Sarah looked out the window at the rolling hills as they whisked past, blanketed by the snow which fell in a flurry of thick flakes. How did people used to drive in weather like this before pre-programmed auto-drivers, she wondered. Would they just never go out when snow or rain fell? But that’s preposterous, then they’d barely ever go anywhere all winter. They must have had something to allow them to see.

     Soon the barn came into view, standing out, a crimson beacon amongst the unending white powder. She had been to the farm once before, her first time ever to the surface. She was eight at the time, and her older brother—the crazy partier that he was—had taken some pills his friend had stolen from his mother. Next thing they knew, her brother was in the hospital with a failing kidney, his only hope being a transplant. When she heard her mother was going to make the trip down to the surface to collect one for him, Sarah had begged to come with her. She had never been down to the surface before, but for so long she’d looked down on it with longing and curiosity in her heart. She still remembered the first time she felt real ground beneath her feet, it was so strange; not polished metal like she was used to. No, this was rough, uneven, and sometimes not even flat. But she loved it. The gravity was different down there as well, she jumped and loved how she would fall back down immediately, landing with a small thud every time.

    She was sixteen now, this was her fourth time ever coming to the surface. She loved the irony of the fact that her first time coming down was to visit the farm, and it would be where she went her last time as well. Last time in these shoes, at least.

     The car finally stopped before the hulking red structure. It seemed somehow smaller than before, but maybe she had built it up in her mind over the years. Or maybe it was simply because she herself had grown. Her mother looked at her with a smile, but Sarah could see something behind her eyes that she couldn’t suppress though she tried. Mother was worried. Sarah didn’t have to wonder why, there were risks at her age, but this was her best chance. They climbed out of the car, “have a nice day,” echoed out in the system’s tinny, robotic voice before the door slid closed.

     Next to the barn was a small house, or was it a cottage? Surface houses were all quite confusing to Sarah. So many names, and all those angles and unnecessary designs, yet she found them quite appealing. She wished their own home could have some of those features, or at least something at all. Her mother knocked and a wrinkled old man answered the door. She recognized his face from the last time, though it had gotten more papery and his salt-and-pepper hair had now gone fully grey. How so much can change in such a short time.

     “Can I help you?”

    “Yes,” her mother replied, “I called a couple days ago about my daughter.”

     “Oh yes, Mrs. Baker, of course.” His eyes flicked to Sarah, filled with sympathy. In that moment she realized one of the main reasons she wanted so badly to do this: to finally stop those looks. How sick she’d become of the pity. Her face must have reflected this because at once he looked down.” Apologies for staring, young lady. My aunt passed from cancer just a few years ago, I can only imagine what someone as young as you must be going through.”

     “Thank you,” was all Sarah said. She was still annoyed, but she couldn’t fault him for trying to understand.

     “But she won’t have to go through it much longer,” her mother said, and Sarah wondered who exactly she was talking to.

     “Right, yes,” the man said. “Come with me and I will show you your options.” He led them out the back door and into an open field, its white face dotted with people of all ages. “Is there anything in particular you were looking for?” he asked.

     “I’m not sure, I would like the same age, and at least similar in height, weight and colouring. In fact, I wish I could just stay me.” That she did, but it was too late for that. The cancer hadn’t yet spread to her brain, but it had spread enough that this was the only option.

     “I understand,” he said, again with that look and she just wanted to punch him. “Have a look around, you can take as long as you’d like.” With that he made his way back to the house.

     Sarah and her mother walked through the fields, assessing all viable options. Too tall, too short, too wide, a little too mature. She had just about given up hope, but then she saw her. She was beautiful. Her cheeks, made rosy from the snow, were supple and smooth and soft, and golden hair poured down her back in waves. Her lashes went on for miles, framing her striking electric blue eyes. At the sight of her plump red lips Sarah’s hand absentmindedly went up to touch her own, chapped      and thin. Sarah stared, her own shiny head free of what had once been bland, dirty-blond strands, her lips rough with broken skin, and swampy green eyes. She stared at this gorgeous figure with such envy, and then she realized, she didn’t have to. All the specimens born on the farms usually looked mediocre at best, her parents must have had to sell her. Lucky for me, Sarah thought.

***

     She’s staring at me; I don’t like the way she is. I know what she’s thinking. I know why she’s here, the cancer girl. Gossip spreads across the farm rather quickly. This is the first time we’ll ever have someone take a whole body from the farm. The risks are high, especially for a young, sick girl like her. But I guess she’s got nothing to lose now.

     But why did she have to choose me? I guess some may consider me “beautiful,” I’ve heard some other visitors say I’m surprisingly so for a Farm-Owned, so I guess I could understand why she would want me. But what right does she have to take any of it away from me? I didn’t choose this. Living on the farm, I always thought I would just have to give up an organ or two, but I never would have expected this; even those who get new bodies are usually older women who just want to be a bit more youthful. I’m only sixteen, they rarely ever take someone this young.

     I wonder if there are any ethics laws about body transfers, though even if there are, she’s from the Upper Terminal so she must be rich. Rich enough to have an ethics committee look the other way anyway. What do they do to me in these procedures? Do they stick me in a cancerous body, or just throw out my brain and leave me to rot? Either way, I’m going to die. They are sentencing me to die.

    Oh, God, I don’t want to go. What makes her life worth any more than mine? Sure, being raised on a farm for my organs isn’t much of a life, but at least it is mine to control, my body to do with as I wish. My own will. I don’t want to go. Please don’t make me go.

     I hear the girl, Sarah, ask the owner my name. “Her name’s Bessa,” I hear him answer. Why does she even care, though? That’s just one more thing they are taking away from me. One more piece of my identity to be stripped from me like I’m nothing.

     I bet once she gets me she’ll just go back to her mansion in the clouds and people will swarm her, complimenting her like what she did was an incredible feat. How brave you were! they’ll say. Yet no one will call her out for what she really will be, a murderer, talking out of her own victim’s lips. Seeing with her eyes. Touching with her flesh. No, nobody will mention that, and soon my identity will dissolve into her. As my body–our body–ages, the last remnants of who I was will disappear and I will cease to exist completely.

     I wonder if anyone will remember me. If they’ll miss me. If they’ll mourn for me. Or maybe, like the snow, I’ll just melt away without a trace. Even if it did come back, no matter how similar it looked, it would never be the same.

     They soon leave, their slick black car noiselessly disappears down the road. I wonder when they’ll be back to collect me. She’s dying so they’ll probably want it to be as soon as possible. How much longer do I have? Will I get a last meal? Will I get anything? I guess I’m not really worth it to them.

     It’s night, I sit in the snow, watching the sunset streak crimson across the sky. I relish every moment as it slowly darkens to a deep purple before the darkness descends. One of the last sunsets I’ll see through these eyes; they begin to burn with tears. I lay in the snow, looking up at the stars, savouring the numbness spreading through my extremities, which soon turn to pins and needles. How much I used to hate that feeling, but now I rejoice in how it tickles me so. Maybe if I stay out here long enough I’ll lose something to frostbite, like a finger. Would they still want me then? Even if they did, I don’t have to make it too pleasant for them.

     I sit up suddenly. No, I think, no I don’t.

     My body acts before I’ve even finished thinking. I make my way to the Animal Barn. The door opens with a rusty creak, I close it behind me and then silence. The animals are quieter than the Farm-Owned people, they don’t snore, they rarely yawn, and I doubt they toss and turn as much in their sleep, utterances of fear and pain under their breaths. I wish I could be as unsuspecting as them; after all, “ignorance is bliss,” as the old saying goes. I creep past them, trudging through the hay strewn across the dusty floor. Finally reaching the back wall I go to the utility cupboard, I’ve had to tend to the animals before, I know where everything is. With the only light being the slivers of moonlight able to wedge between the cracks in the boards, I fumble half-blind until my fingers grasp the rough wooden handle.

     Back out in the snow, I make my way to my favourite hill; the one the other children and I used to play on when we were younger. So many memories made there, so many more to come. I stand atop the hill as if triumphant, clenching the pitchfork in my trembling grasp, and look up into the sky once more. The stars twinkle and the moon shines, the snow around me shimmers under their light. I will miss nights like this, the beauty that surrounds me. But I cannot let them take me. My life is not theirs to control, one’s life is not another’s to give and take so freely. Only I choose where I wish to go and how I wish to live. Or die. They cannot take away who I truly am. And they never will.