Eden

Twenty-Five

I think for a moment, about how I see myself. I think, and decide that yes, actually, if I picture myself, then I think of myself as I am when I'm ready to go out somewhere, so with my hair done and in nice clothes and with makeup on, too.

So perhaps whoever did this to me, whoever resurrected me, perhaps they can somehow tell how I see myself, and see me that way too. Even though I'm dead. And perhaps they can then use this picture I have of myself to decide how I ought to look when I awake. Like, to decide which hair to keep, and what gets shaved, and all that kind of thing.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps, rather than some kind of magically-captured self-image of myself, perhaps it's something far more dull and boring. Say, just an averaging out of how I am most of the time, like if the average of me and my hair and my hairiness is spread out over all the hours of the day. Maybe they can measure that and use that to decide how to make me, and even though them being able to do that would be equal parts astonishing and scary, perhaps they can. It could just as easily be that, I suppose, instead of a magic brain-scan picture. Or it could be something else entirely, something I can't even imagine.

Still, I like the idea of it being a picture of me taken from my head, though. It seems like that's more me, somehow. A more personal kind of resurrection. And really, I suppose, it doesn't really matter which of those things it is, not really. What matters is I've managed to make myself feel better about the idea of being peered at and examined, and have almost convinced myself that didn't happen, and I'm quite glad I have.

I feel better, is what matters.

I start to look around, again.

I look around, and then I have a thought. I put my hand back into my armpit quickly, and then take it out again, and sniff. Not sniffing, exactly, not like a big snort, but breathing in slightly, and wondering what I'll smell.

I smell sweat. Not to be gross, but yes I do. I can smell myself a little. Like I've been at the gym or something, on a warm day.

I think about that. I think about what it all means. About all of this, everything I've just worked out, all put together, and about what parts of us are still here.

Because we sweat, but we don't bleed. And we get clothes, and oil for our hair, and food, but we don't get deodorant, not as far as I can tell. And whatever my self-image magic-brain-scan picture might have told the people who did this, it seemed to work, because I get the right amount of hair cutting, in all the right places, even though I don't get all the extra, outside-myself things like clothes and makeup which I might like.

Something like that, anyway. I feel like I'm starting to work out the rules.

I'm still a little curious, and wondering why I get those things, specifically. I'm wondering, and finding it all a bit odd, but I'm pleased I'm starting to work things out.