This is part 3 of some fiction I'm writing. I had a title, but I'm not sure I want to use it anymore. This story is formatted a little differently since I've copied it from my word processor and not typed it in directly.
I
look around for knobs or levers to start the shower, but the only handle I see
is the door handle. I turn it to close the door and hear a click. Water and
soap suddenly spray me from above and below; the soap is washed off almost as
quickly as it’s sprayed on. After this quick process, the water and soap stops
and I’m about to get out and look for a towel when I hear a snapping sound like
a puff of smoke. I can’t see for the powder, but once it settles, I’m almost
completely dry.
I
go to get my robe back, but it’s not there. I look outside and there are some
clothes laid out for me, including a dress with long sleeves. I look around to
make sure the room is empty and get dressed quickly. As I sit down at the table
again, I see a book open. I’m looking through it, when the old man comes in
again. I like to read, but I can barely concentrate with all the stress I’m
going through at the moment, so I look up from the book.
“That
is one of your favorite books, if you remember.” He’s trying to hide his
disappointment, but I can tell he’s sad that it looks like I barely recognize the
book. “I think if you spend some time at it, you will find that you will enjoy
the adventures of that particular heroine.” I look through the book again and
notice some illustrations. In one of the drawings, an athletic woman with a
toned body is holding off a monster of some sort with a blade of steel. “Her
name is Vanessa. . . just like yours.” I’m so tired and confused that I accept
this information as trivial.
“Okay,”
I mutter.
“Hah
ha! She speaks!” He still seems afraid, if slightly relieved. I am afraid now
too when I hear my own voice. The voice is a soft whisper of a girl’s voice, a
young woman’s voice, a young woman barely past puberty. I look at the book
again, but I can still barely concentrate. I close it almost angrily, because I
don’t know how to handle all of these developments.
My
father notices my demeanor. “There will be time enough to catch up on the
adventures of Miss Vanessa when you have recovered more.” He looks like he’s
concentrating for a second, and then he puts his hand on his chin and frowns.
“Well, let’s retreat to our modest exam room, such as it is, and recheck some
of your vitals once more. I don’t want to overexert your fist day back.”
We
go back to the room I woke up in, and he checks my temperature with a
thermometer and takes my pulse. “You seem to be recovering very well, dear. How
do you feel?”
“I’m
fine,” I manage to say. “A little disoriented maybe,” I admit. My new voice
would take some getting used to.
“Yes,
well that is another reason I brought you back here. He walks over to a cabinet
by the bed and pulls a switch. The cabinet flips over and a small desk and
monitor appear. “I know your memory is somewhat jumbled at this point, so I
thought a few lesson might ease you back into the scheme of things.” He opens a
compartment above the desk and takes out a helmet with goggles on it. “You can
go slowly at first until you start remembering things. You can return to
earlier lessons if you feel a lesson is too advanced for you. Or if you feel a
lesson is something you have mastered already, you can skip it.” I couldn’t see
myself skipping too many lessons.
“Don’t
be afraid,” he tells me. “It’s really very user friendly. A girl as sharp as
you will recover in no time.” He pulls up a chair and then helps me put on the
helmet and goggles. When the goggles are on, I see a screen of information. As
I move my eyes, the screen scrolls and I can focus on a piece of data to see it
closer or to get more details. It’s just a computer without a mouse, really.
The
lesson it starts with is a little odd. The questions are strange to me and I
have no idea how to answer them. I don’t remember any of the history lessons,
and the astrology seems foreign to me. The only thing I can make any sense of
is the math. I start going back to earlier lessons, but it takes me a while to
make any sense of anything. At least I’m feeling a little better about reading.
I’m reading what seems like a children’s story about a little boy and his lost
dog, when the screen goes blank.
“Well,
it looks like you’re moving along quite nicely. Yes, I’m quite satisfied by
your progress.” I can tell he’s lying. I know he’s disappointed, but there’s no
point in trying to move faster than I can through the lessons. I was still
learning how to use the machine, really. “Well, it’s time for bed now. Let me
show you to your room.”
The
room is down a hallway from the kitchen. I barely have time to notice anything
about the room because I’m so tired. I fall asleep as soon as I lie down on the
bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment