Reyon awoke to the annoying buz of the alarm clock, but it was the job of
the clock's alarm to be disturbing. She had no delusions about the world in
which many of us live. Like the clock, it was designed for a reason and built
for function. It would not miss her when she wore out and had to be replaced.
The blinds, sensing that it was time for Reyon to exit her slumber, opened to
let in some light, however, they did not open in such a way as to allow prying
eyes past their guard. This would have meant more if Reyon lived below the
eighth floor. No eyes could see her regular sized window much less past it. She
needed the blind because it was popular when she bought it. That was reason
She pulled back the covers in just the way she had been taught as a child. It
was the right way to do it and she always did things right. Then she rolled to
the edge of the bed, letting the weight of her feet pull her body into a seated
position off the edge of the mattress. That was how her physical correctness
teacher had told her to move. Who doesn't want to do popular things?
Reyon's life was busy enough without trying to understand the world around
her. It was hard enough to live her life. She had to worry about fashion with
a flair for style. Her world would tell her what was popular and what was evil.
The morning news would tell her what to protest and what to preach.
It was good to live in a free country. Reyon enjoyed freedom from many things.
Stretching in the light of the early day, Reyon shook sleep from her mind and
made a mental scan of the events in her day. She had six classes, a game that
night and a party with friends after that. Priorities outlined themselves in her
mind as the mist of dreams departed. This is a world where what you know means
less than who you know and she would never know anybody unless she was popular
Her classes were dull, yet they repeated so much that she could catch on to the
things she was supposed to believe without sacrificing the time she devoted to
more important things. Reyon lived in a big world and she knew that she'd need
directions to avoid getting lost. She had so much to learn that she could not
hope to understand it all. It only matterred that she got good enough grades
for the prestigous paper that she had to earn, but not so high as to tarnish
Reyon stood up, smoothing out her sleek nightgown. It's fabric had a shine to
it that made it look as clean as the world she wanted to one day belong to.
She was not destined to be one of the silkworms boiled to make the fabric of
the better world. Her destiny was in a big office with a huge and equally cold
home amongst the glowing towers of the city. Wasn't this what everybody wanted?
Then she crossed the room to sit in the metal framed chair behind her dressing
table. The chair was cold and a shiver ran up her spine as she sat in it. She
could not get rid of the chair without damaging the look of the room, so she
endured the shock to her system every morning. It did help her to wake up. A
thought almost crossed her mind that she resented the chair for the security
of its position.
Placing her hand on the table, a machine detected her presence. In a less
liberatd world, the table would have had a mirror built into its back. These
tables had flat panel displays. Being popular, very hard work to be sure, is
not a matter of crafting the image you see of yourself. The computer would
help Reyon create the correct image to project to the world around her.
"Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Whose the fairest of them all?"
"Excuse me, darling," replied the mirror with the synthetic voice of a mature
woman. The system made a pass at her every morning, as it was programmed to,
and Reyon wasn't allowed to acknowledge that it made her uncomfortable.
That was unpopular.
"Nothing," replied Reyon. "A fragment of a dream stuck in my mouth."
"If this condition persists, see a psychologist. That is the sheek thing to
"You're welcome, my darling."
"Any messages while I was out?"
"0-voice, 12 text and 3 video."
"Delete the junk mail, please."
"1-text message remaining--Your horoscope."
"I'll get to it after my shower."
"Do not forget, again. It is unpopular to not know your future."
"I understand. Any fashion advice today?"
"Wear the pastel green pants, and blue blouse. Additional clothes shopping
is advised. Try for pantilines--they're in the height of fashion."
"As you say."
Reyon did not listen for the system's reply. She went to her closet to draw
out exactly the uniform she had been told to wear. It wouldn't be entirely
comfortable for her, yet it was too popular to escape. Having a will of her
own, Reyon would have refused to wear such tight clothing.
The soap Reyon had to use produced a mild allergic reaction which she
secretly treated with a drug in her skin lotion. Discomfort told Reyon that
she was still alive and that was a good feeling. She would have been more
pleased to avoid the discomfort and just know that she was really alive,
however that was out of style. It was more pleasurable than the menswear
look that had come to power in high school.
Standing in the mist of the washing unit, Reyon's mind drifted back to a
time when she could be happy being herself. There had been a time when
Reyon could wear pretty dresses that her mother selected and be happy for who
she was. She could once have played simple games for the fun of it without a
care in the world. Adults in her time actually enjoyed paying attention to her
for the smile on her face.
This was also a mythical time before Reyon was born. Her mother was an engineer
with a distaste for fairy tales and knights in shining armor. Reyon's mother
may never have said it, yet Reyon remembered the displeasure on her mother's
face that little Reyon didn't try harder to be like her brother. It was Reyon's
fault that she did what she wanted and not what was popular. Little Reyon
wanted to be more than a child. She wanted to be a little girl and to be
accepted for it.
Litle Reyon's was the apple of her father's eye, even though he knew that he
couldn't protect her from the harsh, cold reality in which they both lived.
Knowing that he couldn't vanquish the dragon for his little girl, he didn't
even try. Reyon grew up hearing about how she was strong enough to face her
own monsters. She too could weild a sword. A small, clandestine flame of rage
burned within Reyon, slow roasting her heart in certain knowledge that nobody
felt she was worth facing the dragon for.
Then the jets from the washing nozzles died out. She was clean enough to get
dressed as soon as the drying blowers shut down. Reyon closed her eyes,
releasing her body to the warm airflow of the dragon's breath. It would soon
be all over. Maybe she would wake up in a real world when the blast died out.
The airseals then released and the door retracted. Reyon knew that she had not
been delivered to Heaven. She stepped from the washer, naked before the world,
into the cold air of the same nightmare she had earlier been locked into. Her
clothes gave her no comfort as the world gave her no quarter. Death in the
daydream had more meaning than life in the outer world.
After getting dressed, Reyon took a cold drink from the back of her small
refrigeration unit. It had to come from the back because it was an unpopular
brand. Her friends would reject her if she even admitted to tasting it, even
though most of them had the same thing hidden in the same place. Reyon had
seen it and her friends know that she knew. They shared the same secret.
Even for a chance at moving to the ninth floor, Reyon did not betray her
friends. She once passed up a date with a popular athlete in high school to
go out with a friend or she would already have been on the ninth floor of her
building; if she had survived the accident that killed him that night. Reyon
had been allowed to move to the eigth floor because she was really sorry not
to have been with that athlete, whose name she did not even recall. The group
would not have been as forgiving if it had known she regretted her indescretion
because she sometimes wanted to die in the accident.
Her popular clothing was tight around the waistline and Reyon was uncomfortable.
She was uncomfortable with the cloth cutting into her soft, blood starved,
flesh, with the lack of mobility it imposed and, most of all, she was unhappy
with the thought that her place in popular society was set by how much of her
body could be seen through the elastic cloth. There was nothing Reyon could do
about it. The simplicity of denial was her only shield. Yet, she knew that
she could not hide from the truth of herself.
She sat in the cold seat as though taking a settling into the electric chair.
Time for foolish reflection ran out as the terminal reacted to sight of the
unpopular beverage Reyon placed on the table. Reyon knows that she had been
shown a subliminal image, although she was too lost in herself to see it. For
the sake of popular society, Reyon faked shock at what she had not even seen.
Reyon was not an actress. She splashed the screen with a few ounces from the
can in her hand, then reacted from real shock. Her terminal went blank for a
number of seconds that Reyon felt as hours. Bad things would happen to her if
she destroyed school property. It would make her unpopular.
"Yes, dear," it replied.
"I'm not sure what came over me. I am sorry, terminal."
Without feeling, the terminal replied, "I know that you are."
Reading more into the electronic simulation that it had projected, Reyon almost
begged with the tone of her voice. "Please forgive me."
"Would you like to listen to the top ten list on the local channel?"
"Yes, please. I have to keep up with the rest of the world."
Even though the system asked Reyon's preference every morning, both of them
knew that it was part of the prescribed routine. Reyon held her breath in
hopes that she hadn't damaged the hardware of her terminal. It took a little
longer than usual to follow the morning routine, even though it did not skip
a step. Maybe Reyon's nerves made it seem longer or the system may have been
programmed for a vindictive response.
There was a new feel to the music on that morning. It was as though a new
decade had turned and the industry alligned for a new focus. The beat of the
rythem was mathematically precise enough to convey the deep secrets of the
universe into the listener's mind. These bands did not hide their talent in
a barrage of harsh musical tones. Most importantly, Reyon could identify
with the depth of feeling in the lyrics as she rarely could.
This was not the angry prophet style Reyon had become accustomed to and
hardened by. It spoke to a people who did not condemn achievement for the
failure of others. These were songs of making a better world by being a better
people. In the art of these songs was a sympathy for the state of being human
without pitty or guilt. At last it had become popular to cast aside the masks.
Reyon could not deny that she had become a fan. She did not want to hide the
fact that she liked what she was hearing. It was not often that Reyon could
like popular music without forcing herself to enjoy it. Her society had been
hollowed out by the decades of micromanagement hiding behind the curtains of
anger and outrage. Feeling alive might even be worth casting off the freedom
The system seemed happy in that it did not punish Reyon for expressing her
approval. It paused a few times while guiding Reyon's application of make-up
so that Reyon could immerse herself in the flow of the gently driven river of
sound. When Reyon was ready for class, she could think of only one song in
the top ten that she would have to work on liking. Reyon's day had started
Thoughts of getting together with her friends, at her place, after the game
compressed time as Reyon walked to class. The feeling awakened within Reyon
had to be shared with the people Reyon most cared about. Reyon forgot that she
didn't like the clothes she was wearing and that the first class she had would
bore her into clinical depression. It didn't even matter to Reyon that she had
not wanted to be there at all. All Reyon could think of was the next dose of
Nobody had the new digital music files from what Reyon heard in the halls. She
would be amongst the first to get the recordings, stopping at an on campus store
between the end of her classes and the game that night. It may even have been
the first time that Reyon was happy to be popular. The tide had turned and
Reyon didn't have to become somebody else to be popular.
Reyon sat with her group in the class, about halfway to the back of the room.
The highest popularity was in the back of the room. Class was always the best
place to learn the important things in life, of fashion, ideology and
relationships, without regard for what the teacher tried to teach. Only the
classes that taught free thought and expression were required to maintain
popularity so Reyon's first class was merely filler. It was more than just
that the class was unpopular which drove Reyon's disassociation. This was a
class that Reyon had to take even though she didn't care for the subject.
Every so often, Reyon considered the poor teacher. She had nothing else to
do in class, as long as she passed, so her mind drifted. Society, or whichever
powers masqueraded as the collective mind, had commanded that this man would
teach a class that he seemed to be the only person in the galaxy to actually
enjoy. However, these forces drove popularity and were the same forces that
allowed the students to ignore the teaching completely. If you are popular,
you are not allowed to fail it.
Between classes, Reyon would spend her time in the restrooms. Partially to
keep up on the social calander, but also because she could release the tension
of her uncomfortably tight clothing in those rooms. There, Reyon would hum
the backbeat of her new favorite song, spreading the music all over the campus
by the end of the day. Reyon's mind tried to push her into the music store
at the end of every class, yet her popular discomfort was maddening. She
decided to change clothes for the game after buying the new recordings.
Reyon paused in the restroom a for a few minutes after leaving her last class.
It was one of the important classes for popularity on campus so Reyon could
not skip it. The irony of a course in free thinking with such a strict lesson
plan was not lost on Reyon, although she dared not say so. Her life could be
easily ruined by a single misplaced word. She listened to the teacher for
what she was to think, and then pretended that the thoughts she defended were
A friend approached Reyon while Reyon took direction from one of the restroom
displays on correcting the part in her hair. Reyon's part had become to straight
and unpopular. The display gave Reyon instructions on how to move the comb in
her hand to fix the problem. It was not necessary for Reyon to see anything.
Reyon never had to see herself.
Deara stood at the display next to Reyon's, taking direction on fixing her
lipstick. Reyon tried not to notice Deara's embarrasment as the display advised
Deara that her lipstick was the wrong shade. It stung Deara as badly as a right
cross would. There was no hiding in the popular world for Deara. Her image
had been perminantly harmed by the error.
After a short pause, Deara worked up the courage to speak to Reyon. "What is
"Didn't you get a chance to listen to the local station this morning?"
"No," admitted Deara. "My terminal is on the blink. It even gave me the wrong
lipstick this morning."
"The song is called 'Star Slide.' It came in at number three today."
"It sure is catchy."
"It must be," Reyon replied. "The song wasn't even on the charts yesterday."
"Did you hear that there's a new trend comming back?"
"Something new under the sun?"
"The Buffalo Girl look is comming back," answered Deara. "Maybe I should keep
this lipstick. It looks like it should be a popular shade with synthetic
Reyon couldn't help but chuckle. There was little humor of value in the remark,
however the failed joke broke the tension. "Maybe you should give it to
Jackson. Are you two going to the game together?"
"Should be. You really should reconsider going with Jarod."
"No thank you," responded Reyon. "I've already had one unpopular boyfriend."
"He's on his way up."
"I'll get there first."
"It's your choice."
"I'm going by the music store on my way home. Would you like to come along?"
"Sure," replied Deara. "Just give me a moment."
In as much as Reyon couldn't wait to own her own copy of the top ten list for
that day, the pause was a godsend. It was another few minutes in which Reyon
would not have to tighten her belt for public display. The buffalo girl look
was sure to be just as uncomfortable so Reyon hoped that the change in musical
style hinted at a loosening of popular culture. Maybe fashion trends were on
the way that would allow Reyon to get dressed and keep breathing.
Deara led the way to the music shop on the campus. Everything that remained
to say had been scripted by the inner circle and was just as well left unsaid.
Even with the threat of falling from grace in popular culture, Deara
understood that Reyon was as uncomfortable with the forced smalltalk as Deara
was. The walk to the music shop was just a chance for friends to pass time
together. There was an understanding that Deara and Reyon both wanted to let
go and be real. However, reality was unpopular.
The campus had been landscaped under the direction of the environmentalist
club. It was a scenic walk along the winding paths between buildings, designed
with an artist's eye for color and composition. Reyon liked the smell of the
flowering trees and schrubs in their season. Deara was robbed of the simple
pleasure Reyon knew by allergies and the drugs which masked the reactions.
The walk was still pleasant for both of them.
Maintaining the campus took constant work. So much effort had been put into
biodiversity that no account had been given to the fact that the diverse plant
life did not fit together. Nature could look like chance in its design, even
though there is an enormous effort to keeping the balance. The layout looked
good even though the plants did not want to be together. Grounds keepers
fought a constant battle to contain the outbreak of war within unbalanced
Jackson saw Deara enter the music shop with Reyon and followed them in at a
slight distance. Reyon saw him first, signaling Deara to slow down. He was
not Reyon's type. In truth, Reyon doubted that he was any more Deara's type
than Reyon's. Love, wanting to be unexcelled, cannot be allowed to live in
a world of equals.
Deara went into a corner of the shop with Jackson while Reyon approached the
counter. Jackson would be acceptable for Deara in popular culture because
all the closeness between them would be a mere illusion. Reyon knew that
Jackson would always see Deara as another man, for the most part, and would
only care for her as much as the script called for. That is just how Deara
would spend the rest of her life and Reyon was heartbroken by it. One break
in Reyon's heart was for the pity of the situation and the other was for the
knowledge that Reyon would know the same fate herself.
The clerk hesitated a few moments before breaking Reyon free from the daydream.
He did not look up from the list on the display in front of him. It did not
matter who Reyon was in the store. Reyon was a component in the machienery
of the economy and nothing more. She would spend her life as a pack animal
walking the treadmills of the system. And the clerk was no more to Reyon.
"Can I help you find something?"
Reyon closed the short distance to the clerk before responding, just to be
sure that he was talking to her. It was an old paranoia of Reyon's that she
would become so much a part of the crowd that nobody would ever see her as
anything else. "I heard a song on the local station this morning called
'Star Slide.' Where can I find the album containing it?"
The clerk looked up for a moment, then looked away. "I don't think I've heard
of that. Can you name the artist?"
It was a big black mark on the clerk that he did not know his popular music and
Reyon could not hide her suprise completely. The campus music store should have
the popular recordings on the counter before the top ten played on the local
station every morning. None of the crystal spheres in easy reach of Reyon had
the title she was looking for, but it was popular to ask for merchandise so
Reyon didn't look too closely.
"I think the group was called 'Mumbo Jumbo,' although I'm not sure. It's not
every day that the list changes so completely."
"We don't have that in stock," replied the clerk. "If you really want it, I can
get it for you. Off the record, I can get it for you."
"Would I ask for it if I didn't want it?"
"The bass guitarist of 'Mumbo Jumbo' is a friend of mine. It's actually a local
band. I could introduce you, if you like."
"Sure," replied Reyon. A clerk at the campus music store had to be popular.
"I can get you the recording tonight. I'll drop it off at your room in person.
The introduction has to wait until Saturday when the band plays a club nearby."
"I'll be having a few friends over after the game."
"I've seen you on campus and I know where you live. Seimon will be pleased with
all the attention."
"He should be."
"It's a pleasure doing business with you."
Reyon left Deara with Jackson while she went home to change. By Monday, Reyon
would be in tight with one of the best bands on the top ten list and she might
even have a more acceptable boyfriend. She could do worse than Jarod, or even
Jackson, although neither of them appealed to her. It would be hard finding a
guy who she could actually like and still be popular with. Loss of popularity
would definitely cost her.
Maybe it was a good game and maybe it was not. Reyon knew that it was popular
to show school spirit, which is all that really matterred to her. It did mean
a great deal for Reyon to be close to her friends, even though she lived in
a society that idolized only the tough. Popularity meant not caring about
anybody or anything else. Some say that service to Satan is reward enough.
Jarod played on the team and did his best to impress Reyon. But, she was a dot
on the moon where Jarod's eyes could catch no sight of her. The crowd was only
a waving mass of colored dots from the playing field. Every moment that Jarod
could spare, more than he had to spare by most accounts, went into looking for
Reyon. He believed that he loved her.
Socializing the in bleachers, Reyon didn't know that Jarod had been carried off
the field until the game ended. His injuries were adequate to halt the game for
a few minutes, although Reyon didn't even notice that. Reyon would be with
her friends for the rest of the night, being amongst the first students on
campus to own 'Star Slide,' thus she had no time for the world around her. She
had not yet been told how she felt about the event.
Yet Reyon felt a moment of remorse. A friend of hers had been harmed. She was
so entrapped in popularity that she had to be told what she was allowed to feel
and she secretly resented it. It was a secret that she kept even from herself.
That was the first time she had known it. Like the star slide, she was falling
through space, encapsulated in a tube. Reyon knew the freedom of sliding down
its length with the security of its unseen walls.
The clerk from the music store was waiting for Reyon when she got back
from the game. Her friends didn't think much of the clandestine exchange
of money for a sealed package since party drugs were popular. Most of
them had made purchases just outside the doors of the housing units on
campus. Although against the law, the deals were a sign of prestige to be
carried out where the rest of popular society could bear whitness.
Reyon's party was slow to begin, however, Reyon did not know the true
meaning of fun. Popularity required following the script of social
conduct and that was all Reyon and her friends knew. It was no secret, to
her friends, that Reyon only took pills for the status of the
action. This party started when Reyon inserted the cube into the console
Drinking the popular drink and discussing popular topics, Reyon tried to
enjoy herself. She knew that something had been placed in her drink, but
it was a slight buzz, like alcahol. Reyon drifted through the music with
her friends. The next morning found Reyon sleeping on the floor at the
foot of her own bed. It didn't matter what had happened the night
before. Only the gossip of what had transpired was important.
At the start of classes the next day, Reyon wasn't wearing the fashion of
the day. She was the talk of the school for the whole day and she did not
know why. It was popular to stick out in the crowd. Reyon soon learned
that there was a specific set of prejudices in that nonconformity of
popularity. Nothing could be popular that was constructive.
Toward the end of the day, Reyon was met by a school counselor. That was
the kind of thing that only happened to unpopular people. She was
escorted into an office by the homeliest woman she had ever seen. This
woman wore a most decidedly unpopular white suit. Reyon was worried by
"We hear that you accepted a package from a man outside your building last
"I did," replied Reyon. "Is that what this is all about?"
"Would you mind telling us what was in that package?"
"It was only a musical recording. You should have heard of 'Star Slide'
by Mumbo Jumbo."
"Where did you hear of that group?"
"On the local station," answered Reyon. Reyon knew that she had done
nothing wrong and, more importantly, that she had done nothing unpopular.
"We have a problem with that story," responded the woman. "The local
station doesn't own anything by the group you mentioned."
"You're making that up," shouted Reyon!
The woman lit a cigarette below a no smoking sign, flicking the ashes onto
the carpeted floor. "We believe that you didn't know what you were
"Are you being honest with me?"
"The terminal in your room was damaged and has been repaired."
"Oh," answered Reyon. "You're from maintenence."
"You might say that."
"But I don't like the sound of that reply."
"I'm here to offer you a chance to return to good social graces. If you
do your part, you might make the ninth floor by the end of the month."
"What do I have to do?"
Reyon is not and never will be sure of what happened next. Time stopped
running for a little while, like a movie which had snapped halfway through
a scene. There was a slidding of time as it came abruptly to a stop, then
a nothingness. The nothingness gave way to an unstable period of
grogginess as though reality was still under construction for the first
few hours after that. None of it was real enough to matter.
When Reyon awoke, her parents were sitting beside her bed. It was hard to
tell her mother and father apart, at first. Reyon was most comforted by
her father, however, it was her mother who at on the side of her bed. Her
mother brushed back Reyon's hair while her father waited in the
darkness. The blinds chose the time to open the room for the light of
"You've been sick, dear," came the reply. "We thought we were going to
lose you for awhile."
"It's good to see you here."
"We took the first convenient shuttle out here when the doctor
called," replied Reyon's mother.
"You couldn't help being sick, dear." To Reyon, every word her mother
spoke was a condemnation. If the words did not overflow with disgust,
then the tone of her voice flowed with distaste.
"I'm still sorry."
"It's only a few days. We'll be back to work when you get back
to class tomorrow."
"Then I'm cured?"
"You'll have to talk to a psychologist. There may be brain damage."
"It's popular to have therapy, anyway."
"That's my Reyon," called her father.
A smile spoke the lines in Reyon's mind. She did not speak at length to
either of her parents. In fact, she was too tired to remember speaking to
the therapist. Reyon just rolled over and went back to sleep. Her life
returned from the fitfull illusion when Monday dawned.
The blinds parted to light Reyon's room and she was out of bed moments
later. She chose not to listen to the local station that morning, being
the first morning that she had skipped in almost two years. Every other
step of her morning was just as it had always been. Reyon did what the
terminal told her to and recorded the appointment with the psychologist at
the end of the school day in her mind.
Reyon walked to class through the same halls she had traversed for two years.
Her dellusion made perfect sence and didn't need rationalization. As her
psychologist reported, Reyon had always been a dreamer. Myth and magic were
the heart of Reyon's secret self. The power of music to disturb or calm the soul
may have been the greatest sorcery of all.
"But," thought Reyon. "If this needs no rationalization, why am I spending so
much time explaining it to myself?"
The sky above Reyon was dark, although the sun shone brightly overhead. Reyon
was back to the tight clothing and fashionable taste of the world around her.
She was not a piece of meat over which the hounds of society would drool and
for which they would fight. A piece of meat was sustenence. It was worth having
and Reyon didn't even want herself. Her popular friends did not approach her
as she crossed the campus.
Maybe the psychologist could patch the flaws in Reyon. An expert in the art
could remove the unhealthy desires that Reyon had so long endured. Treatment
could turn Reyon from a hopeless dreamer into a productive member of society.
Reyon did not deny to herself that she was rationalizing those thoughts. She
was happier in her social sickness.
As Reyon was walking between rows of lockers, Deara approached Reyon from
the left. At first, Reyon did not see her old friend. Her eyes had the image,
although her mind wasn't taking messages. Deara changed her course slightly
to reach Reyon just as Reyon walked past her. That got Reyon's attention.
"Sorry," opened Reyon. "I didn't see you."
"I just wanted to thank you for introducing me to 'Mumbo Jumbo.' It's some
of the best music I've heard."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," replied Reyon.
Deara's lips parted, as though she had more to say that was stuck in her
throat. Her pause said more than a novel of words could orate. "I'm sorry,"
she replied. "I have you confused with somebody."
Searching for meaning in the moment, Reyon's eyes caught sight of a reflection
in Deara's sunglasses. Reyon saw a man in a suit standing directly behind her
at a good distance. He was just close enough for Reyon to see in the reflection.
It was his black, unseen eyes, that had spoken the missing syllables to silence
Before Reyon could speak, Deara left. She walked back down the row of lockers
and out a side door of the building. The strange man had scared off Reyon's
only remaining friend. But, Reyon was still popular and her popular friends
would return in time.
Reyon stood for a moment, alone in the hall. Why must all be repressed from
the things that they love and enjoy to pretent to protect phantom others from
offense? Was it not the right of each to be offended? Is a hollow world, free
from emotional risk, really any better than one in which it is popular to be
real? Did Reyon have the right to ask those questions?
Then Reyon had to move on and live on in her world. That is what she did.