she never would me.
BREAKER 256
----
Look to your mother. Author go home.
Home.
But I never returned
and my mother was alone.
She sat and watched the angel
cavort on the screen.
Another announcement,
with Galileo stretching out his wide hands for silence.
He cleared his throat and read the names.
I quietly left my bottles of water on the table
where my brother studied, and I remembered
and was about to go when her voice called me back.
“You seem well,” she murmured.
I glanced back, and she was sitting upright,
her glassy-blind eyes focused on the screen.
I shifted nervously, and said:
“I brought you water, mother.”
Her head snapped back at me like a viper
and then her focus returned to the screen.
It was a long time again before she spoke:
“My son is not coming home.”
“Yes,” I replied softly. “He is not coming home.”
I avoided looking at that terrible upright figure
who gazed at the screen as if waiting for an answer.
“Do you have enough food?” I questioned,
and one thin wraith-like hand kneaded her blanket.
“You are wondering where it all comes from—”
“Why I have not starved, when I barely make enough for yourself to live—”
“No, I am just making sure—”
“What, that I am not Galileo’s whore?”
We regarded each other in the silence.
“It was not like that. It was very clean. Professional.”
“You never needed to,” I responded.
“I would have brought you food—”
And she began to laugh.
“What, on your paycheck? It was never enough. You would have me starve—”
“Never.”
“You would have my son starve.”
“My brother is dead.”
And she had risen like an avenging angel,
facing me, her eyes blazing, and a room apart.
“It should have been y—”
“But it is better this way,” I retorted.
“Better dead than realize his mother a whore.”
The words had left my mouth before I could retract them
and I burned with shame.
“You did what you had to do,” I whispered,
and she sat down heavily on the couch.
Descartes.
My lover is a brother.
The monster king, my father—
“I had scored high for a Writer,” my mother murmured dully.
“But not high enough. I was hungry, and I heard
that Galileo and the others were paying women in Writer’s Camp.
to breed their Breakers.”
Her eyes were tired in the darkness.
“Why do you think no Breakers are born in the Palaces?”
“My son was out of love. You—I wanted to raise you. The others—.”
And I turned away.
“It is always a long shot. Some were born weak and some were born stupid, but not you.
You were lucky.
But the choice of your life was an illusion, 256.
He never intended to let you go.”
BLUE
----
Galileo, you had been pressuring me
for any and all information.
In my Breaker’s drawer was hidden
her correspondence with Descartes.
They marked her as the true Author, Galileo.
And that she lied to you.
She lied to all of us.
And sent an innocent woman to her death
to save herself from the fall.
How I wish that I could see
False Author did not die for me.
While my love slept, I took the correspondence
that she had hidden so poorly.
And they were for you.
They were all for you.
I am not cruel,
for I wanted them
to burn together.
So I brought you my Author.
I brought you my love.
COMET
----
Whose face is that beneath the mask?
Once there was a young boy
and he was screaming.
Dreams, here in the Palaces,
and a knife trembles.
The assassin by the parapet.
The ghost there by the stair.
Once there was a little boy
who dreamed of revolution,
who read the war-crimes,
and listened to the Edicts.
But now that little boy is dead
And shadows drift within his head.
I begged to bear the knife myself.
The boy who killed a king.
And in my dreams, there is Justice,
but she is not my Justice.
Justice, with her face covered,
rightfully covered before the crowd.
Whose face is that beneath the mask?
And
BREAKER 256
----
Look to your mother. Author go home.
Home.
But I never returned
and my mother was alone.
She sat and watched the angel
cavort on the screen.
Another announcement,
with Galileo stretching out his wide hands for silence.
He cleared his throat and read the names.
I quietly left my bottles of water on the table
where my brother studied, and I remembered
and was about to go when her voice called me back.
“You seem well,” she murmured.
I glanced back, and she was sitting upright,
her glassy-blind eyes focused on the screen.
I shifted nervously, and said:
“I brought you water, mother.”
Her head snapped back at me like a viper
and then her focus returned to the screen.
It was a long time again before she spoke:
“My son is not coming home.”
“Yes,” I replied softly. “He is not coming home.”
I avoided looking at that terrible upright figure
who gazed at the screen as if waiting for an answer.
“Do you have enough food?” I questioned,
and one thin wraith-like hand kneaded her blanket.
“You are wondering where it all comes from—”
“Why I have not starved, when I barely make enough for yourself to live—”
“No, I am just making sure—”
“What, that I am not Galileo’s whore?”
We regarded each other in the silence.
“It was not like that. It was very clean. Professional.”
“You never needed to,” I responded.
“I would have brought you food—”
And she began to laugh.
“What, on your paycheck? It was never enough. You would have me starve—”
“Never.”
“You would have my son starve.”
“My brother is dead.”
And she had risen like an avenging angel,
facing me, her eyes blazing, and a room apart.
“It should have been y—”
“But it is better this way,” I retorted.
“Better dead than realize his mother a whore.”
The words had left my mouth before I could retract them
and I burned with shame.
“You did what you had to do,” I whispered,
and she sat down heavily on the couch.
Descartes.
My lover is a brother.
The monster king, my father—
“I had scored high for a Writer,” my mother murmured dully.
“But not high enough. I was hungry, and I heard
that Galileo and the others were paying women in Writer’s Camp.
to breed their Breakers.”
Her eyes were tired in the darkness.
“Why do you think no Breakers are born in the Palaces?”
“My son was out of love. You—I wanted to raise you. The others—.”
And I turned away.
“It is always a long shot. Some were born weak and some were born stupid, but not you.
You were lucky.
But the choice of your life was an illusion, 256.
He never intended to let you go.”
BLUE
----
Galileo, you had been pressuring me
for any and all information.
In my Breaker’s drawer was hidden
her correspondence with Descartes.
They marked her as the true Author, Galileo.
And that she lied to you.
She lied to all of us.
And sent an innocent woman to her death
to save herself from the fall.
How I wish that I could see
False Author did not die for me.
While my love slept, I took the correspondence
that she had hidden so poorly.
And they were for you.
They were all for you.
I am not cruel,
for I wanted them
to burn together.
So I brought you my Author.
I brought you my love.
COMET
----
Whose face is that beneath the mask?
Once there was a young boy
and he was screaming.
Dreams, here in the Palaces,
and a knife trembles.
The assassin by the parapet.
The ghost there by the stair.
Once there was a little boy
who dreamed of revolution,
who read the war-crimes,
and listened to the Edicts.
But now that little boy is dead
And shadows drift within his head.
I begged to bear the knife myself.
The boy who killed a king.
And in my dreams, there is Justice,
but she is not my Justice.
Justice, with her face covered,
rightfully covered before the crowd.
Whose face is that beneath the mask?
And
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