ARAMIE KEMP

Her Name Was

She really should be used to it by now, the faint metallic clink. It had been with her longer than she had been without it. How could she complain, it was the best they could afford, technology had become too advanced to be in the price range of any but the affluent and no one dealt in real hearts anymore. It was hard to even notice the two chains that held it in place, one around her neck and one around her chest. They had rested in place long enough that her nerve endings no longer bothered to alert to their existence. Nights like this, when all she could hear was the repetitive clink, she would wonder about its maker. Whoever created it must have managed to live several lifetimes. Its design was practically ancient, a locket was the aesthetic, but it did the job of her faulty heart that died when she was too young to remember. Designs similar had been popular before her parents were around, when the blood plagues started, and hearts were hard to come by, she was told. Now the plagues were mostly contained to those who could not afford to pay for the mutations. One tiny syringe could save generations of a bloodline, but the cost was high. For the wealthy, it was simply money, but for everyone else, the cost was the trade of a single healthy child. Most chose the cost of health and freedom, even without the comfort of knowing what would become of that progeny. Her parents did not have the luxury of a healthy child to trade as it was only her and that faulty heart. They would, also, never have the money so resigned themselves to the shorter lifespan of those susceptible to plague.