Whatever Happened... to Robot Jones? Continued

Part 1: Miss-Fortunate - Chapter 1: Friday

The room was unusually dark that morning when Shannon woke. Her head felt heavy, as if she didn't get enough sleep. What time was it? She instinctively turned her head to look at the clock on her nightstand. No, it was definitely time to get up. There was a hot shower and a glass of sweet chocolate milk waiting for her: Her reward for accomplishing the task of getting up.

She was vaguely aware of noises coming downstairs. One sounded a bit like her mother. And the other one was definitely dad. His voice sounded... out of place. Distant. Even more so, he sounded mad. The deep, masculine voice was shouting words that Shannon couldn't understand. Were they yelling because she wasn't up yet? No, her father would just come in and wake her. This didn't sound like busy weekday morning shouting.

The anxiety to leave the room filled her like an empty glass. She fumbled with the covers, but she felt like a jellyfish in a net. When she finally got them off her, she caught one word her father shouted: "Mistake?!" before the rest of his words turned to muffled nonsense.

She peered down when her feet hit the floor, and her eyes beheld two tall, perfectly symmetrical legs holding her upward. The shouting downstairs was getting louder, but none of it made sense. Benji. He's gotta be a crying wreck, Shannon thought, head still heavy. I need to get to him. Reluctant responsibility took over, and she made her feet move. The last thing she wanted to do was console the brat, but he didn't deserve to be traumatized.

It wasn't his fault he was everything their parents wanted.

Her mother shouted something that sounded like, "How could they know?!" and the rest was drowned in sobs. What a terrible morning this was going to be. But what were they arguing about?

She kept moving closer to the door, but it was moving further away. It was going to take an eternity at this rate. Why couldn't she think clearly? Everything felt like she was underwater.

That voice. She didn't pick up on it earlier because it was drowned out in the sound of the shouts, but she heard it. The screams. Benji. It was slowly rising and growing louder, louder than her parents. Closer.

The door continued to move away from her, faster now. She picked up speed, but it was like running on a treadmill, the voice of her brother trickling in through the cracks under the door. Benji. Mom. Dad. What happened?

For Shannon, it wasn't the mysterious elusive door, or the abnormal shouting in her home, or the voice of her father, or the screams of her brother, now closing in on her. It was her feet. She couldn't feel either of her feet on the floor. On the carpet. She was running and her feet weren't feeling anything. Neither of them felt the worn-down fibers. Neither of them felt anything.

Her eyes snapped open. Blinding sunlight poured in from the window in front of her nightstand. She forgot to shut her blinds last night and paid the price for it. She closed them again, whispering a curse, and felt for her left leg beneath the covers. Metal. That had been a dream. This was reality.

The once plush, now crusty stuffed animals-remnants of her childhood-stared at her from the corner of the bed lined up against the wall. Always smiling. Always smiling for their mistress. Thinking more, she realized that in her dream, she knew it was time to get up when she looked at the clock, but she couldn't remember the time it read, or if it had numbers at all. A flash image of younger girl's posters of puppy dogs and horses remained as part of the dream's memory of her room when it was younger, but that image was it. No detail. Another flash image of a toy she didn't have anymore. Now obvious of how much more detail there was to observe during her morning routine, it seemed foolish that she fell for this dream every time. She hit her fist against her right knee, only to remember that that knee was the real knee, and cussed in the sudden blast of pain. I could win an award for being so stupid.