Round 1, Match 7, Yangnome vs. RPGgirl
Mother Knows Best
I suppose I’d normally start this sort of thing off by telling you who I am. To be honest with you though, I’m still trying to figure all that out. I suppose that’s why I’m writing this now. I guess you’ll have to bear with me for a couple minutes.
I woke up this morning. It was dark, as if it were the middle of the night; only it felt like I had slept for ages. To be completely honest with you, I couldn’t remember when I went to bed, or even where I was. I lay in bed for a few moments, searching my thoughts, unable to move. I couldn’t remember much of anything. There was a nagging feeling that I should be able to, but nothing came to mind. My mind felt as paralyzed as my body.
I lay there for an eternity, trying to grab hold of some memory; something that would remind me that I was alive…
Am I alive? Perhaps that was it; I had died and was now in heaven, hell, purgatory, or maybe I was awaiting reincarnation. Maybe that was why I didn’t remember anything…my mind and my past life had been wiped completely bank.
That thought comforted me a bit. I lay there content with the thought that I was awaiting reincarnation…it had to be. If it were heaven or hell, I’d at least have some memory. That doesn’t really explain the numb pain in my chest though. Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that. Yeah, I awoke with a numb pain in my chest; it was nothing major, in fact, I didn’t really realize it until after I had figured out where I was; just a dull pain in my chest, in my whole body actually.
I began to wonder how long I’d have to wait until I received my new body. Would it be long? Would I be cognizant the entire time? Strangely enough, I wasn’t sad about it all. Perhaps if I had some memory about my past life, a family left behind or something like that I might have feelings…but it was just me for all I could remember. Nothing to be sad about really, I was right here.
I lay there content for a bit. Everything felt right. Then my thoughts started bugging me.
If I were here waiting reincarnation, why is it I have no memory? You’d think they’d leave me unconscious until I am granted my new life. Will I be able to remember this once I do get to wherever it is I’m going? It would seem strange if I did. If I am to sit here and ponder things for a while before reaching my new life, why not leave me with memories and thoughts to ponder. I guess I could ponder my existence, but isn’t enough life already wasted on that? No sense in wasting the afterlife on it.
Tired from the confusion over my present circumstances, I close my eyes once again and drifted back off to sleep. I awoke again later, who knows how long it had been. I still couldn’t recall my past…well, most of my past. I could recall my most of my thoughts from the last time I awoke. I slowly opened my eyes. The room was a bit brighter this time. Light poured into the room to my right, from somewhere in the direction of my feet. The light was almost painful to my eyes. I tried once again to move my body, but with little success. I still felt the numb pain in my chest and abdomen. I couldn’t figure that out.
I lay there again, searching my mind for answers. Nothing came to me. My joints ached and a cold crept through my bones from the bed under me. Maybe I was in hell…but all accounts of I’ve heard of that place was that it is hot.
I stared up at the holes in the ceiling. You know the kind of ceiling I’m talking about…the tiled ceiling with all of the holes in them. The kind they have in schools when you were a kid.
I used to throw pencils up into the ceiling, and they’d just stick there. Wait! That was a memory…something from my life. OK, maybe it was just something I had to work for. Had I been in an accident?
I lay there and tried to latch on to any other memory that existed inside my head. It’s strange that that would be the first recollection I’d have…assuming I would have others as well. You’d think a wife or child, or perhaps fond childhood memories would sit front in my mind. No, not me, I remember the pencils I threw in the ceiling in middle school.
Had one of them fallen from the ceiling and poked me in the eye. Maybe that was why I was here. No, it seemed so long ago, even in my memory. I doubt that is it.
I felt the need to recall something more important than that. After all, if I had memories to call on (and apparently I did), there had to be more than that. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to remember though.
Should I remember my kids; my wife; my first lay, the cheerleader I banged at homecoming? None of those were actual memories, just things that you’d think would be important enough that I’d have some sort of recollection of them, or at least something similar.
Nothing came though. Not a thought. Let me tell you, lying there not certain of what memories I should have in my head was frustrating. After all, not being able to remember something when you try is bad enough. Try not being able to remember anything and at the same time not being sure of what you are trying to remember…except for those damned pencils!
I searched my mind for things that I should be able to remember, things that anyone in their right mind should be able to. Then it hit me;
My Mother! I should be able to remember my mother! After all, everyone has one, right? This, this would be the first memory I would work towards; who was my mother and what can I remember about her. After all, if I couldn’t remember anything about her, what does that have to say for Hallmark’s marketing strategy?
I lay there for a couple hours, but still to no avail. The memory of my mother, now apparently lost to me only intensified the dull pain in my chest. I must find this answer before anything else. There must be a clue somewhere as to who she is. I had to get up out of bed to look around for clues.
I tried once again to move my feet, or even my toes. No luck. The same happened with my hands and fingers. My body felt paralyzed, like when you are in that state between sleeping and waking. I tried as hard as I could to move, but I just couldn’t do it. I then tried to move my head. With some thought and some effort, I was finally able to do that. On a table next to me stood a
pile of books (1), something about an Electrical City, An Engineer is Human, The Social History of the Machine Gun, The Industrial Woman and a few others.
From the looks of the titles, I guess I’m either an engineering student or a history student. Why else would someone have such a collection? I also determined that I’m not awaiting reincarnation.
Why would books like these be sitting in a waiting room while my soul awaits transport into its next host? If that were the case, you’d think they’d at least lay out something relevant to the subject, like a Barron’s guide to wherever it is I’m gonna be born or a copy of a local newspaper.
No, I was most definitely still alive. But I didn’t recognize where I was.
You’d think in a situation like this that I might wake up in a hospital room with loved ones surrounding me. If that were the case, there’d be a good chance that I could figure out who my mother is. Unfortunately, I don’t appear to be in a hospital. No, they wouldn’t allow such reading material in a hospital; it’d just bore the patient to death. I don’t think I’m in my own room though. It’s funny; I can’t remember a damned thing about my life, aside form the pencils, but I’m certain I wouldn’t borrow these books from the library….that and the board on the back wall; not something I’d have in my house. No, it looks to me like it’s more of a classroom or an office, definitely not the décor that I’d have in my place.
I laid there for what seemed an eternity, trying to get my arms and legs to work. As I focused on this, the dull pain in my body grew more intense. My lungs ached, and when I coughed it felt like the phlegm I hacked up was filled with sand. I focused first on my right arm. I tried just moving the fingers; they were bent so I tried to straighten them. As I tried to straighten my index finger, it only bent further, so I tried to bend it; it straightened. The joints in my finger screamed at me.
Maybe I had arthritis or carpal tunnel syndrome. After moving the first fingers you’d think the others would come a bit quicker and easier. No, that wasn’t the case. I had to work just as hard on each one of them. Each one of them did the opposite of what I told it to do; each one ached just as bad as the first. Once I had my fingers and arms working, I focused on my toes. By now, the room was pitch-dark again.
I continued to work on gaining control over my body and by the time I was able to control my legs, the light had entered the room again. I wanted to begin my search for answers, my search for my mother, but I was too exhausted. I worried that sleeping again would cause me to surrender the control I had manage to gain over my limbs. I laid there worrying about it and accidentally fell asleep. When I woke, the room was still bright, but the light was coming from above now instead of from the direction of my feet. Worried, I first tried to move my fingers; I still had control of them. I let out a sigh of relief; despite the pain moving them had caused me. I then took a look around the room. It was still empty. The pile of books on the table to my right was still there, though some of them were missing now. A book also lay open on top of the table. It then occurred to me that I hadn’t really looked at anything else in the room, just the books and the damned ceiling tiles.
I then looked over to my left. On that side, there was some equipment, some of it looked like medical equipment, and some of it looked like tools you’d use on your car. Behind the tools stood a fish tank with a large fish inside the tank; it wasn’t an attractive fish, you know something tropical or colorful that people usually put on display. No, it was an ugly fish. Despite being ugly, the fish was the first sign of life I had seen in the room beside myself, so I figured I’d start looking there. I swung my legs off of the bed and tried to sit up. My efforts proved to be pretty clumsy and instead of getting up from the bed, I fell to the floor.
I lay there in a heap for a moment, pain coursing through my joints and my chest. I didn’t want to quit now though, so I concentrated on getting up. My efforts seemed to be futile, so I tried to use my arms to drag myself over to the fish tank; eventually I reached it. I then used my arms to pull myself up so that I could look inside the tank. I managed to get my nose level with the base of the tank and peered inside at the fish sitting on the rocks.
What an ugly fish, who’d want to keep something like that in their house…or their office, or wherever it is I am. Maybe the fish is awaiting reincarnation as well. No, I’ve already ruled that one out.
I continued staring at the fish for a while, but then remembered that I had to find my answers. The fish after all, wasn’t going to be the one to provide them. It was as I was beginning to turn and move away from the tank that my eye caught something,
the reflection.(2) My God, is that me? I couldn’t believe what I saw. My skin was desiccated and I had a large incision down my chest that had been sewn together,
I look like something the cat had drug from the grave. I chuckled at that comment. I think my chuckle though was only to bury the horror that filled my thoughts.
Certainly this can’t be what I’ve always looked like. I can’t remember much, but if that were what I’ve always been, it wouldn’t have taken me by such surprise to see myself.
After getting over the initial horror of seeing myself, I decided I needed more than ever to search for the answers to my question. Who am I and who is my mother.
Dealing with my looks would have to wait. After all, if I am supposed to look like this, it won’t matter. If not, it isn’t something that some plastic surgery can’t fix. Maybe I can get onto one of those reality shows where they can make me look like some star. Yet another strange memory to have pop into my head! I never even used to watch those shows; not that I can remember at least.
I drug myself away from the fish tank and over to the other side of the bed. I had trouble navigating around some of the equipment; I even knocked over one tall thin machine.
They should know better than to make that so top heavy. At least I didn’t break it. After getting untangled from the machine I had knocked over, I tried again to stand. This time I was more successful than the first. I managed to stand with the aid of the bed; it helped me keep my balance. At the foot of the bed, I noticed a small metal table. On top of the table were various knifes and clamps and such. Obviously, someone had used them to operate on me.
what a strange location for surgery .
I moved my way along the bed and over to the desk; one of the machines dragged along behind me. It wasn’t until the catheter pulled out of my hand that I realized I had been connected to it. Oh well. I grabbed a rag from the table and wrapped it around my hand to stop the bleeding.
I then pushed myself over towards the desk. Lying on the desk, beside the piles of books was an open journal, a couple pictures in frames and a bright red container, one of those you use for storing dirty needles.
Strange that they’d have something like that here in a place that isn’t a hospital.
I pondered that thought for a few moments. There was something about the container that seemed familiar to me. Then, it sparked my memory. It wasn’t the container, but the color of it. It reminded me of something from my past; something a little more important to me than the pencils. I had joined an organization in college. It was kind of like a fraternity, a secret brotherhood. On the front, the organization claimed to support the furthering of African American ideals. It was more than a fraternity though, more than a group offering scholarships to kids. The group became a lifestyle, almost a religion. My mother had warned me against joining such a group. She said things weren’t always what they seemed. She had heard rumors from friends whose kids had joined, rumors of sick practices. I of course didn’t believe her, not until it was too late anyway.
To be quite honest with you, even once I learned the truth, it didn’t bother me much. Our leader was a very charismatic and persuasive man. He spoke from his heart and kept our needs as a community at the forefront of our practices. Initiates of course weren’t exposed to all the rituals right away of course. In fact, myself along with most members often never realized the practices existed until later, after graduation, after they had progressed through the ranks.
The brotherhood became a focal point of our lives though. The brotherhood cared for us, watched out for us, and saw that our needs as human beings were met. We dressed in traditional robes, not the trappings that the white man had forced on our people. We associated with the brotherhood and only the brotherhood. The brotherhood was our life. Our goal as members was to help make the world a better place for our people.
Membership in the brotherhood was much more than a fraternity. We did much more than just drink beer and party. In fact, thinking back, I don’t even think the school recognized the brotherhood. Membership in the brotherhood was a lifetime commitment. After college, I had continued to support the brotherhood. As time went by, I was slowly introduced to the rituals we used to further our causes. It began with candles and light spells; curses on those that oppressed us. At every step though, we were exposed to more, blood rituals, sacrifices and the like. None of it bothered me though; everything we did was for the betterment of our lives and those like us. To be quite honest with you, I was happy to be included in the rituals, to be allowed to help perform them.
We had special gowns we used when conducting our sacrifices, bright red satin gowns, the same color of the sharps box, which covered our traditional attire. I remember the first time I was allowed to don the gown, I was so happy to be taking part in an event that would make such an impact on the world.
My friends and I all coursed with excitement over the proceedings that were to take place that night; my grin stretched from ear to ear as my friend helped wrap my headdress.(3)
This memory also seemed much more recent to me, more recent than the pencils at least. I began searching for other clues on the desk that might further help me discover what had happened to me, who I am.
I glanced at the pictures on the desk. No, it’s not what you think. It was a picture of an Asian boy and his father. The boy must be about 16 in the picture. I did recognize them though. The man owned a local butcher shop and a Chinese restaurant, a Korean guy. This picture must be from years ago. His son is much older now, in college if I remember correctly. His son is only a couple years younger than I am.
One of my brothers had worked for his father in the butcher shop while we were in school. It gave him a job and a place to get rid of components for our rituals. He said that the man worked hard for his family, saving every penny to put his son David through school. I remember that David used to argue with him. David had wanted to be an engineer, but his father insisted on medical school. “David “, he’d say, “people will always get sick and need doctor.”
His son conceded to his demands, but always complained about it. That fat bastard was ungrateful. He even complained about helping his dad with the family businesses. His father needed someone to help deliver orders, carry take out on their delivery bike, a big pink pig attached to a motorcycle. It was hilarious watching him ride though town on that thing.
“A pig on a hog”(4) we used to say.
I glanced from the picture, down to the journal. Inside the pages, was the answer I was looking for, how I came to be here and what had happened to me. Inside the pages were the combined rantings of a mad man and precise descriptions of a medical practice infused with technological tinkering. It appears David was never settled with his father’s desires to attend medical school. No, he wanted to build robots or cyborgs, to help advance technology.
Christ, what an arrogant bastard! my mind swam as the realization swept over me. Did he really think he could play with someone’s life like this? My life? That still doesn’t answer how I wound up here though.
Why me?
I flipped to the beginning of his journal. It was full of ramblings, ranting about his demanding father. I skimmed through the book until I came upon what it was I was looking for.
He had found my body along with others in the butcher store Apparently, his father continued to help out the brotherhood after my friend left.
If that is the case though, that means that they betrayed me! A cold chill swept through my body as the realization swept over me. That night, that was my last memory. They killed me; I was their sacrifice. And this fat arrogant bastard here took me to use me as a toy. In doing so, he has denied me my heaven, hell or reincarnation…whatever it is that awaits me. My mind swam as the realization came over me.
I reached up and felt my face, the horrible visage I had witnesses earlier reflected in my mind. There is no way I could live me life like this. Not even my mother would accept me as her son now. She had warned me about my associations, but I’m sure that this even far surpassed her greatest fears. I looked down at the rough stitching in my chest, the string that held me together. Frantic, I began tearing at it, ripping it out of my body; ripping my chest open. My chest parted and parts fell to the table and floor in front of me. Organs and electronics, infused together fell out of my chest and I slumped over on the table.
Now, I sit here waiting, pondering my future, wondering what lies before me: heaven, hell or reincarnation.
The End; or Perhaps a New Beginning.
Picture Order (In case links don’t work):
(1) bookworm.jpg
(2) uglyfish.jpg
(3) commies.jpg
(4) hogrider.jpg