Isotope

She was dancing, an isotope; uneven numbers and separate from her kind. She extended a hand, which was made of parts defined by the great void inside them, parts that would never truly connect with anything. She was joined by string from her fingers and wires in her brain to people she would never know and never touch. The barriers, the void between atoms was there for a reason. To force two together? The folly of man. No. She was an isotope, living a half-life.

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