Dear Hanna

by Zoje Stage

And people would do things for a pretty person who knew just how to ask.

Her plan had long been to meet a man who could care for her to the standard her father had established.

Being sixteen felt much older than watching sixteen.

I know the conclusion you’re drawing as you read my pathetic words: lies are more trouble than they’re worth. Yes, yes they are. But you know that’s why I save lies as a tool of last resort.

Dad thinks we’re about five years away from having to buy an insurance plan that will guarantee an individual’s access to fresh drinking water. And you and I will probably have to pay for the honor of breathing by the time we’re senior citizens—when the rich people buy up the oxygen and leave the poor people to suffocate.

Sometimes loving someone is what gets you through the hard times.

For a second Hanna had been on the brink of forming the words less controlling adult, but she had no need to lie to herself; she hoped to be less obvious than Ashley, but no less controlling.

These were people who could kill. That they used these skills on animals was little comfort. At least animals would run without thinking about it first, primed in their response to stay alive. Humans were weaker. Humans would ask, “Why?” And then beg for favors and time instead of taking a threat at face value.

“The killing isn’t the hard part, contrary to your past experiences,” he said. “It’s when the body is found that people get in trouble. So. Much. Evidence.”

She was no more fine than she had been the previous day, but she was acutely aware that she needed to do a better job of faking it.