The Coffee Shop On Dreary Lane

Dixie

I remembered to set my alarm this morning. The familiar ring was comforting but only somewhat. I tried pulling the comforter back over my head, soft and warm, but there was no point. Work was necessary, there was no escaping it. Work meant running errands for Mr. Fletch. He told me he wanted someone to keep things in check for him. I'm skilled at keeping lists and remembering to do what I have to, so I was the obvious choice.
Pain shot through my thigh as I stood, sometimes I forgot about my injury. I had gotten my leg cut off here and replaced with a metal prosthetic, for an experiment. It's interesting looking, to say the least. The metal is engraved with swirling patterns out there by Gran, the organizations second in command. At the bottom is a platform, painted green, that fits into a shoe.
I reached to open a window, except there was no window. Of course not, I was not at home. I turned on a light, and the room was illuminated.
I walked outside, to another room without windows.
*****
I'm good at remembering certain things, but I don't remember much from before. Before I lived in a house, one with windows. Before I had a mother but not a father, and I had some friends. I had a pet cat, and I liked alternative rock. I dyed my hair often. I remember my name is Dixie. I hold onto memories, now they're more important. Now I have less memories than I used to.
Now I'm sixteen. I live at the Posthuman Organization. The organization is only made up of Mr Fletch., Gran and me. We are trying to prolong human life through technology. At some point humans may be able to live forever! Mr Fletch. has invented The Wire, a place where people can put their minds into a simulation. You don't need a body, but your experience is probably improved with one.
I've noticed Mr. Fletch becoming angrier. He's different, his body is not made out of flesh but instead made of wire and metal. I doubt he has organs.
********
"Good morning Gran," I half-yawned, half-said.
"Good morning Dixie," Gran replied.
Gran was an old woman who piled what hair she had left on top of her head with pins. She took over my job occasionally. She was nicer than Mr. Fletch.
I quickly ate and left soon enough.
In the hallway the same bodies filled the tanks. Some were desecrated, with eyes or limbs missing. It was a sight you had to get used to. Only some of the people were still breathing, sleeping, with their eyes closed.
I made it to the end of the hallway, and the same machine popped up, the cash-register shaped giant object. Words flashed across the screen.
"Welcome to the Posth-," the machine started.
"Skip, to outside," I told it.
The machine gave way to a bright outside. I hadn't been out there in what seemed as though it was forever. I had no way to tell, I did not always have a clock with me. I only had an alarm on the days I worked. I climbed up the stairs. Around the organization "building" there was nothing. It's a desolate place, even now.
I ran over to the gray van. This is what we all drive if we have to run errands.
********
Sometimes I dream of escape from here. Mr Fletch. implanted a tracker in my skin, and I haven't been able to find it. I won't be able to escape, ever, Mr. Fletch has made sure of that.
Sometimes at night I hear screams from the doors in the hallways, or whispers, or friendly conversation. I hear the name Eve, that's Mr. Fletch's daughters name. Gran told me that. I hear a loud rough voice talking about how they're done having things plugged into them. I've been told by Gran that these two, and another, will get out of The Wire soon, on their own.
I told her that was impossible. If I can't get out of here, how could they get out of somewhere that's meant to keep you in as well?
She tells me I can get out of here too though, and I could go with them if I wanted. I do.