Uncorked
©11.11.2011 by Mica D'Orléans
At ten-thirty p.m. one Saturday New Year Eve, I got unplugged; and for the life of me I cannot remember my name. That Saturday night of who knows how long ago, I became Jane Doe. Some nameless faceless dude wiggling some antennas came up to me, kidnapped my po' ass, threw me in some unknown vessel, unplugged every single hole my body contained, drained me out of my mind and memories, dropped me off in the middle of Fucksville, and turned me into some twenty-something year old bimbo that I would never have recognized. There was not even one thank you note left behind.
“So, Ms. Jane Doe, how is it you do not remember your name, where you came from, even that this here is planet earth, yet you clearly understand what it is I am tryin' to tell you, and most amazing, you are able to talk back to me in such an unlaaaady like manner? Huh, Ms. Jane Doe, can you clarify this simple little misunderstandin' for me?”
Offff course! there was no use in engaging with this wack-O! His red face turned me off. Making fun of me didn't help either. I absolutely refused to cooperate!
“Young Ms.? Will we have to put you in the thinkin' tank?”
“Oh WHATever! Just do what you gotta do. I cannot help you even if I wanna.”
What else could I have said. I really had absolutely no recollections what-so-ever. Okay, there were some inherent memories, like, from the looks of this place, I coulda tell it was hickish. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to speak my mind, so this skinny prissy little sheriff took an immediate dislike to me. Just by looking at him I could tell he had no room for forgiveness. So let it be what it is, said my instincts.
“Oh, well, 'WHAT-- ever' says you, young sassy li'l thin'. My wife is a good Christian. She believes in saving the world. She would get mad at me if I acted on my feelings alone. So today, you are in luck. Today, I remember my wife's sayin's”
I was completely baffled as to why his speech pattern had none, so, about what he was spewing out, I also couldn't be of help. He must have caught on to my blank stare cause he decided to keep speaking and define whatever point he was trying to make.
“Through the goodness of me wife's heart I will spare you the cell, and instead, send you to Social Services. They might have better luck 'n me.”
With these parting words, the sheriff forever parted my life. He lied though... Social Services my foot! He sent me to some governmental research lab that had a rough time trying to figure out what I was, or how I was made. The truth was, I knew I'd been around. I also knew I was not what I had now become, so the mystery was just as mysterious to me too. But, talk about getting my permission? It was like a big heLLL NO! because, according to their record, I was not an existing life form. Given that I was of adult age, it seems they felt free to plaster my face all over the world wide net, to every organization legally marked to operate, and to every illegal organization in operation, and yet still had nothing come up their database. So in conclusion, it seems, they concluded that i am not of this world.
