head no. 'It is not blue,' she would reply fiercely, a tone she rarely used. 'That is Their version of what the sky looks like. It is much more beautiful than their paint could ever show.'

Kara soon realized that grandma was right. The sky was flat and blue, while grandma always described it as going on forever, with clouds like the breath of God. The painted sky was nothing. Just like Kara's world.

Suddenly sick to her stomach, Kara turned away and hoisted herself up onto the window ledge. Her black hair was woven into two long, thick braids, just like always, and her dark blue eyes were accented with their usual tasteful makeup. Her pale, pale skin contrasted sharply with the dark wood floor, and she swung her feet back and forth, just to marvel at the contrast. Colors fascinated her; it was a miracle that the eye picked them up. She appreciated it doubly, since her mother was colorblind now, on top of everything else.

Her mother would laugh, and point at something, as if to ask Kara what it was.

'That's green, mommy,' Kara would say gently, petting her mom's hair and pushing the wheelchair with one hand, something she'd become very good at. Kara's mother would laugh and clap her hands unsteadily, like a toddler.

Kara found it hard to think of this new, strange person as her mother. Mom had always been quiet and curious, gazing out the window with Kara every night when she was small, and pointing to the beautiful things that They had made.

'See the dragonfly?' she would ask, pointing as a robotic insect flitted by on its carefully programmed course. 'Grandma says that they were even prettier outside the Dome. They would fly everywhere and dance on their crystal wings.'

But now mother would just laugh that endless, sickening laugh, and point at the bug, trying to catch it with shaky fingers. Kara would force a laugh as well, and push the wheelchair after it until it flitted away. Ever since the illness that had nearly killed her mother, it was as though Kara's mother really had died and some new, strange thing had taken her place in the same beautiful body.

Kara closed her eyes in frustration, and laid her head on the side of the big windowsill. Her world had fallen apart since the day grandma didn't wake up. Since the day her father dissapeared somewhere. Since her mother got sick. She would want to die if her mother didn't need her.

But Kara was needed. It was such a desperate, pathetic need that Kara hated it with all her heart, but it was a need. So, Kara stayed, and took care of her mother.

Kara's back was getting cold from the artifical draft through the window. Frankly, Kara didn't know why the dome needed drafts, but They said that the natural environment should be recreated as carefully as possible. So Kara dropped to the floor, landing on her two feet, and pushing herself up with her hands. Strands of hair fell down over her face, just the way she liked them. It was time for school.

Kara grabbed her backpack, which was always lying beside her bed, and walked out to the living room. "I'm going, mom," she called. "Are you okay?"

That horrible laugh reached Kara's ears, and she held back agonized tears. "Okay, mommy," she spat, storming to the door and looking out the window. "Cindy the caretaker is here. I'll see you later!"

The last thing that Kara heard before she slammed the front door was that laugh, the laugh that haunted her dreams and her nightmares. Her mother never laughed like that; at least, not before now. Then again, her mother had not been crazy; at least, not before now.



Kara walked down to her middle school in black, as usual. She wasn't the least bit goth, but she thought that black helped her blend into the shadows better. People didn't notice her as much when she dressed in dark clothes. She'd conducted careful research, analyzing the number of times people insulted her mother when she wore various colors. It was usually about the same, but black was the lowest by a slight margin. So, Kara always wore black.

The dilemma was, Kira owned very few black clothes. She had managed to save up for two pairs of black pants using wages from her job at the local restaurant. She had a few black shirts, but they all had patterns on them, so she had had to buy black dye as well, making sure that no color could be seen on her.

She hated it when people teased her mother, because the things they said were true. Teachers always said that if you were being bullied, that you should ask yourself whether or not the things that they said were true. This was a good strategy, because things bullies said were generally falsehoods. Not so with Kara; it was quite true that her mother was a retard, one of the more common names that the woman was called. It made Kara sick.

The main teasers were Alice and Becca, the two 'popular girls.' Popularity was a concept that had lingered from the outside world, it was so strong and enduring. Frankly, that made Kara sick too. Alice and Becca had complete control of the school and all the people in it, even though no one except the boys liked them. They would follow Kara to school and call out insult after insult to her, and Kira ignored them. She told herself over and over that the things were beyond her control; it wasn't her fault that she was stuck with her life.

"Hey, Kara!" a high-pitched voice called, and Kara groaned inwardly. Here we go.

"How's the retard?" called Becca, with the standard opening line.

"Not bad," Kara replied quietly.

"Off to buy a new drool cup?" Alice added, giggling.

"Did that last week," Kara replied, humoring them as well as telling the truth.

"You know," Becca said seriously, "we did a lot of thinking last night."

This is new, Kara thought. I didn't know that they could come up with new things. They're too stupid. Everything's stupid.

"We don't want you to be retarted too!" Alice continued, just as concerned. "So, we decided that you should get some mental help!"

"Here's a number!" Becca shreiked, hurling a stone at Kara. The sharp rock struck Kara in the back, and the girls cheered, giving each other high-fives.

Biting her lip to hold back tears, Kara picked up the rock. A piece of paper was taped to it, and Kara unfolded it. It read, 1-800-i-m-crazy-so-help-me-not-turn-out-like-my-super-dumb-retarted-mother....

The 'number' went on, but Kara's eyes were too blurred with tears to read it. Sniffling, Kara threw the rock away, and ran off down the sidewalk, the laughs of the girls pounding in her ears.

When Kara reached the school, her eyes were dry. She had cried for a few minutes, then forced herself to stop. It was a skill that she had perfected; she could stop the flow of tears from her eyes. She only wished that she could stop the sadness that came with them.

Shaking off all the thoughts of self-pity, Kara climbed up the stairs to the doors of the school. She shouldered her way through them, and burst into the throng of people that made up her school.

Kara shrank over to the wall of the hallway, and crept along, careful not to draw any attention to herself. Still, the glances and jeers came. Kara, being a head taller than the rest of the people there, stood out like a sore thumb.

Finally, Kara reached her first class. She stumbled in, and took her seat in the back. She didn't turn in her homework at the front like the others who came in, since she didn't have it.

The teacher walked sternly over to Kara. "That's the third time this week," she said dissaprovingly. "Kara, it's Wedensday! Listen, you've already been held back, and, this being almost the end of school, I'd think that you'd want to try a little bit harder to pass your classes."

"I don't have time!" Kara replied fiercely. "You should know that by now."

The teacher shook her head. "Kara, your mother cannot be your excuse for the rest of your life!" she scolded. Kara would have liked to disagree, but she held her tongue and hung her head, getting out her notebook for notes that she would never use.

"Don't tune me out this time, Kara," the teacher continued. "I just want to see you succeed. You've been held back twice now. Twice! And you're perfectly capable of skipping a grade. You need to work a little bit harder, now, Kara."

Kara ignored her teacher. She opened the book, and began to write the date on the page. Sighing, the teacher walked away. Relieved, Kara put a header on the page, and began to draw until the class started.

Kara drew all kinds of fantastic things, like dragons, unicorns, elves, and sorcerers. They danced all over her margins, and some even strayed out to stand among her various half-hearted notes. They all looked serious, even sad; Kara had lost the ability to draw happy beings long ago.

That was the daily routine. Kara doodled through classes; she had stopped doing homework long ago, having to care for her mother all the time. Then, finally, after tedious hours of boredom and solitude, Kara was released.

On the walk home, Kara brooded. Her elves had continued their furious assault on the sorcerers, riding on the backs of unicorns, while the sorcerers mounted dragons. Next week, perhaps, they would find peace with each other.

Kara drew what was in her soul. For the last month, the elves and sorcerers had been fighting, as had the two mindsets she held. One, the 'why am I stuck with this life' mindset, was clashing with the other, 'take care of your mother because she needs you' half. Besides feeling sorry for herself and her aching head, Kara also felt bad that she sometimes fantasized about leaving her mother and becoming her own person. But she did, and it was wonderful to escape, no matter how much guilt it brought.

One such fantasy, which involved becoming smart enough to be one of Them, carried Kara on the wings of her imagination to the front door of her house. Sighing, Kara let the dream slip away, and trudged inside the torture chamber that her house had become.