HLA WAS BORN with a cleft palate, doctors fixed that, but no doctor could cure her mind.
She could do most things; driving was one. A battered Toyota pickup cruised past the thick grey walls. Barbed wire swung loose from the top, chipping more of the once-white paint. The truck's gear slipped into neutral as it cruised silently past the gates. Then stopped out of sight of the dozing entrance guard.
The driver's torn shirt revealed one of the bra's cups hanging loose. Its shoulder strap snapped and dangled.
'Perfect,' Hla said to herself in the car's mirror. Leaving the door open, she staggered towards the secure unit's entrance. Twenty yards short of her goal, she screamed and collapsed onto the concrete road.
It shocked the guard to full attention. 'What, what's goin...

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