7 Modern Gods
The myth says Venus was born of sea-foam, they depicted her as arriving to shore on a shell, a pearl of the Ancient world. There is a new legend now, in the new world. A legend of a goddess stepping out of her pod, surrounded by freezing pink mist. They say that, in an instant, everything stopped. That's not entirely true.
The alarm kept screeching for at least an hour. The noise was overwhelming. The flashing lights blinding. I was instantly nauseous and irritated. The mist was cleared by the ventilators and the lab was sealed.
The soldiers and scientists were paralysed. Fear does that to humans. I looked around and saw them, hands shaking, frozen in the middle of a movement, never reaching their guns. I didn't care about that. I only cared about one of them, he managed to make few steps back and hit the table behind him.
"What's your name?" I whispered. My voice was rusty, weak. I have made a few steps toward him. My feet were crushing the glass on the floor.
"Captain..." he tried to answer automatically, but his voice failed too.
The door opened. An armed commando burst into the room, ready to open fire at me. Something was telling me it hardly matters, so I paid them little attention. I wanted his name.
"Stop!" he ordered and rushed in front of me.
"Captain, move!" their leader barked back.
"She asked for my name!"
And I never really got it. Sure, his last name was on his uniform, but that was not the part I was really interested in.
I didn't move, because I knew the soldiers would immediatelly open fire. And it's really hard to have a decent conversation when your being shot at. So I waited patiently, until they sorted it out. Some officers arrived and were outraged, because the lab doors were supposed to be shut to contain any infection or attacker. The were arguing and it was ridiculous. They had no idea what was really going on.
It took some time, since there were many of them and they all had different ideas on how to dispose of me. But in the end, the Captain won and was allowed to talk to me. That was after his superior shot me, twice. I didn't move. But I remember his face. And I'm very sure he doesn't sleep well now, knowing what a vengeful bitch I can be.
After that, it was all questions. And it was tiring and boring, because I was not the one asking them. I had no answers. I had no memory. Or an explanation of what I am and how I broke free. Or how I can still be sane. Thinking. Talking. Well, they were mostly concerned about becoming my next meal. I assured them that, after Louisiana, I'm especially picky. That didn't satisfy them much.
* * *
I think you might do something better with time than to waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland, 1865
PS: If you read, comment. I'm curious if I have an actual audience or if you are just lost souls messing with my poor statistics...
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