Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend

DISCLAIMER: I live on Earth. If you're reading this, then I assume you do as well, though I do not discriminate.

She's . . . awake? She doesn't know where she is. It's confusing . . . unfamiliar. The room is dark, but her eyes are adjusted. "How long have I been here?' She inwardly questions, but there is no answer. She unknowingly makes her way over to a small dresser with a lamp on the far end. It is a strange object to her, and yet she knows perfectly what it is and what it does. She reaches over and pulls a small chain, igniting a soft glow to emanate throughout the room. It all feels so . . . unreal. Something grabs her attention, as if calling out to her, tiny phantom strings pulling at her mind, forcing her to gravitate towards it.

It's a small box, carved out of an elegant wood. The polished surface is like a dark auburn glass as the light dances across its exterior. She softly runs her fingertips over the top of it, brushing over the roughly engraved floral pattern adorning the lid before gently lifting it open. A small, almost inaudible gasp escapes her lips, her eyes widening ever so slightly. What she sees instantly takes her breath away.

The inside is lined with a soft, fabric-like material, a small detail that is barely paid any attention to as she focuses almost immediately on the single item in the box. It's a . . . a stone . . . a glass stone, of some kind. It looks like . . . she exhales a breath . . . it's beautiful. She picks it up between her thumb and forefinger and examines it with a careful, delicate admiration, as if the wrong look would shatter it, sending it crumbling away. The soft light reflects off of it like a star in the night sky.

She's heard about stars before, from . . . from somewhere. She has never seen the clear night sky, let alone seen a star before; yet here she is, holding one in her very own hand. That's the only thing it could be - a star, plucked right out of the sky just for her.

Except that, it isn't hers. Realization becomes resignation. Whom it belongs to, she doesn't know. Tenderly, almost longingly, she places it back into the box, right where she found it; every movement a refusal on her part to test the item's possibly hidden fragility. 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend,' the whisper is haunting, fleeting . . . and then it's gone.

Closing the lid, her focus shifts to the dresser, her hand leaving the box and gliding over the top of it in a continuous motion. It is also made of wood; not as elegant as the little box, but still in better condition than anything she's . . . used to seeing? What is she used to seeing? Everything seems so foreign, so . . . far away, as if she were here but . . . not really here.

'Am I dreaming?' She wonders. Is that what this is, a dream? No, it couldn't be. It seems too real to be a dream, but it just doesn't feel real enough to be . . . real. There's an intense loneliness in this place, wherever it is. It fills the room, pressing down on her, threatening to crush her in some sort of serene-like solitude. She's alone, and her memory . . . she realizes she can't remember anything. No. It isn't that she can't remember . . . there's nothing there. Empty. No memories, just . . . this place.

The small table lamp continues to pour out its soft, ethereal glow throughout the room and it only adds to the unnaturalness of it all, making it seem even more like a dream. On the wall over the center of the dresser is a large mirror. She leans in and looks over her reflection. The girl staring back at her seems so unfamiliar. It's her, but . . . not her. The hair is too orderly, too sculptured. The face is too clean. It looks like a mask, it is so immaculate. She slowly reaches up with her right hand and lays it against her cheek. The sensation is there, but it feels . . . off. Numb, somehow. Not real.

'What's happening to me?' A silent panic fills her as she shuts her eyes and quickly turns away from the mirror, unable to look at herself anymore. She needs to calm down. Breathe. 'Come on . . . deep breaths . . . deep breaths, Allison.' Her eyes instantly shoot open. Allison. Her name is Allison.

Author's Notes:

The premise here is that the "Allison glitch" seen in Allison From Palmdale did not occur for the first time in that episode, nor does it have any sense of continuity; it sort of resets each time. The setting takes place sometime between Automatic For the People and Allison From Palmdale.

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