Friday, March 24, 2017

The Half Shaman in Space: Am I Me Again?

Am I Me Again?

Wake. Am I me again? I stretch. My legs still feel too long. Too straight. I run my hands over my breasts. Still too much flesh. I’m not myself. 
"This is not the growth chamber"
I open my eyes. The light is dimmed. Other than that it’s the same place. White white white beyond the podium. “There are a heap of people gone.” In fact, only about half the statues remain. “None of my friends knew me or they would have woken me, got me to come along.” 

"Each is blind to the others"

 Tears start for my eyes. Mongoose blind to me when he woke? I recall my suspicions while we travelled. Don’t remember who lay them to rest. Mongoose possibly. 

From the shadows in the corners come sounds of scratches, crying, swearing. “How do I get out? How do I get out?” 

How come I’m not blind to the others? I want to ask. But I pick something global with which to test the mysterious entity. “This is how you make it night? Dawn? Dusk? How many hours between?” Silence as I look round. 

Glimmer of the mirror. The situation is so unreal that for a second I think the figure studying its reflection is me. It has an animal shape, I realise. Dark fur all over.  An ape-like hunch. Serious disbelief in its stance. 

Other people having the same problems means I’m not being singled out. Which is a relief and which encourages me to be reckless. I turn onto my side. “Not getting up till I am me.” 


I wake. Open my eyes. I’m surprised that I slept at all. I’m alone on the platform. Every other statue is gone. Will I see them again?

My legs feel shorter. My breasts are bumps, how they should be. I roll over and up, survey the scene. 

I’m not even wearing the bit of flimsy I had on before so I put on my pants and long shirt lying creaseless in front of me. “Where’s my belt?” 

"You came without a belt"

“That’s true. I remember that now.” Lotor’s prison authorities took my belt before shutting me in the white cell. I take up the shirt’s hem and tie it around my waist to make a capacious horizontal pocket. Not that I have anything to put into it. 

My stomach rumbles. “Is there any food?”

"Not in this hall"

“Right.” I bet everyone else asked that too. Pretty slim pickings before we came and it seems we were remade with that hunger intact. 

No comments:

Post a Comment