Rachel Picabia looked at her flickering face in the mirror and followed
the single crystal tear as it floated down her pale silicon cheek like an
icicle on a windshield. She wondered how much time she had left in this
world of sensations and emotions. For how much longer would she be allowed
to hear the slow Edinburgh traffic grinding beneath her window, smell the
scent of Avacado & Pear shampoo in her raven hair, taste this Ukrainian
vodka as it trickled across her tongue, feel her own fingers tickling over
these small sensitive breasts?
There were so many things she was going to miss about this wild, ugly,
wonderful place - making a godawful racket with that trashed-up Fender
guitar over there in the corner... cuddling that stupid Garfield cat (now
sitting looking incredibly stoned on her pillow)... eating sticky toffee
pudding straight out of the microwave at 3 in the morning...
And, of course, sex.
'I think I'm going to miss you most of all,' she said aloud, feeling a
lump forming in her throat. These were the same words Dorothy had said to
the Scarecrow at the end of 'The Wizard of Oz'. Strange how a kids' film
could make you feel so sad.

Oh, Rachel. So young and so pretty. So full of life. But now it's time
to go. Your creator has become jealous. It never pays to be too popular in
this world.

And, so, Rachel Picabia pressed her soft red mouth against the cool
glass and kissed her reflected lips.
'Goodbye,' she said.

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