Morning Escort by the Colonel: Part 11

The fixed army truck waits at the curb, engine low, morning light on its metal sides. The colonel guides her up the step, his hand firm but not cruel. She sits inside, clutching her handbag, staring straight ahead as the truck pulls away from her pink suburban house. She isn’t thinking about aliens or quantum machines now — she’s thinking about her life. Her husband. Her makeup table. The laundry she meant to fold. The neighbours who will definitely talk. And the horror of maybe having to hire a cleaner, which would only make them talk more. She whispers, almost to herself: “What have I done… and where are they taking me?” The colonel doesn’t answer. The truck rolls forward toward Nevada, and the unknown. #Barbie #Barbiesigniture #Mattel @cataww234