Author's note: Well, it didn't quite end the way I wanted it to, but frankly, I'm all tapped out, and this is
the best I can manage. I'm dying for feedback here! I had nothing for part 2. =( Please be a dear and
review. PLEASE? (If it helps, although it probably doesn't, your feedback may prompt me to get that
other stupid fic of mine working again.)


Yellow is yielding. Yellow is the vacant feeling that I sometimes get called happiness.

I like to imagine what it's like after the pill goes down my throat, if it breaks open and yellow coats my
insides to match my dress. I feel coated when I go outside; watertight and protected against them seeing
what is really underneath the yellow.

I bounce like rubber; my smile is paste on the surface.

When I sing and watch the heavy landscape as we move, there is a strange chill that passes through me.

"Train, Train, Take us away...."

The future is a sealed unwavering path under the ocean.


"I'm going to Balamb," I announce, "or they're sending me there, anyway." Lizzie smiles, undisturbed by
the news. Perhaps there is something inside of her too, that she's too afraid to tell anyone about. We don't
talk about these things, because there is always too much going on with the garden committee and school
and our other activities to talk about them.

And I have so many friends now like her, all younger, all who look up at me with a certain kind of awe
that sometimes seems like fear.

Their faces are round and unbroken. They don't starve, and they've never smelled the way this place used
to smell, with its overpowering heat. They're like lovely flowers under the older gnarled trees that are
their predecessors.

Something happened; something that I can't quite remember, but there are no Shumis anymore. There's a
new training center under construction and everything has been freshly painted over with a blinding white

Slowly I began to forget what things used to be like.


I'm better now, they say. I'm fixed. But they don't know about the dripping, leaking feeling that happens
whenever I turn my head. Maybe the pills will make it better. They packaged them up for me in a little
plastic bag that I hold as the train begins to move.

My memory will never be the same. But it has never been much of a memory anyway.

Sometimes I don't know how I can maintain a personality with everything seeping into oblivion the way it
does. How can I ever find people to care about when I might not even remember them tomorrow?

Even now, my old friends are slipping away from me, their faces melting together like Trabian

And even as I move away, I am completely still, yielding, swallowing my pills. And then I realize that I
am not in a train at all, but in my bathroom, staring at the mirror in the dark.

In a few hours I will be able to recognize my own face.