Disclaimer: Oryx and Crake is not mine.

Last Thoughts

I see only darkness: I'm pressed against a Crake's shirt, but even so, my eyes are closed. I am too tired to open them. I used to think he smelled nice. Not something natural, but I liked that because I know that the natural smell of a man is overpowering and disturbing.

Now he just smells like blood. But what's more frightening is that it is my blood. Mine. Oryx. Me. I.

Feeling is starting to fade: my fingers, my toes, they are gone already, gone like the liquid that made me human. My face remembers this shirt, rumpled and stained and torn it may be. It is still Crake's, like me.

Oh, Crake. Did you know, so long ago, that we would end like this? A pair of murderers who in turn were killed by the only man they could love? Because that's what you will make him do; in that sly, clever way of yours, you'll have Jimmy kill us. I know it. Know you.

And Jimmy. Sweet, naïve Jimmy. Too pure for me, too good. Too timid to keep Crake grounded, too meek. You failed to save us, but we were never meant to be redeemed, we had already fallen too far to be helped.

I wish I could say sorry, Jimmy, but I'm not. There was nothing I could do. The only thing I can apologize for is for giving the world those pills which are to be the death of an entire species. I am many things, but never a killer. So for that, I am sorry.

But do apologies count if you never knew? Neither of us thought Crake was capable of—of—what is the word? Massacre? Slaughter? Genocide?

Crake is walking. I hang from his arm like his puppet. We stop. I cannot hear Jimmy, but I know he is there—who else?

Suddenly I am no longer buried in Crake's chest. I'm balanced on his arm; I am balanced on his arm, feel the artificial air on my skin, and Jimmy's gaze (shocked, horrified, confused) on my face.

I do not open my eyes, because I know what I'll see. I know what comes next.

The cut is swift and clean—when did you learn to kill with your own hands, Crake?—and painful beyond measure. It hurts it hurts it hurts…

Jimmy shoots Crake—now you're a killer, just like us, how ironic. Crake falls, not gracefully, the way it's said to happen, but more like collapses in a heap, dragging me with him. We are intertwined—fitting, in a heartbreaking way—as the pain slowly becomes brilliant, like the sun, then faint. My thoughts become cloudy, and lost. So this is what dying is like…

Absently, I hear the door seal. Jimmy has abandoned us. It is just Crake and I, now and forever. Like it should be.

This started as a summer assignment (had to read Oryx and Crake for school) and evolved into really getting into Oryx's head. I don't think she regrets, because she knows how useless it is, but she's not heartless, and therefore feels guilt. She didn't mean to help Crake kill the entire human race, but it happened nonetheless.

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