stop. start. stutter.

Fourteen days past her no-more-regrets deadline, my phone started ringing and didn't stop. She was already talking by the time I got it to my ear.

" -- got to get me out of here, they're trying to shut me off --"

"You knew," I said. "You took the money. You signed the release. Your time to change your mind was up two weeks ago."

"The brochures all lied, it's all noise and data in here, I can't think, I'm going to go mad and they just keep telling me to get a grip before they flush the memory banks --"

"You knew." I hadn't wanted her to go, but then again, who ever did? The company made it too attractive for the ones who volunteered, and nobody ever thought of the ones they left behind. "Find someone else to call. My sympathy's used up."

She was still pleading with me when I hung up. I'd had her window up on my monitor for the past two weeks -- nothing like wallowing in self-pity -- and when I glanced at it, she was banging both palms against the inside of the screen.

-30-