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Page 7

Svana tossed, the sheets twisting tighter and tighter around her legs, her brow furrowed in a grimace of pain.

Sassa stood on the threshold and let her twin fight the dream. It used to frighten her, the way Ana thrashed and fought, how her face screwed up and her mouth screamed silently. When she heard the tell-tale creak of the mattress she would rush to her sister’s side and shake her violently awake.

She turned away from the door, sliding it shut behind her, locking out Ana’s nightmare. She was tired, tired and far to used to the silent dreams. It was the times she wasn’t silent, the times when strange, foreign words streamed from her mouth that disturbed her. The sounds tickled something in the back of her mind, something old, something that came with fear.

But this wasn’t one of those times, and as Sassa grabbed her jacket from the back of dining chair, she was glad at least that Ana was no longer shutting her out. The genetic anomaly her twin had stumbled across was … was … Sassa shook her head. There were no words to describe it, not yet at any rate, but they’d find them, publish them, own them. Her and Ana, just like they used to.

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Page 2 (3rd Person)

Page two of The Hybrid Theory. Again this is in three different versions, first person, second and third. Let me know which one you like best.

Sassa is beautiful, a pale blonde vision of Nordic beauty with high cheekbones and lips the same tint as dusk. She is Svana’s mirror, apart from the eyes, a classic icy blue where hers are brown, the only remnant of their father stamped on Svana’s face. The rest belongs to their mother, beautiful and petite and cold.

When Sassa looks up from the microscope the artificial daylight turns her hair the colour of straw and highlights the shadows under her eyes. Her face is tired, the new lines in her forehead deeper than they were just 73 hours ago before they started down this path.

“What’s it look like?” Svana asks.

Her twin drags a few wisps of hair back into her ponytail. “Alien?” She shrugs and the white lab coat slips further down her shoulder. “I don’t know where to start, I’ve never seen anything so …” Her face scrunches as she searches for the word to describe what has become Svana’s obsession. “… So perfect.”

“So what’s it do?”

“Do?” Sassa’s laugh is edged in glass. “I can’t even tell you want it’s made of. God Ana, this is…” She threw her hands in the air and spun around, her eyes on the ceiling like she could find whatever answers she needed in the perforated tiles. “This is world changing.”

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Page 2 (2nd Person)

Page two of The Hybrid Theory. Again this is in three different versions, first person, second and third. Let me know which one you like best.

Sassa is beautiful, a pale blonde vision of Nordic beauty with high cheekbones and lips the same tint as dusk. She is your mirror, apart from the eyes, a classic icy blue where yours are brown, the only remnant of your father stamped on your face. The rest belongs to mother, beautiful and petite and cold.

When Sassa looks up from the microscope the artificial daylight turns her hair the colour of straw and highlights the shadows under her eyes. Her face is tired, the new lines in her forehead deeper than they were just 73 hours ago when you started down this path.

“What’s it look like?”

Your twin drags a few wisps of hair back into her ponytail. “Alien?” She shrugs and the white lab coat slips further down her shoulder. “I don’t know where to start, I’ve never seen anything so …” Her face scrunches as she searches for the word to describe what has become your obsession. “… So perfect.”

“So what’s it do?”

“Do?” Sassa’s laugh is edged in glass. “I can’t even tell you want it’s made of. God Ana, this is…” She threw her hands in the air and spun around, her eyes on the ceiling like she could find whatever answers she needed in the perforated tiles. “This is world changing.”

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Page 2 (1st Person)

Page two of The Hybrid Theory. Again this is in three different versions, first person, second and third. Let me know which one you like best.

Sassa is beautiful, a pale blonde vision of Nordic beauty with high cheekbones and lips the same tint as dusk. She is my mirror apart from the eyes, a classic icy blue where mine are brown, the only remnant of our father stamped on my face. The rest belongs to mother, beautiful and petite and cold.

When Sassa looks up from the microscope the artificial daylight turns her hair the colour of straw and highlights the shadows under her eyes. Her face is tired, the new lines in her forehead deeper than they were just 73 hours ago before we started down this path.

“What’s it look like?”

My twin drags a few wisps of hair back into her ponytail. “Alien?” She shrugs and the white lab coat slips further down her shoulder. “I don’t know where to start, I’ve never seen anything so …” Her face scrunches as she searches for the word to describe what has become my obsession. “… So perfect.”

“So what’s it do?”

“Do?” Sassa’s laugh is edged in glass. “I can’t even tell you want it’s made of. God Ana, this is…” She threw her hands in the air and spun around, her eyes on the ceiling like she could find whatever answers she needed in the perforated tiles. “This is world changing.”

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Page 1 – Key of 3rd

The ficlet in third person perspective. Read the read the other versions (first person and second person) and tell me which one you prefer.

She is Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none.

There is a burning desire in her heart for she knows not what. By night she is tantalised by fragments of dreams that are more than dreams, by day she buries herself in trivialities and knows that she is meant for more than this, more than her relationships, more than her work and the knowledge drives her mad.

Who, what, why is she? The key to it all resides within the fragmented narratives of her dreaming, she knows it like she knows she has a purpose beyond her everyday humdrum. She know it with an absolute certainty that sits in her heart like a stone, strengthening her even as it weighs her down. But the dreams that border painfully on memory find no meaning within the meagre wealth of her existence, beyond the literal confusion of historical fact and scientific fantasy. And so she wait, wait for some clue, some sign to unlock the mystery that is she.

She is Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none and she is waiting.

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Page 1 – Key of 2nd

The ficlet in second person perspective. Read the read the other versions (first person and third person) and tell me which one you prefer.

You are Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none.

There is a burning desire in your heart for you know not what. By night you are tantalised by fragments of dreams that are more than dreams, by day you bury yourself in trivialities and know that you are meant for more than this, more than your relationships, more than your work and the knowledge drives you mad.

Who, what, why are you? The key to it all resides within the fragmented narratives of your dreaming, you know it like you know you have a purpose beyond this everyday humdrum. You know it with an absolute certainty that sits in your heart like a stone, strengthening you even as it weighs you down. But the dreams that border painfully on memory find no meaning within the meagre wealth of your existence, beyond the literal confusion of historical fact and scientific fantasy. And so you wait, wait for some clue, some sign to unlock the mystery that is you.

You are Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none and you are waiting.

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Page 1 – The Key of 1st

The ficlet in its original first person perspective. Read the read the other versions (second person and third person) and tell me which one you prefer.

I am Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none.

There is a burning desire in my heart for I know not what. By night I am tantalised by fragments of dreams that are more than dreams, by day I bury myself in trivialities and know that I am meant for more than this, more than my relationships, more than my work and the knowledge drives me mad.

Who, what, why am I? The key to it all resides within the fragmented narratives of my dreaming, I know this like I know I have a purpose beyond my everyday humdrum. I know it with an absolute certainty that sits in my heart like a stone, strengthening me even as it weighs me down. But the dreams that border painfully on memory find no meaning within the meagre wealth of my existence, beyond the literal confusion of historical fact and scientific fantasy. And so I wait, I wait for some clue, some sign to unlock the mystery that is I.

I am Svana, daughter of Jorge and Heidi, sister to Sassa, mother and wife to none and I am waiting.

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