Jessica Pt. 01

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Jessica's first experience after waking in the city of La.
6.9k words
4.26
8.1k
8

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/24/2017
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Lines. Many lines; all parallel like train tracks. I see five lines in front of me. The one in the center is the brightest thing I've ever seen, glimmering like God in Heaven. Blue lines peak from the darkness separating them from their brilliant center. This reminds me of how cold I am.

Blue is associated with water. Blue is unity with cool and refreshing air. Blue washes tears of sadness into the waves of the ocean. I feel air pass over my skin, raising my flesh in ripples across my sensitive body. My fingers feel numb. I watch the light slowly filter into the brown plane that separates the lines. The center line is now consumed with blue. It must be sad.

An enormous sound in the distance crescendoes. I blink. A black dot passes from the right line, to the next, and skips across the center-click-and-HEEEAA! HEEEEAAAH! A train horn. I know it well because I've been hearing it in my dreams since before I could remember. The squeaky sound of wheels on tracks echoes through my ears.

Bird. The dot was a bird, the light is the sun, and the blue is the sky because birds fly in the air. Not all birds can fly. Judging by the chickens and the slowly depleting number of our world's penguins, the number of birds that fly will only decrease as humanity grows.

Am I a bird?

No. Of course I'm not a bird.

Then what am I?

I flex my fingers until the pads touch with another finger-my thumb. Monkeys have thumbs. But I'm not a monkey according to the vast collection of knowledge this mind possesses. If I'm not a monkey and I'm not a bird, and I don't live in the sky, but I do live in the water... Does that make me a fish?

"I'm... not a fish." My lips move and a beautiful, calming voice escapes. It is my voice. This ruins all likelihood of my being a fish. Logically, anyway. I have fingers. I am in the water. And I can speak. That, by process of elimination, makes me a human being, lying face up in the water, looking into the blue sky through a screen or filter of some sort. The planes separating the lines of blue are brown. Brown-chocolate. I like chocolate.

"I like chocolate very much!" My high voice echoes, and I am smiling. Because I like chocolate.

Brown-skin. Brown-stick. Brown-wood, grain. There is grain in the planes, and they are the same, each without name, for they are tame; not without cause, of course. It occurs to me that my mind may in fact be damaged in some way.

It is dark where I am.

Where am I?

"Where am I?" I repeat, and flex my fingers again. They are freezing. I am freezing. I am in the water, and the water is cold and brown.

Brown-shit. It smells like shit. I am in the water, and it smells like shit. I must muse on this. I sleep.

-

HEEAHH-HEEEEEAH-HEEEEee-chuck-a-dum-chuck-a-dum-chuck-a-dum-SQUEEEEE. I wake. Lines. Orange lines. The day is passing into eve. I sit up. My back pops and droplets of light brown water slither around my bare breasts and drip from my hardened nipples. I stare down the long rectangular corridor that disappears into darkness beneath the passing train. I lift my hands. They are covered with brown. Brown-shit. Yes, it smells like shit. I stand with ease.

Water runs down my body, circling my bare legs as though racing the drips back to its watery home at my ankles. I am naked. This is... unacceptable in these current conditions, being outside in the middle of what appears to be a storm drain. I look up to see a wooden bridge crossing over my uncomfortable resting place amidst the soiled trash and garbage.

I have no idea how I got here, other than the singular concept that I was born here, which is... highly improbable as I appear to be a young woman by the age of twenty-eight with ten perfectly wiggle-able toes, ten fingering fingers, two long, slender legs, a thin stomach, and two very healthy, firm breasts. My hair is golden blond, but filled with brown from the water. Brown-shit.

I smell like shit.

Shit: the composure of fecal matter left by the remains of an organism. I am an organism. There is a lot of shit here, enough to kill weak animals. Animals are organisms. I must be in a city of them. Beautiful. I am beautiful-covered in shit, but beautiful. I take a step easily enough, and then another, and another after that. I walk forward, my bare feet kicking slimy, sloshy feces through the ankle-deep water.

After leaving the shade of the bridge, I see the sky. It is still blue. Orange surrounds the body of ocean that spans the area between the tall boxes lining the storm-drain. They are buildings. Judging by the faces and figures moving back and forth across the open visions on the sides (windows, I think) they are buildings for people. Buildings with windows for people so they can see out. Are they pets, I wonder; wild beings crammed into their furnished boxes of luxury by some Lord Almighty that walks about in search of entertainment?

I see a stairway leading up to the wooden bridge. I place my hand on the pebbly concrete structure of the stairs and take the steps one at a time, following their motion. Stairs in motion along a pathway usually lead somewhere at the end of their ascension.

I'm catching on!

The sound of motor vehicles from somewhere nearby fills the air. I must be near a street. Up here it still smells like shit, but the wind carries most of it away. I look from one side of the bridge to the other. Both ways lead to alleys. Across the bridge, the path continues up another set of stairs. The right leads to where the vehicles are.

My legs take me right as I stride between the buildings. Buildings made of bricks. Two buildings next to one another create an alleyway between. All along the walls of the lower buildings I see vulgar slogans written all over the walls. Why? I shouldn't speak those words because society tells us not to.

"Because I mustn't." I speak, finding this feat rather intriguing all of a sudden. "Fuck you, asshole." My chipper girl's voice echoes between the buildings as I remember one of the statements written on the wall. I see cars getting closer as I progress through the alleyway. The gravel and broken glass hurts my feet and toes. I don't think I've ever walked on gravel or glass before.

I hear the sound of something else. It's the sound of... music! Music makes me smile. Smiling must mean that I like music. There are six notes being played all at once and it fills me with such joy and happiness as the rhythms dance in my ears.

Turning the corner to see what mystical, not to mention powerful, force this is, I see a man in a checkered red and black shirt strumming on an acoustic guitar, filling the street corner with music while the city inhabitants move on, oblivious to his talent. I walk down the sidewalk toward the man, who looks more focused on the drivers. He's smiling, and wearing a black beret on his head.

I sense a change in the atmosphere. Someone slams on their brakes in the middle of the road. I look over to see a man with very wide eyes gawking at me from the window of his truck. He's astonished that I'm not following society's laws by not wearing clothes. This is... out of the ordinary for him. His eyes follow me. I feel them peeling into my skin, searching for secrets and treasures buried there.

I keep my attention on the man in the beret. He finally sees me and does a double-take. His eyes go wide like the man's in the truck. People from every vehicle on the road are watching me move, as though the world and time has stopped. Is this... love? I don't feel any different, but the world has stopped, and that is defined as love at first sight.

I think it is more that I, a very attractive, healthy woman, am walking around clothes-less-something so simple, and yet so extraordinarily odd in this current time and place. I hear hurried footsteps. I feel like I should watch-out, but haste isn't one of my strong points.

Just as I turn my head to see what's happened as my wrists are wrenched behind my back. The man in the beret moves forward. I see him out of my peripheral vision, but my eyes land on that of a man in a blue uniform. His eyes are big and blue and filled with sweets like a child on Christmas; he wants to fuck me and is already having an orgasm in his tighty-whitey underwear. I notice this in the perspiration collected in his fingers, and the thick, fishy smell of semen arising from his trousers.

"Hey, hey, officer!" A voice shouts from behind me. The voice is critical, hopeful-it is the man in the beret's voice. I see the officer peering over my shoulder. "Hey, that's my cousin. She's a little wonky in the head. Jess, how did you get out here?" I am addressed as Jess.

"Sorry, Bub!" The cop says, snidely. "Public exposure. I gotta take her in."

"All right, Wally," says the man in the beret who was thus considered, Bub. The officer's name is Wally. "How's about I make you a little deal then?"

"No deal, shit-face," Wally, the officer, spits. Bub's name is also Shit-face, an obvious attempt at an insult, though Bub's face looks completely devoid of shit.

"You go ahead and take her in, but I got three witnesses who saw you takin' a little snow in the alley the other day. I'll have you fired if you don't let my cousin go." I am also now Bub's cousin.

"Are you threatening me, kid?" Wally glares at Bub while fidgeting with his strangely shaped cap.

"Yeah, but I and the resident witnesses will keep quiet if you just let go of Jessica." Jessica. My name is Jessica. Jess was short for Jessica.

I see Wally's face. It is full of frustration as well as disappointment. He continues to stare at Bub while everyone within sight continues staring at me. My hands are released. "You got about thirty-seconds to get some clothes on her, and get the fuck off this corner with that noise!" Wally points down the street.

"Right officer. Come on, Jess." Bub puts out his hand for me to take. I take it, feeling comfort where I once felt discomfort with the other man. He pulls me away from the officer, takes of his flannel shirt, puts it around my shoulders and leads me into the doorway of the apartment building near where he'd been playing.

He lets me go, and steps out to collect his guitar and stool, then steps past me to open the door, indicating my preceding his entry to the building. Other than obligation, I have no logical reason for why I do so because I have never been in this building before.

"Jesus," says Bub as he looks back at me. The hypothetical phrase was not meant for myself. I follow him into an already open mechanical box that looks welcoming to me. The doors slide closed and a strange sensation of vertigo rushes through my chest. "What are you doing, running around the city naked as a jaybird?" Bub asks.

"I don't know what a Jay-bird is." I say. "I have seen one bird. It was black and very small. But I've only seen one."

"You mean like, a crow?" The man takes off his beret and wipes his brow, which has gone sweaty. If he wants to fuck me, he's being very cool about it. "I don't know," he doesn't wait for my response, which is good because I didn't have a proper one, "it's just an expression. Where are your clothes?"

"I have no clothes." I say.

"You don't have any at like, your house or anything?"

"A house," I say. "I don't have a house."

"Where do you live then," asks Bub. I find his incessant questioning a bit bothersome, seeing as how I haven't sufficient answers to the questions he's asking.

I retrace my memory. The only response I have other than the exchange I heard earlier is, "Fuck you, asshole."

Bub swallows, peering at me perplexedly. I understand his response. He is neither an asshole, nor in any sort of process as to fuck. The only other connotation I can come up with is insulting, and such is not what I meant. "I apologize, Bub." I nod.

"Look, sweetheart," Bub says; he has abandoned my name as Jessica and taken up Sweetheart-a fickle man, this Bub, "as much as I love rescuing beautiful, naked women from the police-

"What is snow?" I interrupt him.

"Huh?" The elevator stops. The doors slide open, and I am following Bub out into the corridor of this collection of human cages. The floors are tiled and all the doors are blue. These doors contain human beings within; precious, fragile, human beings.

"You used snow to do away with Wally. What is snow?"

"Snow... Cocaine." Bub narrows his eyes to mine, the way he would with a child.

"Cocaine?" I ask. "Is this in any way related to Coca-Cola, America's number one drink and icon of its culture?"

"Uhh, sure?" Bub shrugs as we turn a corner. "Cocaine is a drug. Every now and then, I see Wally patrolling the corners around here. He bums coke-snow-off the crack dealers. Boy, you sure chose a lousy part of L. A. to fall down in."

"I have fallen into La." I suggest. Bub glances at me out of the corner of his eye as we pass down the apartment halls. I can hear happenings and voices coming from within some, but most are quiet.

"No, L. A.: Los Angeles? City of Angels? C'mon, you can't have gotten trashed enough to forget that." He says this as though the very prospect of me having forgotten what city I have apparently fallen into is impossible-correction: nothing is impossible, only improbable. This is a very important note I will not forget.

"I don't believe I've ever been trashed before, Bub." I pull his shirt tight around my body. He has been shooting looks at my light, tanned skin since we first entered the building. Not that I mind, but I see the golden band on his third finger, next to the smallest. This is also important to me for a reason that I am currently unaware of.

"So, you got a name or what? Spill it, sister."

"I will spill it, but I don't think you and I have any particular relation to one another." Bub makes a complicated gesture with his arms and hands that resembles a shrug, but I'm not altogether sure that's what it is. "I have been addressed as Jessica, Jess, Sweetheart, Sister-I have not established that I am anything other than a whim or an antic dote. You however," I continue, "have been addressed several times as Bub, therefore I have taken the liberty of filling in your status in my mind as Bub."

"Whoa, whoa, hold up lady-

"I have added Lady to the list of names I am henceforth known as."

"That's-I don't know what your name is!"

"Your tone is critical. Is there something the matter, Bub?" I am indulging in my newfound ability to make conversation. While it is entertaining and informative, I find that my understanding of human language is... suffering at best.

"Boy, you're starting to give me the heebie-jeebies."

"I..."

"Stop." Bub puts up his hand, and then puts it on my shoulder. A sensation of immense warmth passes through my body at his touch. I smile. "Bub isn't my name, Jess. If you don't know your own name then, for the sake of progress," I am beginning to like this person very much, "you can just keep Jessica."

"Why thank you, Bu-

"Ross," Ross interrupts. "My name is Ross."

"And where are we, Mr. Ross?" I flutter my eyelashes at him. He sighs hopelessly.

"We're at my apartment. If you'll just be quiet for two seconds and let me talk-

"You have two-seconds." He did not take his two-seconds to speak, but looked at me as though trying to decipher whether or not I was making a joke. I was not making a joke, but he is, however, carrying into his two-seconds with silence.

"Umm, I live with my wife in here." Ross thumbs the blue door behind him and places his guitar on the floor.

I am sorry, Ross. I was under the impression that you were an outside human-not one of the strange indoor ones. "You are taken, Ross." I state.

"Yes!" His eyes open as wide as they did earlier. "Precisely. Now, when my wife asks why the hell I brought home a half-naked woman, I want you to tell her that I'm just getting you some clothes. Can you do that, Jess?"

"When said wife asks why the hell I am here, I am to say that I am here to receive clothing."

"Yes." He holds up two thumbs. The notion is quirky, and happy. I hold up two thumbs in positive response. I watch his back as he turns with a ring of keys in his grasp. When the door is unlocked, he turns to me. "She might not say, 'what the hell are you doing here?'. Just tell her you're here for clothes if she asks you anything."

"I will tell-

"Stop," he holds up a hand, "don't do that. What are you, some kind of alien?" He glares and opens the blue door to his living box.

It is a nice box from what I see. There is a well used couch opposite to the door where another human-a woman like me-sits, drinking a beer, and also wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt a shade redder than her husband's. Light from the blaring television across from her is flashing upon her smooth face. She is feeding herself from a bag of Cheetoes. Our eyes meet. She blinks at me and looks to her husband. Her jaw stops in mid-crunch, another Cheetoe hovering an inch from her open mouth.

"That two-hundred bucks was for the fuel pump in the Volkswagen, Ross." She says and crunches on the yellow, scraggly sock-shaped corn chip. This woman does not seem altogether surprised or worried about my presence; very different from that of the other people I have met today. An important note-remember this, Jessica-women take kindly to fellow women, no matter what they are wearing.

Ross's wife throws the Cheetoes bag to the other side of the couch, stands, and steps across the room with her hand outstretched. "Hello there! I don't think Ross is going to bother introducing us. My name's Ashley; his wife." Her brown hair is done up haphazardly, like she slept with it in a ponytail. She is wearing a white t-shirt beneath her flannel one, sweatpants, and red and white-striped socks.

"Hey, Ash, can I talk to you in the kitchen for like, two minutes?" He nods toward the other room. "Stay right here, Jess." I watch them disappear into the darkness of the deep cave they call home. The television is still on. I hear commercials and high voiced characters issuing from the entertainment box.

The room is decorated with pictures of Ross and Ashley's exploits. They are a happy, content couple with very few secrets. They are too close very often to have more than one or two each. Scanning more of the frames hung upon the wall, I am... perplexed at their ability to enjoy themselves with absolutely no happenstance at all aside from their being in the same place at the same time.

"What makes you think I have clothes that are gonna fit her? She's the thinnest thing I've ever seen!" Ashley's voice rounds the doorway leading to the kitchen.

I pick up an ornament of a small goose made purely of glass. Strange: these human beings. I replace it before the four large wooden airplanes sitting behind it. There is a field of glass animals filling the shelf-space above the one with the planes. They are different colored, and all in mid-action. I noticed one of a lion leaping forward, frozen in motion. Before it is a gazelle that is fleeing for its life. For some reason, this coincidental placement of animals makes me smile. I... like them, especially the lion and the gazelle.

"Your house is fascinating." I say as Ashley returns with her arms crossed. Ross is standing behind her looking very-the phrase, pussy-whipped, pops into my head. He looks very pussy-whipped.

"Who the hell are you?" Ashley does not like me anymore. It's fine. I still like her, especially when she's mad. Her eyes narrow beautifully. She pokes her head forward. Her jaw gets pointy too; magnificent.

"I am Jessica." I crook my head sideways. "Your husband is a very nice fellow."

"Right," she drawls, and sends him a scowl that is so utterly orgasmic to me that I am biting my lip to stay still. "Do you have some place to be?" She shakes her head toward me, poking that chin with every other word. "Like, your own house or something?"

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