"Gharab, Aras, and ... what's this? ... Dafathy?"Ana had studied her passport well enough to remember the real name on the visa. "Thafady," she correc...ed."Thafady. Did you go mountain-climbing there, young lady?"Ana was quick-witted enough to answer: "No. There are no mountains in Thafady." Hmm! No, maybe there aren't. Though Dafathy's well equipped with them. And what is your home town like?" Akin. It's very nice." Better than anything in Alif?" No, about the same." And did you enjoy your stay. What would she think of me, this shell I have become. Where is my shirt? My breasts almost nothing, flaps of skin against shiny ribs. Subsisting on coffee, cigarettes, an occasional carrot stick. I don’t want to eat, such an empty table. A place setting for one, the chair across from me stagnant. Is that really me? The self, the coil, the me. I am sickening. The steam is rising from the faucet now, framing my face in the mirror, a halo almost, filling out my face. I wipe a hand across one. More

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