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rocks and behind the spiny plants that dotted this barren landscape. Dylan had little experience with animals. They learned about things like dogs, lions, and cheetahs in their science studies, but there were no animals in the populated areas of Genero. There were farms along the outer edge of the city, where the girls had heard they kept animals called cows, animals that provided the sweet milk they drank on Sunday afternoons as part of their founder’s meal, and some of the meat they ate during the week, though Dylan was never sure if she could believe those rumors.  
    She scanned the horizon and saw a large, flat rise in the ground a dozen or so yards away.  She decided to make her camp there. As soon as she had climbed the rough edge of the rise, she sank to the ground and dug out one of the water bottles. Her tongue was dry and beginning to swell. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that little bit of water. It more than made up for the tasteless dehydrated protein that silenced the rumbles in her stomach, but did little to appease her desire for the tender bits of pot roast she knew the cook was serving the remaining girls in D dorm tonight.
    As she slowly became rehydrated, as her mind settled to the logical, Dylan looked through her provisions and realized that even if she strictly conserved the food and water, it would not be enough to last three days. Her water was already half gone.
    Fear again trickled through her chest. She knew she must conserve what little water she had, but a part of her wanted to drink until it was all gone.
    Was this part of the test? Did they want to see if she could find a natural source of water out here, on her own? What if she couldn’t? Or, what if she did, and it was still contaminated from the war that had ruined this sad landscape?
    She looked at the empty bottle she still clutched in her hand, ran her tongue over the slender opening to soak up the few drops of moisture that still clung there.
    She wasn’t sure she could do this.
    Her lips were beginning to crack in the corners, her tongue felt as though it had suddenly become sandpaper instead of the muscle it once was. She licked her lips, but it did little to soothe the aching pain that had settled there. And her skin…there was nothing to describe the soreness that had settled there . It was hot to the touch, her face particularly. Her arms were an odd, red color that reminded her of the red paints in the arts and crafts room back at D dorm. She wanted to cry, but a part of her knew she should not waste even that little bit of moisture within her battered body.
    Dylan carefully stowed the empty water bottle back in her bag, drawing on every ounce of self-control she had to keep from dragging out the other bottle for a single, long drink. She closed the top of the bag and sat it behind her, making a lumpy, but better than the dirty ground, pillow out of it. The cool breeze offered a limited amount of relief to her aching skin. She lay there, looking up at the stars, drawn out of her self-pity enough to enjoy the sight of those amazing dots of light without having to view them through the distorted concave of glass that was the dome over Genero.
    Exhaustion quickly settled over her. As her eyes slipped closed, her aching skin became an issue once more. The pain seemed to overwhelm every inch of her body, every single thought that filled her mind. So she began to imagine what it would be like if the pain simply disappeared. It was a trick Davida had taught her once. When you have a problem, she said, imagine what it would be like if the problem resolved itself. Perhaps you will find a way to fix it.
    Dylan imagined that her skin was not that horrible, red color, that the pain had simply disappeared. She imagined herself the way she had been that morning as she dressed one last time in the silence of her dorm room, her skin the perfect glowing peach of a natural blonde. Slowly, the pain disappeared, and Dylan found herself