Every day, at half past eight, she looked out of the square frame. Out there in the dark stood a single black tower with a single lit window.
She waved. The man in the distance waved back.
She often wondered what his name was. What he was like. And little by little, day by day, she felt their relationship grow.
At quarter to nine she had her breakfast. Was he having breakfast too?
At nine o'clock she showered, checked her medical status, and got dressed. At nine-thirty it was song time. She sang to the unborn baby inside.
At ten she followed an exercise routine. It was tailored to her trimester. Lunch at 12. Was he having lunch? Did he think of her too?
More medical tests in the afternoon. The rest of the time she read books. When she looked out of the window he wasn't there. He never was at this time of day.
After dinner, she sung to the life inside her again. She never shirked her duty. The TV turned on and she watched it until bedtime. She slept.
And the day started anew.
And the day started anew. She waved.
And the day started anew. She waved. He waved back.
She wondered what his duty was. Was he one of the chosen too?
Soon she would be moved to the next wing to care for the baby. Would he worry if she wasn't by the window anymore?
Sometimes, if she felt especially lonely, she imagined that he'd come for her. That he would break her out of this place. But then she reminded herself of the baby. Of species survival.
Nine months went by so fast. The baby was ready.
He looked out of the window. At eight thirty exactly, every day, twenty clones of his mother awoke.
He waved at them. And they all waved back.
Distant Tower by Steamgirl @steamgirlgame