The creature scratched at the covering her captors had placed over her body, but was unable to rip free of it. And she made her sounds, angry sounds for her captors to hear. Then, fear sounds poured from her throat. Her captors would kill her. So she made piercing, loud fear sounds in longing for her lost places, her woods and valleys. And for the others of her kind, the little ones, and the scented ones who'd tackle and probe.
She felt a throbbing pain on the sides of her head. She screamed to chase it away, but it remained. And liquids began to seep from her eyes and nose. She fell on the hard cold barrier below mixing her screams with moans and other bad sounds. After a time, when she had cried herself nearly to exhaustion, a roar came from beyond the great barrier and suddenly she could smell food. Little chirps of joy escaped from her throat as she followed the smell towards the great barrier. The food lay at her feet, unclaimed! So, down on her knees she attacked it, grabbing great fistfuls and forcing it into her mouth until the supply was exhausted. Then she cleaned and ate the remnants which clung to hair and nails; licked her long red tongue over food-encrusted skin.
Soon after, the darkness came, all at once. This frightened her anew, but she was growing very drowsy. She could barely manage to make her fear sounds, low, softly and quietly. Yet her ears did not hear danger. There were no warning cries and threats from other creatures. She sniffed the air for the smell of excrement or scent, yet smelled nothing. Absolutely nothing. So by and by, she moved to the soft place she had found, laid down and fell asleep.
*
Allison Kenwood awoke with a throbbing pain in the sides of her head. What had happened last night? And where in god's name was she?
It appeared to be a cell. But it was no ordinary cell. It was more like something out of the history books, a cell worthy of the old German Nazis or Stalin's U.S.S.R.
'OK Allison,' she said to herself, 'get ahold of yourself girl. There's got to be a logical explanation for all of this. Just don't get upset, don't get excited.' Someone had dressed her in a very dirty prison costume. It was a tight fitting, stretchy tank-top and it smelled of food and sweat. Also, it had no snaps or buttons, and embarrassingly appropriately, no bottom.
"Hey, who's the fashion consultant in this place?" she yelled at the cell door. "Your taste sucks! This is no way for a lady to dress! Hello? Is anyone here? I said, is anyone here? Where am I? Help! Somebody?" No use, she thought, nobody was listening.
The cell was revolting. Hardly the fitting place to keep one of the most popular girls at Markdale High. Jails just weren't supposed to be like this in the good old U.S.A. And what had she done, anyway, Huh? What the hell had she done? She couldn't remember.
There was a short cut home. Behind the old factory. It was supposed to cut fifteen minutes off her walk. And she'd taken the short cut, against the advice of Mary's Dad. She'd taken the short cut and...and...What?
She looked at the cot she was sitting on. A horrid, moldy old thing. And the pile of straw sitting in the far corner had a smell like--like shit. Was that her 'toilet'? They had to be kidding. Allison realized that she was badly in need of a shower. How had she gotten so stinky? And grimy and gritty. Her hair felt different, coarser somehow. It was still long and straight like before, but not like before. And her skin was darker or lighter or--or just different. She wished she had more light so she could see better, but there was just a small window to illuminate her dark, dank dungeon.
'What is going on?' she thought. Hank was supposed to take her to the dance on Friday, she had a math test on Thursday, tonight was the night she was supposed to pick up her brother from little league after school and now--now she was in the Twilight Zone.
"What the heck kind of jail is this?" she screamed at the door. "Fuckers! Where am I? Who are you? Answer me. Answer me this instant." She considered her costume, then had another horrifying thought.
"Hey, are you all sex perverts or what?" she inquired. "Give me a pair of panties, you fuckers."
The door was silent.
"Are you planning to rape me or what? You don't expect me to think you guys are cops do you? Are you holding me for ransom? My dad's just a poor salesman. He doesn't have gobs of money." She ranted for minutes in similar fashion. No one responded to her calls. And after a few more minutes, Allison's head began to hurt again.
*
The light came on and the barrier opened. The creature scrambled towards the light and the outdoor smells. And out onto grass and earth. She put some on her tongue and it was good. Her ears heard birds and leaves. That was good. And she smelled another somewhere, a scented one was here. But there were no danger sounds or smells. So she made happy sounds. Very happy sounds.
She did her business on the grass and enjoyed it. Then buried it with leaves. And then she ran, almost right into another barrier. It had no smell and no taste but cold and it had holes. But it was a barrier; she could not cross. The happy sounds disappeared from her throat. And she made an angry sound.
Then, she smelled and saw a captor, her captor, standing very nearby. She turned and ran towards him, while making bad threat sounds and more angry sounds. But he disappeared into the barrier. Then there was water from out of the sky. Bad cold water that wet her all over. She screeched, and skittered away. But an instant later she stopped and gazed at the sky water. And inside her head, she saw a picture. She saw herself standing under the sky water and rubbing herself all over. Rubbing the water through her hair, over her face and in her secret places. Rinsing away the scents and other smells. So she ran to the water. But it was cold. So she made an angry sound to the picture in her head. But she tried again with the water. She had to try again. And this time it was not as cold. So she stood there and rubbed the water over her body and over the covering her captors had given her. Then, just when the sky water started to make the sounds of joy spring from her throat, it disappeared. And again she had to make angry sounds.
Much later the darkness came, a little at a time. And the creature turned towards the place she had been before. The barrier cave with the food. The food. Back she ran to the barrier cave. In she ran. And the barrier slammed shut behind her. She was trapped in the cave again. But the food was there. She ate slowly this time. Making sure each drop of food reached her mouth. And then her long red tongue carefully licked her hands clean.
*
Allison woke up on the cot, again. "Well girl, here we are, still in prison," she said softly. They were drugging her, surely. That's why she kept going in and out, in and out, from consciousness to what?
"If you're trying to drive me crazy, it's not working." she shouted at her cell door. "I know who I am! I'm Allison Kenwood. I live at 229 Sycamore Drive. My parents are Dave and Marsha Kenwood. My boyfriend's name is Hank O'Connor. My parents don't like him because he's a Catholic but that just tough potatoes as far as I'm concerned. You see, Hank and I are going to run away and get married, right after graduation. We graduate high school next month. Next month!" Allison waited for a reply from her captors.
"Somebody answer me!" she yelled. "You've got to let me go." She laughed. "C'mon guys, I've got places to go and people to see. Are you there? Answer me!"
And overhead lights snapped on at her command, taking her from gloomy half-light to full interrogation-style illumination.
"Well that's a start, fellows," she yelled. "At least you're listening. You are listening, aren't you? Hello??"
Her hand moved past her face as Allison gestured towards the cell door. And, she saw that it was not her hand. It was smaller, and the skin had a faintly yellow tone.
"What's going on?" she yelled. "What have you done to me?" In response, a panel opened in the wall, revealing a clear mirrored surface. Allison ran to the mirror and saw a stranger beyond it. Instead of an 18 year old, brown-haired, black-eyed, white American, she saw a girl of about 15, grey-haired and green-eyed with yellowish skin and a wild look in her eyes.
"What is this?" Allison yelled. "What have you done? How is this possible? And what am I supposed to be, an American Indian? Who ever heard of an Indian with grey hair and green eyes? Hello. Are you out there?" She ran to the cell door. "I know you're out there! Hey. Hey." She beat her fist against the door.
"I'm not bad looking like this, you know. It's kind of a neat look. But it's really not me. I'm comfortable with my other look. Hank likes my other look. With the brown hair. I'm supposed to have brown hair. Brown hair and black eyes. Black as coal my daddy says. My eyes are black as coal."
Allison personally hated the emotion of self pity. She was not one of those teary-eyed girls you see on TV. She was strong and resourceful. But now, with her head throbbing like there was no tomorrow, Allison really felt like crying. Was she going insane? Maybe she'd already gone stark raving mad and her parents had sent her to an insane asylum, a loony bin. That had to be it. That had to be the answer. She'd gone nuts and been put away. They'd called the men in the white coats. And like in the old silly song, they'd come to take her away, ha-ha.
*
She was at the barrier outside, the one with holes, when she smelled him. A scented one. She tried to run away but there was no place to go. There where barriers all around. With the instincts of prey she spied the opening to the barrier cave and ran for it. When she entered, the opening would go away and the scented one would be trapped outside. He watched her run for the cave. She saw him watch but she made it inside. Safe in the barrier cave. But the opening did not go away. And in he came to tackle and probe. The scented one came to tackle and probe. And there was pleasure. And good animal sounds. He smelled just right.
*
"Who are you?" Allison shouted to the half naked boy sitting in the corner of her cell. She'd been 'out' again, in 'la-la' land. Those drugs she was getting must be strong. Her memory was all messed up.
"Who are you and why are you naked from the waist down?" she shouted to the grey haired boy. He was wearing a pull-over shirt which was remarkably similar in design to her own.
"I could ask you the same questions." the boy replied, making Allison blush a bright red.
"Are you one of my captors? One of those perverts." Allison inquired.
"No. No, of course not. I'm a prisoner here, same as you." He modesty placed hands over his genitals. Allison attempted to hide herself in similar fashion.
"Well, who are you then?"
"Huh-what?"
"What's your name?"
"Jim--Jimmy Stubbins. I'm from Kansas City, Missouri."
"Allison Kenwood from Baltimore, Maryland."
"Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise." Allison looked into the boy's deep green eyes. Was there something to trust in those eyes? Perhaps. Maybe.
"Are we crazy, Allison? Or dead?"
"What?"
"We could be dead." he stated.
"We're not dead." Allison flatly replied.
"Ok then, tell me, how long have we been here?"
"I don't know exactly, a couple days, maybe."
"Are you sure?" he asked, a terrified look passing across his face. "Feels like longer to me. A lot longer."
"How can you tell?" she snapped, irritably. "They've kept us drugged the whole time."
"Drugged?"
"You mean they haven't drugged you?"
"Well, I keep--blanking out but..."
"You've been drugged, dummy." He certainly wasn't as sharp as Hank. Not by a long shot. Hank would know what to do if he were here. He'd get them out. This boy couldn't.
"Hey Jimmy, how old are you anyway?"
"How old are you?"
"18."
"You look more like 15 to me. Maybe 14."
"Well, this isn't really the way I look. I'm 18. I graduate High School next month." Allison replied, indignantly. "And..."
"And what?"
"And how old did you say you were?"
"22."
"22? I'd say 13."
"I may LOOK to be about 15," he replied, "but take my word for it. I'm 22 years old. I'm a graduate student in history at Missouri U."
"Right." she said with more than a degree of skepticism.
The boy stood in front of the bright mirrored surface and stared at his own reflection. He ran a hand through long, straight, coarse hair. "Hey Allison. You think everyone here has grey hair and green eyes?"
"I do not have green eyes. I have black eyes--black as coal my daddy says. Black. B-L-A-C-K eyes, not green."
"But you do have green eyes, Allison. Green eyes and grey hair. Same as me."
"That's not possible."
It was definitely a trick. It had to be a trick. But oh, what a trick. Allison passed what seemed like weeks in the body of the green-eyed girl. For a few hours a day she was conscious, here in the cell. The rest of the time she was...elsewhere. And here's a funny thing: Allison never had to eat and she never had to sleep. Surely she was doing that, that at least, during the times when she was drugged or whatever. But at least the 'process' had stopped making her head throb. Of that much, at least, she was grateful.
Sometimes when she 'woke,' Jimmy was there. Sometimes he wasn't.
"How long have we been here?" she asked her green eyed friend, one afternoon.
"I don't have a clue," he replied.
*
The creature sat in the brightly lit barrier cave, tearing a long strip of 'cloth' off of the 'cot.' What was cloth? This was cloth. White, soft cloth. She took her strip and wrapped it around her waist to form a 'skirt.' What was a skirt? This was a skirt. It was good because it hid her nakedness. It was very good.
*
Finally someone was getting the message. One of the messages, at any rate. Every 'day', Allison had been tearing the sheet off her cot to create a modest skirt to hide her genitals. But every time she lost consciousness then re-awoke, the skirt was gone. Jimmy had been doing the same thing, with the same results. Each kilt he created from his own bedding disappeared with his consciousness.
"They want to keep us naked." he had remarked.
"But why? What's the point?"
"I don't know. What's the point of keeping us here in the first place?"
But now, they'd left the skirt in her possession. So, maybe that meant it was hers to keep. Thank god for small favors.
*
The scented one had finished his tackle and probe. The creature was therefore surprised to see him still sitting by her side in the barrier cave. Why? More probing? He did not try to probe. The creature was confused.
The scented one made a sound. "Aw-son," he said. Was this a happy sound? A joyful sound? "Aw-son," he said again.
"Aw-son." So she made a happy sound. But the scented one was distressed.
"Aw-son," he said. She made another happy sound and he said 'Aw-son.' She made a less happy sound, a frightened sound, then an out-and-out angry sound and still he said 'Aw-son.' Aw-son. What kind of a sound was that? The creature squeezed her head in her little hands and tried to find the right sound. The sound to make when he said 'Aw-son.'
And suddenly she knew the right sound. "Jmmmmm," she said. "Jmmmmm. Jmmmmm." And it was good. It was right. She knew because the scented one made a very happy sound.
*
As Ferra-Dul looked through the printed pages of preliminary test results, a smile of victory crossed his thin lips. "Just think of it, Marta. With the help of a few of our distinguished ancestors, we have bought a miracle to pass. An honest to god, true to life miracle."
"To which god are you referring, Ferra? Your god? The god of space travel." Marta smiled as she teased her mate.
"Marta, just think of it," the dreamy eyed scientist exclaimed, barely hearing the woman's replies. "A space probe, sent centuries ago to retrieve alien life forms, and returning to ME with the flash-frozen remains of long-dead sapient beings."
"Returning to YOU courtesy of our National Space Administration."
"And who was more qualified than I?" he inquired. "Who knew more about the workings of the mind and the chemical processing of biological information? Or the physiological structure of the lowly Ortian brain? And now, now I have--we have done it, my dear." Ferra puffed out his chest and strutted across the room, infinitely proud of his accomplishments. "Through bio-adhesive memory chips implanted in our subjects' brainstems, we first succeeded in completely bringing those alien creatures back to life, or at least to the semblance of life."
"As long as we had the juice turned on, that is. As soon as we turned it off, our 'aliens' reverted back to their normal animal Ortian state," his mate reminded him, playfully, "and as such they were still fit only for zoos and wild life preserves. You couldn't even get a permit to keep one in the city."
"But now, our Ortians are retaining more and more of their transfers. They 'remember' Allison and Jimmy, they're wearing clothes of their own volition--and they're learning the language, Marta. That ancient alien language."
"They're learning it faster than I can learn it, Ferra."
"This is prize winning material, Marta. Believe me." The scientist was so excited, he was almost hyperventilating. "These results alone should bring me more government grant money than I--we could possibly need. More than we could possibly ever use." Ferra licked his lips in anticipation. Success tasted sweet.
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