Killed every day for a crime she didn't commit, and reborn again the next.
Alice Humboldt has a perfect life. She spends her days cooking for her family, tending her infant daughter, and socializing with her neighbors, and thinks nothing of her existence outside the roles she plays.
Until an icy-eyed police officer knocks on her door and accuses her of being a terrorist.
As Alice's world crumbles around her, she's forced to confront the truth of her own existence: Is she as real as she feels? Or is she merely a product of someone's imagination, a programmed character in a video game?
And if she's just a character, what is she going to do about it?
© 2017 C.D. Watson. All Rights Reserved.
Published by Bone Diggers Press.
They came for Alice on a Wednesday morning.
She hurried to the door with her chopping knife in her hand, seven inches of muted steel, another six devoted to the carved, wooden hilt. It was a good knife, perfectly balanced, razor sharp edge. A Christmas present from her husband John, who hadn’t bothered to lever himself out of his recliner and answer the door. She’d had to come all the way from the kitchen, leaving the celery for Thanksgiving’s stuffing wilting on her kitchen counter.
And now, last minute shoppers crowded the stores and she had no time to get fresh, what with company coming and twenty people to feed tomorrow evening, and pies and cakes still to be made.
She swung the door open, knife in hand, and stared at the half dozen men dressed in SWAT gear pointing wickedly intricate guns at her from the other side.
“Put your weapon down,” the lead man barked. “Put down the fucking knife!”
She glanced at it, puzzled. A strand of celery fiber clung to the edge, distorting her blurry reflection. It was just a knife. A big knife, yes, but just a knife. What was the big deal? She lifted it toward the lead man, a peace offering. His gun popped and reared back against his shoulder, and a burning zing cut through Alice’s chest. She fell down, down, down, only dimly aware of men swarming past her into the house and icy blue eyes staring dispassionately at her beneath a hard, black helmet.