Eighty-eight days ago, the Alliance declared Simon Tam a terrorist and locked him in a holding cell. He didn't even see a glimpse of his sister's long black hair before they arrested him.
The lights turned on and off so Simon believed it had been eighty-eight days. His shirt was ragged and partially open.
Under Suspicious Acts of Terrorism against the Alliance, they didn't have to charge him. They pushed food and water under his cell door. He thought that the food might be drugged; but he ate it anyway.
Simon loved his sister.
Eighty-eight days and the outer worlds celebrated Christmas, a Messiah of the people brought down the chimney by a fat man wearing red. But that might've been wrong. Simon didn't remember. He did remember the pink ballerina slippers River received for the holiday. Their parents found it quaint that River wanted to celebrate Christmas.
Simon thought he'd buy River a pearl-laden brush this year, especially if her hair grew and knotted like his own.
He played with the last button on his shirt, still attached by thin white treads. The last button his shirt. It rolled and shined in his hand. Simon broke it off the dainty thread and swallowed it. Now they'd remove him from his cell.