There was time to eat. It would be hours until her sister came. No one would find out about her deviant dalliance with the unprocessed. Distraction. The item sits on the table unopened; begging for the eyes of the corporal. It was immutable. It was telling her to believe in the purpose of things and reason behind rules. Her sister would see and pick it up. She would bring it home and mother would understand and would make her watch it be pulverized and purified. Mother would give her a capsule and send her to her room. It would not taste good. It would not taste like anything, but it would be all. She had to be even and small; without implication, suggestion, or expectation. It sat still on the table and she had no time. They would see and know what she had done; they would know, they always knew. It was in the air and doubtless teeming with impurity. It would be processed because it needed to be.
Her room would have no light or heat tonight and the door would be locked from the outside again. Things would be correct soon. They were taking her to be corrected because there was so much wrong that standardization as worked with her siblings had not taken to her. There were too many things outside the lines to be conditioned. Her sister did come and find it; no explanation sufficed. It is how she imagined it would be and she sits on the floor and looks at the door she cannot see.