Dudes, did you think I'd leave you hanging? Ha!!
Part .09
I remember waking up in a very large bed. The room was unfamiliar to me and I was scared. I remember thinking, "I've been here before," and then shaking my head, because I had not been there before, I was certain of it. I did have this very fleeting . . . memory . . . of being in the room, with doctors around me holding needles. Why did I have that image?
I tried sitting up, but I was tied down; I couldn't even lift my head because my entire body was strapped to the bed I was very afraid, right then and there, so I started to pull at my restraints. Fear lent me adrenaline, which gave me and idea. I started manipulating myself into getting a lot of adrenaline. I wasn't quite sure what would happen to my heart if I gave myself too much, but I need to get out of the straps.
Pushing against the pieces that held me down, I lifted my arms until I was sure the straps were cutting in. Finally, they broke. I lifted my arms to my face. They were bruised, but it looked to be minor and I didn't feel anything majorly hurting. I unbuckled the straps that held my neck. After that, I then undid the ones that held my waist, so I could sit up.
When I sat up, I looked around the room. My heart still pumping wildly from the adrenaline, I saw laying on another bed a dark head; Martin. Giving a silent cry, I unfastened all other restraints that held me in and then leapt off of my bed.
"Martin," I said in a hoarse stage-whisper. He turns and I notice that the lamplight on his face makes it look as if he's walking towards the sun.
{vivid thoughts}
"Kill him, he's a danger to us," he says.
"No, he isn't; he's just a boy," I say.
"Your loss, not mine," he says, then walks on, leaving me alone. I go back to my date, idly watching the boy, known as PA1-169, walk away from Colorado into the sunset. It seems a little ironic to me that I let him go, but I don't need them and I certainly never help Don Lydecker if I can help it.
{/vivid thoughts}
What had just happened?
"Ty," Martin cried as he leapt up. He wasn't restrained. "You're awake! We have been so worried -- "
Into the room burst four people. Mom and Dad, Original Cindy -- who I hadn't seen for two years! -- and Zack. I glanced from Mom, Dad, and Cindy. They all run to me, all jabbering excited. Original Cindy screeches above the clatter, "Ya'll sound like a bunch of chickens in a farmyard!"
{vivid thoughts}
Oh, look at the pretty chickens. They are so chatter-y. I wonder if Papa will let me pick them up. Oh, look at the dogs, they are so gruff sounding. Mama never did tell me if I was to stay here. Maybe I will. I like this place.
{/vivid thoughts}
I didn't remember that. Yes, I did . . . I remembered it, but it wasn't me remembering it . . . how could I remember it as if I had been there. I started shaking. It wasn't me that was thinking, yet it was. It just wasn't my thoughts.
"You okay, baby?" Mom moved closer toward me. I looked up. I didn't want to speak . . . I was filing away memories, I realized, but I couldn't figure out why I was because I've always filed away my memories as soon as I've received them.
I started taking deep breaths, shaky ones. "These aren't mine," I whispered.
{vivid thoughts}
"Hey, Brat-girl!" I yell to my younger sister. She ignores me. Figures. "Katie, hand me that book, *please,*" I add this last part sarcastically. She looks up at me, sighs, then leans over and gets the book off of my bed then tosses it to me. "I said hand," I say by way of thanks.
"You're a bitch, Karen," she says without looking up.
So?
{/vivid thoughts}
I wasn't Karen. I was Tyronica. I didn't have a sister named Katie, I had never had a sister named Katie. I was Tyronica and the only 'K' named sibling I had had was Kyle, and he was long dead. Hell, Chlori, even, was my only 'C' named sister . . .
"These aren't mine," I repeated. I hoped I wouldn't be washed over with another memory. They were vivid, hateful things, full of feelings and meanings that I didn't remember. Actually I did remember. I had never remembered them before.
{vivid thoughts}
"Hey, Charlie-boy, do you remember when we were snowed in at the cabin in Montana? You were about three . . ." my dad starts.
"No, Daddy," I whine. "I don't remember that far back. I was a *baby* then, Daddy."
Daddy laughs. "Of course, Charlie-boy, my mistake."
{/vivid thoughts}
"STOP!" I screamed to myself, loudly. "I AM NOT CHARLIE!" I looked up. Mom and Dad were looking at me, but images were flying past my face, filing themselves into my cabinets. "STOP! THESE ARE NOT MINE!"
"Ty-girl, what's wrong?" Dad asked. Wait? Was that a memory or was it real life? I was Charlie-boy . . . wait, I was Ty-girl . . . I needed the memories to stop . . .
"They aren't mine, Dad," I told him, in as normal a voice as I possibly could master at the moment.
"Tyron, what aren't yours?" Original Cindy asked me. What was she talking about? The car that was driving down the road, yes, of course, that was my car. Wait, no it wasn't. That's not what she was talking about.
"The memories . . . they're everywhere . . . I can't stop them . . ." I whimpered, suddenly looking at her towering over me, her brown eyes huge.
"What memories, Ron?" Martin asked me.
"These memories in my head that are filing!" I screamed out, trying to make them understand. "They're filing away and I can remember them but I haven't experienced them before!"
"What?" Mom pressed.
I took a deep breath. "I've got memories and thoughts that aren't mine in my head. I . . . I remember things and then I realize that it isn't me in the memories, even though its me . . . how can I explain myself?"
I heard a computerized voice, "What happened to make you pass out?" I glanced up. A man in a wheelchair, not at all like Dad's when he was still in his chair, was in the hallway. I recognized Sebastian, a man who knew great of conspiracies.
I slowly tried to sort through the faux memories to get to my real ones. Then I found my mistake and almost laughed with bitterness.
Part .09
I remember waking up in a very large bed. The room was unfamiliar to me and I was scared. I remember thinking, "I've been here before," and then shaking my head, because I had not been there before, I was certain of it. I did have this very fleeting . . . memory . . . of being in the room, with doctors around me holding needles. Why did I have that image?
I tried sitting up, but I was tied down; I couldn't even lift my head because my entire body was strapped to the bed I was very afraid, right then and there, so I started to pull at my restraints. Fear lent me adrenaline, which gave me and idea. I started manipulating myself into getting a lot of adrenaline. I wasn't quite sure what would happen to my heart if I gave myself too much, but I need to get out of the straps.
Pushing against the pieces that held me down, I lifted my arms until I was sure the straps were cutting in. Finally, they broke. I lifted my arms to my face. They were bruised, but it looked to be minor and I didn't feel anything majorly hurting. I unbuckled the straps that held my neck. After that, I then undid the ones that held my waist, so I could sit up.
When I sat up, I looked around the room. My heart still pumping wildly from the adrenaline, I saw laying on another bed a dark head; Martin. Giving a silent cry, I unfastened all other restraints that held me in and then leapt off of my bed.
"Martin," I said in a hoarse stage-whisper. He turns and I notice that the lamplight on his face makes it look as if he's walking towards the sun.
{vivid thoughts}
"Kill him, he's a danger to us," he says.
"No, he isn't; he's just a boy," I say.
"Your loss, not mine," he says, then walks on, leaving me alone. I go back to my date, idly watching the boy, known as PA1-169, walk away from Colorado into the sunset. It seems a little ironic to me that I let him go, but I don't need them and I certainly never help Don Lydecker if I can help it.
{/vivid thoughts}
What had just happened?
"Ty," Martin cried as he leapt up. He wasn't restrained. "You're awake! We have been so worried -- "
Into the room burst four people. Mom and Dad, Original Cindy -- who I hadn't seen for two years! -- and Zack. I glanced from Mom, Dad, and Cindy. They all run to me, all jabbering excited. Original Cindy screeches above the clatter, "Ya'll sound like a bunch of chickens in a farmyard!"
{vivid thoughts}
Oh, look at the pretty chickens. They are so chatter-y. I wonder if Papa will let me pick them up. Oh, look at the dogs, they are so gruff sounding. Mama never did tell me if I was to stay here. Maybe I will. I like this place.
{/vivid thoughts}
I didn't remember that. Yes, I did . . . I remembered it, but it wasn't me remembering it . . . how could I remember it as if I had been there. I started shaking. It wasn't me that was thinking, yet it was. It just wasn't my thoughts.
"You okay, baby?" Mom moved closer toward me. I looked up. I didn't want to speak . . . I was filing away memories, I realized, but I couldn't figure out why I was because I've always filed away my memories as soon as I've received them.
I started taking deep breaths, shaky ones. "These aren't mine," I whispered.
{vivid thoughts}
"Hey, Brat-girl!" I yell to my younger sister. She ignores me. Figures. "Katie, hand me that book, *please,*" I add this last part sarcastically. She looks up at me, sighs, then leans over and gets the book off of my bed then tosses it to me. "I said hand," I say by way of thanks.
"You're a bitch, Karen," she says without looking up.
So?
{/vivid thoughts}
I wasn't Karen. I was Tyronica. I didn't have a sister named Katie, I had never had a sister named Katie. I was Tyronica and the only 'K' named sibling I had had was Kyle, and he was long dead. Hell, Chlori, even, was my only 'C' named sister . . .
"These aren't mine," I repeated. I hoped I wouldn't be washed over with another memory. They were vivid, hateful things, full of feelings and meanings that I didn't remember. Actually I did remember. I had never remembered them before.
{vivid thoughts}
"Hey, Charlie-boy, do you remember when we were snowed in at the cabin in Montana? You were about three . . ." my dad starts.
"No, Daddy," I whine. "I don't remember that far back. I was a *baby* then, Daddy."
Daddy laughs. "Of course, Charlie-boy, my mistake."
{/vivid thoughts}
"STOP!" I screamed to myself, loudly. "I AM NOT CHARLIE!" I looked up. Mom and Dad were looking at me, but images were flying past my face, filing themselves into my cabinets. "STOP! THESE ARE NOT MINE!"
"Ty-girl, what's wrong?" Dad asked. Wait? Was that a memory or was it real life? I was Charlie-boy . . . wait, I was Ty-girl . . . I needed the memories to stop . . .
"They aren't mine, Dad," I told him, in as normal a voice as I possibly could master at the moment.
"Tyron, what aren't yours?" Original Cindy asked me. What was she talking about? The car that was driving down the road, yes, of course, that was my car. Wait, no it wasn't. That's not what she was talking about.
"The memories . . . they're everywhere . . . I can't stop them . . ." I whimpered, suddenly looking at her towering over me, her brown eyes huge.
"What memories, Ron?" Martin asked me.
"These memories in my head that are filing!" I screamed out, trying to make them understand. "They're filing away and I can remember them but I haven't experienced them before!"
"What?" Mom pressed.
I took a deep breath. "I've got memories and thoughts that aren't mine in my head. I . . . I remember things and then I realize that it isn't me in the memories, even though its me . . . how can I explain myself?"
I heard a computerized voice, "What happened to make you pass out?" I glanced up. A man in a wheelchair, not at all like Dad's when he was still in his chair, was in the hallway. I recognized Sebastian, a man who knew great of conspiracies.
I slowly tried to sort through the faux memories to get to my real ones. Then I found my mistake and almost laughed with bitterness.